You ask why i'm thinking like that? I blame it on - patterns.
Patterns have a weird way of sticking in your brain. Have you ever noticed that its extremely hard to spot a blip in a pattern - but when you eventually do - it just sticks out like a sore thumb! You try and try to ignore it, see past it - but it disturbs you and you ache to correct it out.
That blip was me - i was the sore, pain in the ass daughter who wouldn't and couldn't behave like the other girls. My elder sister would throw the biggest fits and was genuinely the most arrogant teenager ever around - but my mom would still prefer her over me sometimes, because at least she behaved like a girl. Me on the other hand - i was a thinker. Weird right! For a women in my generation - we weren't really taught to be thinkers. We were supposed to be more like accessories - look pretty and dress tight. It was the 70's - fashion was very fashionable. Pearls, tight blouses, hair ties and the marijuana. It was everywhere. Meanwhile, I used to enjoy observing people and penning my thoughts down as poems - Poetry was my escape.
Poetry was my escape from the pattern filled world we lived in. I could add color to it as different thoughts. I could bring things to life in my imagination just by reading it and most importantly I could live this life inside my head where more was expected from me other than learning how to cook or behaving more lady-like.
One day i will hopefully share it with my daughter and she would understand where i come from. That is what i thought. I still haven't shared it with her actually- I'm not exactly sure why...or I think i do.
In Patterns vs my life - Patterns won. Even though i was a rebel in some ways - i gave in to live a "normal" life. A life which was mainly designed by our elders. A life led by compromising to the problems we faced and a life which in every way conformed to the same rules that other couples in our respectable community lived by.
Maybe I haven't shared the book with my daughter because it's the only part of me that is pure. I cant help but feel protective towards it. While my daughters lives the same conformed life - who am i to expose her to thoughts she shouldn't be thinking. That would just make me a bad mother. The patterns should be flawless .. or should they?
Patterns have a weird way of sticking in your brain. Have you ever noticed that its extremely hard to spot a blip in a pattern - but when you eventually do - it just sticks out like a sore thumb! You try and try to ignore it, see past it - but it disturbs you and you ache to correct it out.
That blip was me - i was the sore, pain in the ass daughter who wouldn't and couldn't behave like the other girls. My elder sister would throw the biggest fits and was genuinely the most arrogant teenager ever around - but my mom would still prefer her over me sometimes, because at least she behaved like a girl. Me on the other hand - i was a thinker. Weird right! For a women in my generation - we weren't really taught to be thinkers. We were supposed to be more like accessories - look pretty and dress tight. It was the 70's - fashion was very fashionable. Pearls, tight blouses, hair ties and the marijuana. It was everywhere. Meanwhile, I used to enjoy observing people and penning my thoughts down as poems - Poetry was my escape.
Poetry was my escape from the pattern filled world we lived in. I could add color to it as different thoughts. I could bring things to life in my imagination just by reading it and most importantly I could live this life inside my head where more was expected from me other than learning how to cook or behaving more lady-like.
One day i will hopefully share it with my daughter and she would understand where i come from. That is what i thought. I still haven't shared it with her actually- I'm not exactly sure why...or I think i do.
In Patterns vs my life - Patterns won. Even though i was a rebel in some ways - i gave in to live a "normal" life. A life which was mainly designed by our elders. A life led by compromising to the problems we faced and a life which in every way conformed to the same rules that other couples in our respectable community lived by.
Maybe I haven't shared the book with my daughter because it's the only part of me that is pure. I cant help but feel protective towards it. While my daughters lives the same conformed life - who am i to expose her to thoughts she shouldn't be thinking. That would just make me a bad mother. The patterns should be flawless .. or should they?
