Wednesday, October 13, 2010

36 here.

In the darkness of the night another age approaches. Last year was supposed to be the year when I felt the pangs of getting old, I guess. The ruling feeling of my 35th year was a general sensation of everything being simply overwhelming. And this coming from a woman who doesn’t work, doesn’t have stress, doesn’t really have deep moving revelations or anything. Yet it seemed to go by so fast. Call me shallow.

I watch these sitcoms and dramas on TV and the messages I get from each episode depends on what kind of a mood I am in that particular day, more often that particular hour. An overwhelmingly happy year was my 35th. Even in episodes where catalytic stuff happened, I thanked god or whatever for everything I had, for my children, for my life and felt reassured that I was doing well, doing my best at least and that I was at peace with myself. The uneasiness the feeling of not belonging the insecurities the craving for something I have not gotten my finger on seemed to diminish every passing day though not completely disappearing I am, once again, or seem, at peace with them.

So happy 36 to me. Two decades ago, when I was in a far far country, celebrating my 16th, in a strange unknown yet exciting tradition I felt it was just the beginning of “something.” If I were to go back and grant myself something, a wish, I would have wished that I carry that same excitement till I was 96. Still going strong at 36, though in a less festive mood, by large because my beloved isn’t here with me to celebrate, but we’ll make up for that when he gets back in a few days.

So for next year, I promise myself to go back to singing (even though I might suck at it). And play more. Mostly with my children, and a bit with life.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Tunca Tunca Tunca

I haven't forgotten about my younger son's birthday. Tunca turned 7 this summer. The below post was written sometime late June, not "on" his birthday, and seems as though I failed to post it somehow. I've added some things to the end.. So here it goes...

I know my brother will get on my case about writing yet another sappy post but hey, it's my blog and I can make it as sappy as I want (though I've realized that it's quite hard to type sappy. Sappy. Hmm. I guess you get used to it).


Happy birthday babe!

I am so proud of the way you are growing up to be such an incredible man. Pushing and shoving your way though all the difficulties you face, the way you crack us up with your sense of humor, how different your mind works from all of us (you are probably the _then_ only 4 year old who dreamed of money raining down on him when his mother told him to think happy thoughts) wipe your tears and hold your cries and move on, urge yourself and strive so hard... for everything.

I love it that you are so cuddly, that you always hold my hand whether we're crossing a street or not, that you do so many things not because I tell you so, but because you talk it out, to yourself, make a deal, with yourself, and do it, because you yourself decide that it's the right thing to do. You have wisdom, though I would appreciate if you stopped taking that left sock off your foot and leaving it places. No idea where that habit came from, but you've been doing that since you were 8 months old, and it's getting really hard to try and match socks now and I don't want you to go to school with mismatched socks.

I want to talk to those mean boys who threaten you, scare those who bully you, and make fun of those who ridicule you, yet you are so brave, and you always tell me that you will handle things yourself, even if that means being pushed around or threatened or ridiculed. Thank you for not getting me involved.

I love the way you love animals, and wonder how on earth you became so disgusted with snails. I love the way you talk to ants, and give them names, and pretend to run into the same ones all over the world.

I love you, I love the way you love your family, and I will always be proud of you, I promise.