Tag Archives: Memories

Normalcy is overrated, right?

4 Sep

Today I came across a blog post by the lovely Emmy in which she talks about the difficulties she has about explaining where she is from/what exactly made her her. I couldn’t explain it either, there is only one thing I remember about growing up which is still with me in some way – wanting to feel normal.

There is not one single definition as to what makes a life normal and another one abnormal. There are definitions as to what the adjective ‘normal’ refers to but what is a normal human being? How does he/she feel? I guess many people think of themselves as different, so here is my tale.

The first time I felt different was in kindergarten when I was asked what my father’s job was and I couldn’t answer. At that time he still lived with me and mom but I had no clue as to what his job was since he spent most of his time at home but not like a stay at home parent. All I knew was that he was not really unemployed but not really employed either as he was doing stuff that wasn’t cool. Kindergarten!Me didn’t know what to make of it so I said I didn’t exactly know; the first of many such explanations. All I wanted was to be able to say, hey, my dad is a police man, a firefighter, construction worker, secretary etc. but I couldn’t because it wasn’t the truth.

I knew from an early age that my parents weren’t happily married; in fact one of my first memories is seeing my father shove my mom into a wall so hard it left a crack in it. I heard them yelling at each other too many times, mostly about money. To this day I don’t know everything but I know enough to be sure he was an ass. The rest, I really do not want to know. I have no idea why my mom didn’t divorce him sooner but once he moved out of the house I was glad. However it was another thing that said I wasn’t normal – my parents were separated whereas all my friends at school had mostly happy families with parents that were still married and living together without yelling at each other all the time. I wanted that so badly.

In 2003 I had to have surgery on my hip which meant I didn’t have to go on the class trip to France (which I was more than happy about) but it also meant I was running around on crutches for the better part of that year, having physical therapy and all sorts of stuff. Regarding medical issues one can have, my hip dysplasia is a light weight but nevertheless none of the other kids had to explain why they needed surgery. When they were on crutches, it was because they had broken a bone or sprained their ankle like normal kids/teens.

Of course this post couldn’t be complete without talking about being gay since it took me so long to accept that about myself. I have a very specific memory of thinking “Please don’t let me be gay, please, I want to be like everyone else”. I was in fifth or sixth grade by then, maybe even younger. So for the next ten years I wasn’t gay, I was trying to find boys exciting but I failed miserably. When a boy tried to kiss me (at least I think that’s what he was doing) in seventh grade, I just ran away. I had no problem flirting with him over text messages but heaven forbid we were face to face. Back then, I didn’t realise why I ran away from him, or why I didn’t feel what I was supposed to feel about the next one, in retrospect it makes sense though.

To this day I feel like the odd kid out, I frequently cannot remember German words while I know the exact right phrase in English. I watch shows that none of the people around me have watched whereas I don’t keep up with crappy reality TV like everyone else. There are things I feel like someone my age should have experience by now, like falling in love, being in a relationship, going on a date and all that stuff. I don’t have a father anymore, or a mother. I keep the biggest part of my online life secret from most people in my life except my closest friends because they don’t understand why I live online like this. I hardly ever felt normal. I still don’t. Maybe that is a lot of bullshit, lots of people have weird things going on in their lives, I am by far an exception and normalcy is overrated anyway. Just sometimes I’d like to be able to see the normal, easy road ahead of me instead of the unpaved road I usually travel on.


Where Can I Reset My Dream RAM?

15 Mar

I’m used to dreaming a lot of rubbish and watching Doctor Who is not always helping my dreams being more realistic these days. For instance, I recently dreamed I was the Tenth Doctor and dressed as a waiter on some weird space-ship. I don’t remember what else was happening because after I got back to sleep my memory started to fade away and the next time I woke up again I had the Alanis Morissette song I listened to the night before stuck in my head.

It’s also not new to have one dream element recurring over and over again; it usually happens before exam periods where I cannot move fast enough while I’m chased by murderers. Lately though, there is one recurring element I could do much without and I don’t exactly know why it’s there or when it will leave again. I’m dreaming of my dead Mom only that she is not dead anymore. SAY WHUT??

Yep, she is alive but not in the good before-cancer way, more like cancer-free but still as helpless as with cancer. In those dreams I know she is dead and then she comes back and I again have to take care of her. It’s not scary in a “OMG my dead mother is still alive” kind of way but more of an annoying “OMG again with the taking care thing?”. I don’t wake up screaming because for a moment I thought her death was all a dream, no. My subconscious is always aware of her death. I’m actually glad to wake up because I know it was only a dream, that I won’t have to relive my worst days.

I don’t know a lot about dreams, I never had psychology classes or stuff like that. Nevertheless I believe to have a good grip on myself except for that one time but this, I don’t get just yet. Maybe it will leave me again soon but as I don’t understand where it came from, I will not know how to get rid of it. Stress dreams disappear once the source of the stress is gone but with this? I can only wonder if it has to do with my anger loosening even though that hardly makes sense to me.

As I write this I see multi-coloured particle clouds rising to the sky as a visualisation of feelings moving on. I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense at all. I probably watched way too much Doctor Who in addition to not even being able to adequately describe what I see. Maybe my memory is regenerating?! Ok, I’m just gonna stop here hoping that putting thoughts to paper will get rid of them. It usually does. If not, I’ll be stuck with these weird dreams for a while longer as much as I could do without them.

I Miss You. I’m Strong.

13 Feb

I didn’t even give you a present last year because I was too busy taking care of you, of the house, our lives and myself. Do I regret it? Not really. I’ve never believed in material presents. While it is nice to get them, what do they really say? – “Here, I tried to come up with something so you feel worthy to me.” That has never worked for me. Just bake me a cake and I’m fine. Write me a card and I know you were thinking about me. I don’t appreciate expensive gifts because they imply that the value of a gift correlates to the value of the gift-givers love for you which is just stupid.

Do you remember the time I drove you crazy because all I wanted for my birthday was the complete works of Shakespeare and some obscure Russian literature and you wanted to give me something special?  You didn’t understand how special books are to me. Sorry, this is not supposed to be about me but about you. Oh heck, it’s about both of us.

You knew I wasn’t saying I don’t love you less because I didn’t have a gift for you. You said it was okay. And what do you give a person you know is dying for their – what you presume – last birthday anyway? I was at a loss and to be honest. I don’t even remember what we did on this day last year.

I remember others though. One birthday we spent on a cruise around the Emirates. One time I made you a cake and had to hide it from you because I made it the day before and I tried so hard to get the smell out of the house so you would’t know. You said, you have had no clue but was that just motherly of you? Trying to make me feel good because you knew what I did but didn’t want to spoil it for me? Guess I will never know now. Another year I gave you a poem. Not sure you knew what to make of it but it’s how I communicate. With written words not spoken ones.

Oh Mama, I miss you so much! Not that I would enjoy telling you how my thesis is progressing or what is going on in my love life these days but the thing is. You’re not asking me anymore. I’m not waiting for you to come home from work anymore. All the mess I find in this house is mine now and that is something I don’t miss at all because as much as I love you, you were also a little messy.

Today, the sun is shining. It’s cold and the ground is white from snow. A beautiful winter day. But you’re not here to enjoy it with me. Are you watching me though? Like I imagine you do? Are you sitting up there in heaven with Grandpa chatting about the people you left behind and wish you didn’t have to?

This is really stupid but I’m proud that I’m sitting here crying because for so long, I couldn’t. Even though I miss you every single day, I don’t let the sadness that still competes with anger on a few days overwhelm me. I can only let it out in bits. I am fine, please don’t you worry about me. I understand the circle of life like I understand 1+1=2 just some days are harder but they are few in numbers. You do know that this is just me me being me and not a representation of my feelings for you when don’t break down into a puddle of sadness every time I think of you. I’ve made my peace with your passing even long before you did but I also know that it’s not weakness to be sad every once in a while.

The last picture we took together.

Happy Birthday, Mama!

I love you. I miss you.

Did I actually just hit publish?

15 Jan

In sixth grade I filled an entire exercise book with crappy poems. In class, I covered every open space in my homework diary with little stories and thoughts instead of listening to the teacher. I lent said exercise book to a classmate back then, she moved away shortly afterwards and I never got it back.

In eleventh grade I started taking part in an online community where we were given a short paragraph every month and had to build a crime story around it. We commented on each others stories, rated them and in the end a winner was declared for each month. Never mind that it was a marketing move created to sell the book series and that I never won anything because the other people were adults and had much more experience in writing stories than I did. I loved the shit out of that community and was extremely sad when it was taken down because they had promoted all of their books.

In twelfth grade,  I rather jokingly declared during a PE lesson that I wanted to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature one day.

Here I am, about seven years later and I haven’t even written a crappy poem in years much rather a short story. Last night as I was about to fall asleep I suddenly had an idea for what I wanted to write but I didn’t get up. I knew I would forget what it was in the morning and I did. It wasn’t even that important to me anymore. But I also didn’t want to actually start writing then and there because that would have meant me being up well past my bedtime and I had to go to uni the next morning.

It is a strange feeling, finally having an idea you want to put on paper, to form, mull over in your head and expand into a whole story. For me, those ideas usually come at the most unwelcome moments – when I’m about to go to bed or cannot fall asleep. There is something about being in the dark, being tired but not too tired to think clearly that just screams writing moment at me. I usually don’t follow my instincts though because, as I said, the rare moments I feel like this are ill timed.

I guess I will never be the writer my 17-year old self wanted to be so badly. I haven’t even written a story in years much less do I possess the ability to write well or create interesting plots or follow through with anything. I cannot help but wonder if I traded in creative writing for blogging. Maybe not fully but at least to some extend. On here, I don’t have to write conversations, think of a plot that does actually make sense. Instead, I write what is on my mind and am fortunate enough to have people read and (sometimes) comment on it. Blogging is just so much easier but I do miss the fiction writing. I’d like to write something semi-biographic as I’m sure most writers do, they draw from their own experiences. I want to write mysteries and love stories and mush them together into one great novel but I feel like a phoney because what do I know about love and mystery plots? Everything I know comes from TV shows I watched and books I read.

Maybe one day, when I’m old and grey and actually have the time and experience to tell something interesting I will be able to do it. Until then, I will continue to bore you with trips down memory lane and random crap about my life, until then:

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

-Tina Fey-

Mixed Signals from Granny

21 Oct

My granny is the person I love most in the world, I hate to see her hurting or not doing well. She is like a parent to me. Now that Mom is no longer with us, Granny and I have sunday lunch together because it’s nice and it would be stupid for both of us to sit at home alone and eat in solitude.

For as long as I can remember she has told me stories of her life, how it was growing up during WW2, what Grandpa was like, how their life together was and what it meant to build their own business. I don’t really remember Grandpa because he died 20 years ago and was sick a long time. But through these stories I know what kind of person he was and I’m glad for it because he made Granny happy. It breaks my heart that she has to spent so much time without him.

Some of the stories I heard multiple times while others are new to me. Only recently her stories subtly changed their message or so I perceive them. They are about marital life and how a woman should treat her husband, that there are other ways to get back at him, if he treated you unfair, than to yell at him or get in an argument. Let him sleep out his hangover, the pain will be punishment enough for him. And so on. I could be wrong but these stories are coming up more and more often and I wonder if she is trying to hint I should find a boyfriend/potential husband. She doesn’t know that I’m a lesbian, not because she is a racist but mostly because I’m a rather private person and even though I know she has nothing against homosexuals in general it’s still a bit terrifying to tell her. I don’t want to rock her world again so close after Mom’s death.

I never brought home a guy, never been in a relationship with one as far as she knows. Even though I don’t particularly look like a stereotypical lesbian except for my footwear, it’s also not a big surprise that I prefer women. But one only sees what one wants to see so I guess this option never crossed her mind.

On the other hand, Granny is terrified that I might fall in love with a man over the internet, and he will rob me of all my possessions and money. Or that he turns out to be an axe-murderer, rapist or whatever her imagination comes up with. Thank you very much TV for fuelling her imagination! She recently told me, that she woke up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare like that. I get that she is worried and cares so much for me but in most cases I’m a grown-up and not stupid. Just because my mother married an idiot does mean I’ll do the same.

It’s like she cannot even  make up her own mind whether I should find a man or become a nun. I try to tell her to not worry so much and I keep wondering if my coming-out to her would actually change her worries or only deepen them. Same sex marriage is partly legal in Germany. It’s called civil union and is like marriage in some points and totally ignorant in others like adoption and tax benefits. I suppose it wouldn’t even make her worry less. It would be like tomayto – tomahto to her and she’d hand me my convent application.

Christmas will be in about 8 weeks and even though we haven’t discussed where we will celebrate this year (even though I’m leaning towards spending it at my uncle’s house) I think it will be a good time to come out to my family as all of them will be together and none of them knows yet. I’m not sure if I will actually go through with it but it would be a proper opportunity at least.

Should and Shouldn’t

15 Jun

I shouldn’t have eaten the bag of potato chips yesterday.

I shouldn’t be eating the donuts I just bought.

But I do eat them, because my will is pretty weak when it comes to food. And I’m mostly ok with it. I gave up on having the perfect model figure a long, long time ago.

Life isn’t always about doing what you should do. For example, I should be writing on my project at the moment but I ended up on WordPress procrastinating instead.

Blogging has been a great experience so far, I got to know people around the globe I wouldn’t have gotten in contact with if it weren’t for blogging. It also helped me in ways I didn’t know I needed help. Every time I write something and hit the ‘Publish’-button it sets me free a little bit more, especially with the harder stuff I went through so far this year with my mom being sick and dealing with it.

It’s being said that, when you go through rough times, it’s when you really do your soul searching. I’m no stranger to hard times. It’s been ten years since that saturday morning the police rang our doorbell to arrest my father for tax fraught or something like that. My mom was not there, she was at work, like she sometimes did back then. I was really terrified, not because of my father being put in jail but because of what this would mean for my mom. Things were always difficult because of him. I guess this is why I don’t miss having him in my life. I’d love to have a dad right now, someone who would help me take care of mom but I know it’s not the father I have that I want. Does this sound harsh? Well, it’s true.

I’m an honest person, sometimes way to direct and therefore not made to be a diplomat even though I once considered it a career opportunity. If you give me a birthday present, it’s not hard to read my mind whether I like it or not. I know I should just try and be polite but I’m not. I’ve gotten better at it by now but I suppose people can still tell that even if I say ‘thank you’ and ‘oh that is so cool, I like it very much’, I’m lying and I don’t like to lie. My father was good at lying and I don’t want to be!

People should be honest with each other.

But are we always honest with ourselves? Do we even know it when we aren’t?

I didn’t.

And I didn’t know that it was even possible to hide from yourself, especially when you’re an introvert like me who thinks and thinks and thinks about thinking. I was dishonest with myself though and that’s what I learnt in the last months.

It’s ok to be who we are.

‘I’m not afraid anymore.’ This thought hit me yesterday while I was waiting for a friend to go to a concert. I’ve always felt a little different from others. It started in kindergarten when I didn’t know what to answer when one of the other kids asked me what my father’s job was because I honestly didn’t know. All the other kids had dads with normal jobs but not me. I still don’t know what he does and it’s been 20 years since kindergarten.

If you’ve made it this far though this post then you’re certainly asking yourself what I’m trying to say, what the whole point of my trip down memory lane is all about and if I even have a point. Well,…I do, of course. This is not my typical rambling. I’m only prolonging the moment here, to get more time to decide if I should put it on this blog or not. But then again, why am I writing under a nome de plume if not for anonymity, right? So, it shouldn’t be a difficult decision. I shouldn’t be afraid to send this out into the infinity of cyber-space and I’m not. So I’m just gonna say it:

I’m not straight.

How could it take me so long to figure this one out? Well, I honestly don’t know. At least, there are a lot of things in my life that make more sense to me than they did before.

Now, I’m going to hit the ‘Publish’-button once again and let yet another piece of myself float into the nothingness of the blogosphere. I’ll see if it makes me feel freer…

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