Parents be Good to Your Children

I am in the middle of getting ready for a trial that starts tomorrow. This means that I have been working 14-16 hour days, 7 days a week for the last couple of weeks. So, imagine my surprise and delight when I got an email from my grandmother this morning. But, of course, I have such a wonderfully dysfunctional family. This is what it said:

Malina,

I have found that you love to treat your mother and me very poorly. You seem to prefer your father and his ugly wife. She is not only ugly outside but inside as well. It has been nearly a year and I have yet to get a picture of your wedding. I now know that you do not plan to let me have one. I am tired of playing your ugly games. You send me the cheapest gift you can find at Christmas which is a small box of pears. I don't even like pears and they have spoiled both years you have sent them. You have become a constant liar like your father! That is the thanks we get for being the responsible ones. We were the ones (your mother and I) who stepped up to the plate and raised you. Your father was too busy running around with other women and he was not to be trusted with small children. He was not interested anyway. He grew up in a dysfunctional family. What is your excuse? Your friends in Delaware have noticed your disfunction and mentioned them to us when we were there for your wedding! It must be inherited. Thank God your sister has not been around your father most of her life.

Your Grandmother

Thanks, Grandma. I don't really know much about my parents' dysfunctional marriage and subsequent divorce. But I do know that the bit about my father not being around or being trusted is revisionist history. The most important thing, though, is that the above is the exact reason I prefer not to interact with my mother's side of the family. All they do is complain and criticize me. Talking to my dad and his ugly wife is so much less painful! They don't yell at me or accuse me of having bad genes. They just ask me how my life is going and tell me about theirs.

So I guess the moral of the story is.... do unto others as you would have done unto you.

Amen.

P.S. I don't care what she says, I LOVE Harry & David's Royal Riviera pears. MMMMMM. This year, I'm keeping hers for myself.

They Look Like Big Strong Hands

I have been struck by a romantic partner on two different occasions. The first time, I was in college. I was young, fit and was a serious participant in martial arts. I don't even remember what the argument was about any more, but he suddenly strode over and slapped me across the head. I was stunned. And then he did it again. I was in a panic, all I wanted was for him to stop hitting me. So I just reacted. But I did not karate-chop him, I didn't kick him, I didn't flip him or engage in hand-to-hand combat. I grabbed his neck and dug my nails in. For some reason, this brought him to his knees.

My reaction to the whole matter was probably a little strange - I felt humiliated that I hadn't done something spectacular - kicked him in the face, punched him in the gut, flipped him over my shoulder into an arm lock. What I did was "girly."

Let me pause here to say that I have long considered myself to be a feminist, an outspoken advocate for equality for all women. Not only that, but I felt that I was a liberated woman who could protect herself from an attacker, someone who wouldn't take guff from an abusive relationship.

After the fight I called an abuse hotline and they told me we should go to counseling. I relayed this to the boyfriend. "No way," he told me, flatly. So you know what I did? Nothing. Not a thing. He never hit me again and we ended up dating for two two more years.

Fast forward ten years and now I'm married. I got into a crazy argument with my husband. He was acting erratically (we had been drinking) and I thought he was going to hurt one of my pets, so I shoved him. And he shoved me back. So I kicked him. And we ended up in a fight that involved him slapping me across the head twice very similarly to the fight I was in with that boyfriend ten years ago. He ended up with more bruises than me (actually, I didn't have any), but still.

I'm going to pause again and tell you that we're both highly educated, employed professionals. We travel and we give to charity and we try to be good members of society.

So did I divorce my husband? Insist that we go to counseling? No. A few days later, we promised not to hit each other anymore and we went on with our lives. So there it is. I essentially did NOTHING about it. And you know what? If he had really hurt me, I can honestly say that I'm not sure I would leave. Some kind of strong, empowered feminist, right?

The identity crisis I have suffered after getting married has been pretty hard on me and now I guess I don't even qualify as someone who stands up for herself anymore.

"Rockbiter: They look like big, good, strong hands, don't they? I always thought that's what they were. My little friends - the little man with his racing snail, the Nighthob, even the stupid bat - I couldn't hold on to them. The Nothing pulled them right out of my hands. I failed.

Atreyu: No, you didn't fail. I'm the one who failed. I was the one who was chosen to stop the Nothing. But I lost the Auryn. I can't find my luck dragon so I won't be able to get past the boundaries of Fantasia.

Rockbiter: Listen, the Nothing will be here any minute. I will just sit here and let it take me away too. They look like good, strong hands, don't they?"

-The Neverending Story (1984)

And there was dark, and there was light - another day

Things have evened out and my S.O. and I have mostly stopped bickering. It has been nice to finally be at peace with each other. Some friends of mine, who have been married for some years, keep telling me that everything is cyclical. And it's true. Day and night, high tide and low tide, and happiness and angst at home.

I started my new job some months ago and am continually amazed by the attitude of those in my new office. They seem to get along well and they make continual jokes and fun of each other. They also shake their heads at each other and, to some extent, it makes me think of a family: everyone is crazy but you put up with them as good naturedly as possible. Of course, I've only been here to months so my rose colored glasses are still on. It's just a question of making it to the next cycle.

No one knows this more than me...

One of my favorite Norah Jones songs begins:

Summer days are gone too soon
you shoot the moon
and miss completely...

I certainly can relate to that sentiment. It also reminds me of a quote my seventh grade English teacher was particularly fond of. I can't recall who said it or the precise wording but it was something to the effect of "Our feet may be stuck in the mud but we still can see the stars."

I am melancholy again today. I continue to struggle with how to deal with the process of becoming a married woman. I am extremely frightened to make the change from single person to married person. I think that such a fundamental change in identity is taken rather lightly by our society, the focus instead being on things like white dresses and table settings. I mean, really, how many articles are out the about The Dress? Who cares about The Dress when what's looming is a commitment so big that I have trouble grasping the concept?

Which reminds me of another quote (I guess I'm on a quote kick today):

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

And so I am going through the difficult process of turning myself inward to my home and my relationship, forsaking all others. It's funny, I always thought it was a bit extreme to include a term like that in a wedding ceremony; it sounds like an expectation that you turn your back on your family and loved ones. I've come to discover that's not entirely what's meant and that, to some degree, there is a level of forsaking all others even while you keep close those you love.

I have come to this realization in a close examination of my life. But doing that - forsaking all others - has proven to be emotionally difficult. Which means loss. And grief. And mourning.

I know it's right but that sure doesn't make it easy.

Know Thyself

Last night I sat talking to one of my friends about a recent fight with my S.O. It was a pretty big fight. We were supposed to be going away for the weekend to spend some time together. We were meeting in a resort town about an hour and a half from where we live, but I was late. Four hours late. Yeah. Pretty bad, right?

I didn't think he'd mind, I figured he'd be off goofing off, not missing me at all. It turns out, he was sitting in the room waiting for me. After trying in vain to reach me on my cellphone he finally got so pissed off he just hopped in his car and drove home. When I arrived he was gone. Then he called me and told me that our relationship was over. I was hysterical. My friend and his wife offered to come get me so I wouldn't have to drive all the way home by myself.

"Make sure you answer your phone," my friend said as they were leaving. "I know you."

But then, my S.O. called back and said he was coming back. For dinner. And to talk. I have never been so relieved in my life.

A few days later my friend decided that the best way to help would be to provide insight into my shortcomings (what are friends for, after all?) I must communicate better. I must keep my cellphone on so I'll know if someone is trying to find me. I must let my S.O. know where I am, even when I'm embarrassed to tell him that I'm late.

After a silence overtook the conversation, my friend asked about his shortcomings.

"You're arrogant," I told him. Of course, he denied it. "You know you are," I told him. "But I think it started out as a persona you adopted because you thought it would get you where you needed to be. These days, you don't think about it much any more."

He looked at me and smiled and, in that moment, I knew that he was relieved. Because it is a relief to be known.

γνῶθι σεαυτόν

A Little Bit of Me

Well, my office is cleaned out and all my things are in boxes in the garage. A friend was updating me on office news, telling me about how a co-worker decided to move into my old office from her much larger office.

"It was pretty funny, watching her try to fit all of her things into Malina's office," he said. Malina's office. It made me feel good that he still ascribed ownership of that office to me, even though I'm gone. It's good to be remembered when you're gone.

I brought the pictures that had hung on my office walls into the house I share with my significant other, and today I walked around looking for places to hang them. They are nice pictures, some of them original art from my native land, and hanging them up brought beauty and color to our house.

It struck me that the things that had hung on the walls in my office were more beautiful, so much nicer than what was otherwise displayed in my house. The atmosphere felt better after I hung them. It's hard to explain, but somehow the house felt cozier, homier, like there was more of me there.

That little bit of me had come home. And that made me wonder if perhaps the act of doing such a thing represented a refocusing of energy, myself. Perhaps I am turned toward this place I live now - my home - instead of toward my work or the outside world. Or maybe that's just ridiculous.

The End of Today

It's raining today. And I feel tired and a bit muted. And pensive. I worked on cleaning out my office last night, and it was difficult for me even though deep down I am happy to be leaving. But I'm also not happy to be leaving. I didn't make the choice to leave; I am being kicked out. But, still, some of my best friends work here and I will desperately miss being able to run into their offices to share the latest funny story, upset or gossip.

I had an incredibly difficult time going home last night. I felt that maybe I should sit a vigil in my office until the first rays of light began to shine through the window. Sit by the side of my dead job to say goodbye one last time.

My significant other can't understand my angst. "It's just a job." I suppose it is, that's true, but for a number of years now it's also been a big part of my identity. So, at the end of today, I am going to walk out of here a new Malina. Maybe the sun will be shining by then.