Story #183

Once upon a time there was a skinny, dark haired, girl who grew up very unhappy.  Her family didn’t love her and they treated her badly.  No matter what she did it wasn’t good enough.  They didn’t give her hugs, and praise.  They didn’t make her laugh or feel special.  She had a skinny, light haired middle sister and a skinny, dark haired little sister.  She tried to protect them as if she were their mother and father.

She grew up to be someone who liked to make people happy so they wouldn’t feel like she did inside.  She made them feel loved, made them laugh, made them feel special, especially her sisters.

One day she met her dark haired knight in shining armor.  He had a loving family who made her understand what a family should be.  He made her very happy, made her laugh a lot, and made her feel as if she were the most special person in the world.

They got married but after lots of tries they couldn’t have their own dark haired children.  This upset them very much until they realized that they could love each other, make others feel loved, make others laugh, and make others feel special.

Once they realized this hey lived HAPPILY ever after.

Story #182

My dear,
I don’t know where to start, or what I’m going to tell. I’m drowning, maybe.

I tried something, to step over this fucking sad day, this damned celebration. And I reached the line. One line to end this burden. One line leads to another side, I don’t know it’s brighter or not, but it’s different and that’s enough for me.

I failed.

Her hands and mine, they just don’t fit. Tasteless kiss and frozen arms.  Even when she tried to hug me tight or squeezed her lovely face on my chest, my inside was so quiet. I felt nothing, except my own heartbeat, that fucking “thump-thump-thump” sound I heard everyday, not that “boom-boom-boom-OMFG-I’m-gonna-die-in-joy” I expected. Like a beast bites a meat, and then realize he wasn’t even hungry, he just missed the feeling, the taste flow through his tongue.
I was starved for love. Your love.

So I left, like a friend who just paid her a visit, before I became that stranger guy, who came then teared her heart apart with those “We should break-up” words. I hate break-up. I always do.

I’m not sad, just mad, but I don’t feel any pressures. There were lines I didn’t dare to cross, and there were lines I wouldn’t let myself to do so.

You know, I changed my hair, buy some new clothes, put my mind on things I love, pretend to be busy like everyone. Sure, everyone is busy, you are busy,… but not me. I’m only busy thinking about you and how to get rid of you and the ghost of our dead memories… But I can’t, even if it breaks me.

My burden is not you, is not how to forget, but the illusions I created, the burning desires to find someone,something to fill in the hole you left. It was me, all the time: I always poison beautiful things.

This Christmas, I’ll send you no gift, no wish.
I know you won’t notice that.
I know, on the other side of Earth, you are busy enjoying every minute of your life.
And I know, that night, and many other nights we had, it’s all past now.

Farewell, black socks and red scarf.
The one I used to call “mine”.

Story #181

I have two little boys who miss their Daddy. Luke has been in San Francisco for work for one week, and both our boys have little broken hearts. It is the saddest thing you ever did see. As soon as we got home from the airport after dropping him off I worked out how many hours it would be till he was home again. I texted it to Luke and he texted me back to say his flight hadn’t even left yet (his flight was delayed)! Cue stomach drop. Yikes. But this story isn’t about me, it’s about his sad little sons.

Eli knew something wasn’t right straight away. The first night Luke was away he woke up heaps more times than usual, and that combined with a wake up call of 4:45am made for a pretty sad Mummy. I cried that morning. I begged God to miraculously teleport Luke home, but he didn’t, and we continued on with our (very early) day.

Eli, since then, has been as clingy as he ever has been. And whiny too. It’s one thing to have a clingy baby, but it’s another thing entirely if he won’t be put down AND he just cries in your ear. He doesn’t really want ME, but I’m the best he’s got. I tell you what, I have never been in this position in my parenting life before (I am always the wanted one!!), and it’s not very nice. It’s frustrating, and I’m sure frustrating for him as well.

The next few nights I lost count after 12 wake ups. TWELVE. FFS. I felt like every time I got back to sleep he was awake again. And you know what he didn’t want? Mum. You know what he didn’t want? Boob. You know what he didn’t want? To be by himself. You know what he didn’t want? To be with anyone. After a few days of this I thought he must be really sick. He was teething a little, but it never usually bothers him THIS much. I had exhausted all my options for situations, scenarios and medications, and then one morning as I was talking to a friend it dawned on me as it spilled out of my mouth that he misses Luke.

You see, Eli wakes up at 4:45am every morning. And every morning by 4:50am Luke is dressed and driving down the driveway with Eli in the car with him. They spend just over two hours together and come back home at 7:30am at which time Lior & I wake up (sometimes Lior wakes me up at 6:30 or 7). I totally did not account for this time Luke & Eli spend together EVERY SINGLE DAY. I didn’t think about the big shift in his routine, and the complete lack of one on one time with Luke, or even any parent. Truth be told, I just expected Eli to not even notice Luke was gone. I put him in the baby box. He hasn’t really noticed on any of the 3 other trips Luke has been on in the last 6 months. But Eli isn’t really a baby anymore.

As soon as I realised that he missed Luke, my heart was changed, and instead of feeling so down and overwhelmed about being on my own and having two little kids to look after, I started to feel really sorry for him, and prayed for God’s shalom to rest on him and that in the night I would be enough for him, just till Luke gets home. And I started to really mellow, and those bits of me that were all tight started to relax, and I guess Eli picked up that I was a bit more relaxed, and thankfully he’s had a few good nights. He still wakes up ridiculously early, but I’ve just resigned myself to going to bed at 7:30pm or8:30pm when the boys do in order to survive the day. I am behind now in all my projects, but that’s just the way it has to be for now.

And that leads me to Lior…

Lior did not seem to mind the first two days that Luke was gone. He spoke to Daddy on FaceTime and was happy tell his stories. We talked about Daddy a lot. He was okay. But after a few days he started to have major tantrums and melt downs about nothing things. Just things where he wasn’t getting his own way. And this is my son who when you ask him to do… anything, he says “Yes Mum” or “Yes Dad”, and he ACTUALLY DOES IT. Luke trained him to do this. It’s amazing. Anyway, he was getting a bit crazy. Violent even, and I was starting to get a bit worried, because, holy hell, why is my kid going psycho?! And everything was a big deal now, and he was walking around the house saying “I crying mum. I sad”, and because he couldn’t tell me WHY he was sad or crying (he wasn’t crying), I just assumed he was being silly or talking about it lots because he’s just learnt about it.

It was around this time that I made the discovery about Eli missing Luke, and a couple of hours later Lior had a tantrum I just looked at him and realised, “Oh. You’re missing your Daddy too”. I thought about it, and Lior had not talked about Luke for days. Actually, he completely avoided talking about him. He wouldn’t even say “Dad” or “Jor-El” (the super-hero name Lior assigned his father). He would repeat every word I say if I asked him to, but would not say Dad.

Today in the car Lior & I had a little talk. It went like this:

Lior: (after having a major spack attack in the car park of the pool where we’d been playing (happily!) that afternoon) “I sad!”
Mum: “I’m sorry to hear that Lior. What’s making you sad?”
Lior: “I no like you”.
Mum: “Great. Okay. Well lots hop in the car”. (in my head I am thinking, oh Frack this is escalating pretty badly. Must try to get him to talk about this).

We start driving home.

Mum: Lior, do you miss Daddy?”
Lior: Yes.
Mum: Do you want to give him a cuddle?
Lior: Yes.
Mum: I miss Daddy too.
Lior: No.
Mum: 😐
Lior: I miss Daddy! No Mummy!
Mum: We can both miss Daddy Lior. Do you know, when I miss Daddy I like to talk to him on the phone?! Do you like to talk to Daddy on the phone?
Lior: No.
Mum: (to try and find out if he really doesn’t like talking to Luke on the phone of if he’s just being contrary) Does talking on the phone to Dad make you feel sad?
Lior: Yes (shows me a sad face). I cry.
Mum: Does talking to Dad make you happy?
Lior: No. Sad.

It was around this time that Luke actually called, so I pulled over to answer the call (actually, to order pizza, and then he happened to call while I was pulled over. Haha). I told Luke all about this, and I checked with Lior that he really didn’t want to talk to Dad because he was right here, and he definitely didn’t.

Luke said to tell Lior that he loved him. I did. Luke said to tell Lior that he can’t wait to give him a big hug. I did. Then Luke asked me to tell him another thing (I forget now. whoops!), but I didn’t. I looked back at Lior and saw his little eyes full of tears, and realised that talking about Luke at all, even good and happy things, really was making him super sad. My heart broke! My poor little mister, missing his Daddy so much.

So here I am with two broken hearted little boys, and 5 more sleeps until Luke gets home.

EPILOGUE

Is there anything better than being reunited with the person you love?

If there is it’s this: seeing two people you love, who have missed each other most of all, reunited at last. To see father & sons cling to each other after time apart is just… magic.

The moment I saw Luke walk through the airport doors my stomach leapt up into my mouth and I held back tears. Sometimes you just trundle along through life so much that it’s not until you see the person again that you really let it go and feel that swell of emotion. I imagine that this is partly how Lior felt. I told him Daddy was coming through the doors and he stood up and walked towards them slowly. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Luke come through the doors & I felt like the moment dragged on forever. When Luke shouted “Lior!” he rushed over to his Daddy and gave him the biggest hug. They both did – tears swelling in Luke’s eyes.

And of course we all hugged and kissed and smiled and breathed that sigh of relief that once again we were all together and things were as they should be. It was like the fog that had filled my mind the last two weeks was lifted and now I could see better because he was here by my side. Living life together.

Story #180

From the high mountains of a very mountainous region, a river flowed through their earthy branches. The rain fed the strength of the aquiferous  into the sea were it rested waiting for the sun to take each of the water drops that made the nature call him ‘Ocean’.

The clouds weren’t being as friendly as the ocean would wish and in its cold body, two drops of – once upon a time ‘sweet water’ – were freeeeezing their molecules off.

The male drop of sea water noticed that the female drop of sea water had more cold than him and so he offered to share his place beneath an algae to get her warm.  Both drops, as well as all the zillions of other drops of sea-water dreamt at the expectations of a clear morning were the sun be able to evaporate them into the sky.

While resting in the algae cave of the male drop of sea water, the female drop of sea water suddenly imagined them being together as two beautiful snowflakes swaying from tree to tree in the winter forest, however, even tough the male drop of sea water also felt calm and peace resting close to her, he knew that when the sun came, the wind would separate them into different currents – because that’s what the wind does – he thought.

The sun finally came and under its heat the drops waited until a sun-ray light them into vapor. She drop of sea-water kissed his love good-bye wishing to meet him on the future while. He drop of sea-water tried to grab her but he was already vanishing into the clouds.

The wind blew separating them as expected and both drops of sea water travelled the world by their own with nature condensing and evaporating their bodies  again and again.

The drops of sea water that once slept together under the green hood of the sea algae experimented all kinds of transformations during their trips. They were clean water, water in cans, water in plastic bottles, water in licor, water in mouths of all kinds of living organisms. During the autumn of their lifes they satisfied the thirst of jungle trees, forest trees, beach palms and desert bushes until the winter came.

He drop of water jumping from tree-cup to tree-cup as a shiny snow-flake noticed a perfectly polished snow-flake at the top of the farest pine and with the help of the breeze, approached the transparent ice-star from the back. The heart of She snow-flake began beating as a water pump because she knew…

Story #179

I was never really a popular girl. When i was 12, i had a really small class ( 5 boys and 4 girls including me), i had only one friend and she was a backstabber too. They made me feel useless and too poor to even live. My dad left us when i was just 6, he left me, my mom and my 2 brothers. One of my brothers is now an alcoholic.  I was only 14 when i was diagnosed with depression.

When i got 15 i changed schools. This one was even worse than the last one. They were all rich ass people. No one understood that my mom had to have 2 jobs just to keep a roof over our head. (Thank god schools are free in Estonia). A year later i met a girl, who was just like me. She had 2 brothers and lonely mom too. We are best friends now. She is just amazing. I’m 18 now, i have to work after school to earn my money and help my mom. I have no friends other than Her and few of my “internet pals”. People still stay away from me ’cause i don’t have as much money as they do and i can’t wear new outfit everyday. I’m too quiet ’cause i’m afraid to get judged. I have no idea how to end this letter haha. Thank you for reading my story.

– Kaisa, Estonia

Story #178

Within an hour of my son James’ birth the nurses suggested that I change his diaper. How they knew it was full is still a mystery.

I told the nurses that maybe I should watch them do it — it wasn’t that I didn’t want to change his diaper but this was my first interaction with a newborn, James was tiny, and I’m not the most dexterous person.

Somehow I relented and leaned into the bassinet and removed James’ diaper. Before I could move back to get the new diaper James proceeded to pee all over me.

We are coming up soon on the seven year anniversary of that wonderful moment and James loves hearing the story of how he peed on his daddy only an hour after being born. I do, too.

Story #177

New York City is a place of juxtaposition, of opposites, of balance.

New York City is a place with hundreds of streets lined with sticker carcasses, half smeared graffiti, and molding trash just as there are streets with spotless glass windows, 55′ video screens, and boutiques that sell poor quality clothing with insanely high markups because there are people rich enough to buy them.

New York City is a place where actors and actresses, late night show hosts, and big shot CEOs can find fame and acclaim yet hide in the corner speakeasy on Monday night where no one will bombard them with questions or requests for just one photograph or signature that when added together becomes hours, then days, in their lifetime that they never get back. It is also a place where a popular, well-to-do, student council president straight out of college can find anonymity and seclusion, because suddenly their accomplishments and material possessions are a dime a dozen or pale in comparison to that of a tenant in the nearby Trump apartment building.

New York City is a place where you can step into a restaurant and be expected to pay hundreds of dollars for an entree and a drink – because they have floating candles, a fountain, waiters who will lay cloth napkins on your lap, five different options of sparkling water, and salmon that is moist but has a perfectly crunchy skin. Then you turn the corner and you can be just as satisfied with chicken over rice from a Halal cart manned by a middle eastern man that works too long hours for too little money – if you can relish the taste and quantity without thinking about how it’s made, and who really knows or cares.

New York City is a place where you are among millions of people, each with a different background, story, and challenges more vibrant and complex than your own. You are surrounded by so many people, people who may converse with you, call out to you, even compliment you. And despite this, you can feel completely alone.

New York City is a place where it’s okay to step onto the subway still wearing that costume you made for a parade – medium sized seashells that barely cover your C cup breasts but still suffice as clothing and make you conservative because it’s technically legal to go topless. But it is also the place where wall street analysts put on starched collars and fitted blazers for 18 hour work days until they wear holes through their shirt where their elbows are rubbing against their desk.

New York City is a place where grand stone cathedrals under construction stand next to newly designed buildings that have windows in strange places and slanted sides that don’t make sense. “It’s aesthetics” the design student says, but the woman in her fifties – she prefers the old world architecture of the beige and mint green Brooklyn City hall buildings.

New York City is a place where you can sit at the same spot in any of the scattered parks throughout the city and see the same people – the guy with a flock of pigeons – all of whom he knows by name, the girl with brightly colored tights performing with two hula hoops, the slightly cheeky guy that plays the grand piano, the men with giant sticks connected by dirty rope and buckets of soap water to delight the children with bubbles, the break dancers that yell too much and don’t dance enough, and the sex offender carrying the free hugs sign who will charge you if you take a photo with him. It is also a place where you can sit in the same spot and see people from fifteen different countries in one afternoon, people you’ve never seen before, only get to see for a moment, and will never see again.

New York City is a place where impatient bikers will aggressively ring their bell and yell “bike lane” at the top of lungs for people to move aside, where cars are constantly honking at each other as if that will make the traffic move faster and people drive smarter, but in reality only helps to relieve the pent up frustration of moving towards their destination at a slow pace. It is also a place where strolling tourists stop to take a photo of nearby attractions every two seconds, capturing every skyline and piece of art at a rapid pace, as if their photo will be better than the millions of versions taken by every other tourist that stood at that same exact place and took the same photo.

New York City is a place where skyscrapers loom well above our heads and below us an intricate subway system that weaves throughout the city streets. The undergrounds, alleyways, street corners, and vacant lots are active and alive with dark secrets and people that live on the fringe. One block away, a gathering of startup founders are popping champagne on a rooftop bar with strings of lights illuminating their celebratory faces.

They say that in New York City, if you want it, you can find it. I found a lot more than I meant to, and not just the things I expected to find.

I found in myself a sense of adventure, a willingness to put myself in unknown situations, and an ability to stay afloat regardless of where I am or what I’m doing.

I found in my friends a refreshing sense of curiosity, incredible compassion, and ideas and dreams that push the boundaries of social confines.

And I found in the humans of New York the seeds of hope, dreams of love, quests for power, cries for help, insatiable appetites for change – raw and vulnerable voices of emotion that resonates inside all of us.

If New York City was a part of me, it would be the soul.

Story #176

There once was a lonely penguin that everyone picked on and called mean names. It made the penguin very sad. He was walking home one day after a particularly mean bullying session when he stumbled upon a bag of candy. This bag of candy was not ordinary however, it was labeled with a tag that said “Magic Candy” and in tiny print it stated “caution, extreme powers contained inside, use at your own risk”. Unfortunately the penguin was only ever taught to read normal sized print, and therefore could not read the tiny print. He ate the candy all up and started walking away when he started to rumble and bumble, and suddenly he was taller than all of the buildings in town. It only took a second for him to realize what had happened, and the only thought that went through his head was “Those bullies will respect me now”. The horrors that happened in that town when the “little” penguin got his revenge could never be undone, and the husk of the formerly glorious city is all that remains  today. No one has seen the “little” penguin since.

 

Story #175

As a comedian I toured through the most romantic cities in the world:  Rome, Paris, Barcelona & NYC. I was on an adventure to understand modern romance. I learned doing the the cliche’ things don’t really matter.

Lighting candles is nice, but the effort to create ambiance is nicer
Drinking wine is fun, but going on and adventure to find the best wine is more fun.
Going to a nice dinner is always great, but making a nice dinner is thoughtful.

I learned along the way that the effort to be romantic is more romantic than the outcome.
The single thing to take away is that action always means more than talk.

Story #174

I met a young person by the name of “Pickle” and she lives with her mom, her sister, and her dog Phina. She’s a great lego builder, couch football player, dance party-er, and good all around kid. She’s patiently waiting for Christmas and all the wonder it might bring.