& i aint quite got it yet …
but, as i was assembling my shit this morning (yes, as awkward as it sounds lol), i could hear little voices in my head. not the psycho-killer kind, but im sure they’re lingering lol … no, this was like an echo.
as i went to pick up the teacup (the one i posted a pic of recently), i could hear my head say: “dont break it”. it stopped me in my tracks & i felt my chest tighten.
i ended up having this longwinded fucking dissection – wait – dissection of thoughts go on for far to fucking long for my liking … with the upshot being, i drank out of that teacup, more out of defiance than anything else; whilst trying to tell myself that i was enjoying it because it was nans teacup & she’s dead now so this is like a cool little celebration of her …
& there it was.
i had turned into some new age fucking guru wanna-be, who turned everything into a fucking teaching & learning moment.
what the fuck happened?
& another little echo in my head says: cos youre an idiot.
& that made me laugh.
it wasn’t a criticism to make one curl up in the corner & rock backwards & forwards: it was MY still inner voice, who i might add, is usually pretty on point, resilient & somewhat gangstah.
i get her.
& somehow or other i think i’ve stifled her. not just the long historical silencing *eyeball roll inserted*, but more recently, a sort of shushing, that i dont usually do.
so i picked up the teacup, a.gain, poured my tea into it & guess what?
the fucker broke.
thats right, the fragile fine china that nan had quietly collected for fucking years & i’d been to scared to drink out of, or even touch for that matter … it broke.
interesting turn of events:
i felt relieved.
cos even though it broke, the rest of the world didn’t break with it. & neither did i.
what nan couldn’t say when we were younger, was that she loved that china & she didn’t want us to touch it, look at it, move anywhere near it lol, cos it was HERS & it was precious to her. instead, her only way of defending her turf was to say, ‘dont touch it, you’ll break it’, which is more a statement indicating that we were someway deficient. not just cos of this one incident, but because thats how our family related.
“dont do such in such … you’ll break it … you’ll end up dead … you’ll go to hell …”
there’s no middle ground. theres no learning. theres no ownership. theres no responsibility.
theres no fucking care.
& thats what i’ve internalised.
& now i know, i know better.
nan just wanted her own space. & so do i. i just want to do me, be me, without having to fucking apologise or justify it or reason it out or have some deep psychological reason for it.
i want to be able break a fucking cup, by accident or otherwise, & it be ok.