20180613, Wednesday

Finally I am seeing the end of this work. I started this 4 months ago, with the idea that it would help me calm down.

It works, and it does not work. Every stitch is a single memory of everything.

So I think about all, at the same time trying not to think about anything. This continuous and endless fight inside me creates more tenacious work here.

When the flowers are in full bloom and the moon is risen I may have a inner peace.

Bloom me.


Updates.
Here is the finished embroidery work.

20180611, Monday

Today I deleted my Facebook account, undone the deletion twice, and finally deactivated it instead of eliminating it permanently. So indecisive I am even with a matter of a simple social media account.

It's been a long and hard day, I kept looking my mobile phone screen and there was no single message. After few awkward meetings with my new boss, who used to be a friend but now became quite uncomfortable and only business-related relationship after the most egoistic decision he made, I was literally knackered, because my mind is full of hatred against their justification, their mean words - everything is okay because they are being honest with their feelings. I totally disagree. Many of the cases, being honest with your feelings causes injury on the other side. Being honest only with your feelings means that you do not care what I would feel after knowing yours or do not even care if I wanted to know or not.

It gets harder and harder to keep myself sane. My soul is made of so fragile material and so many cracks it has, despite of all effort to be positive and see things as they are, not from my dark perception, I am on the edge of my limit.

The month of May reminded me the first time I was touched by a guy I never wanted. Also the guy who was obsessed with the idea that I would be his and did not want me to live. Also, the guy who never learnt how to love the other and was always drunk and violent. I remembered harming myself in a dark room. I remember the face of my friend Gom, crying and holding my hand full with cut wounds, trying to cover them with character band-aid. I remember going up to the rooftop wishing if I had enough courage to jump into the eternal sleep. I remember remembering my mother's and my brother's sad face and being scattered on the rooftop floor. 

I thought it was all over, that I was in a safe place and I was strong enough to overcome what happened in my poor 20's, and it would never repeat.

Last month, after a disgusting voice mail from an anonymous (now no longer anonymous but I can't do anything) human being, and after my ex-friend/colleague who still have a family with children declared his feeling against me, and even after one of the most trusted  friend tried to touch me and in some way he achieved his goal because I was so relaxed and drunken since never expected this would happen, I fell again into the pit where I used to spend time in darkness.

Did not give all details to you because I did not want you suffer and I was also too afraid that you'd accuse me for what I did not do anything wrong. We were already had enough issues between us so I did not want to turn this into a big fire. Did I do the right thing? Now you do not understand me why I suffer so much and the fire is getting bigger it desperates us.

Meanwhile, the group of hienas are trying to bite me, saying that I provoked and played with their feelings, and I am a bad person so I must admit it, when the only thing I did was BEING MYSELF. So easy to turn themselves into a victim in a sudden way when they are the one who stabbed and still have the knife with my warm blood on both hands.

I do not feel well, I feel like leaving to a place where no one knows me and just disappear. This world sucks, people are the worst, I am so lost.

20180610, Sunday

I keep wondering what would have happened if my grandma is still alive. We would be probably not so close as we are right now. Strange story, she does not belong to this world and I could feel her everywhere as if she became a part of my soul.

Buddhism is one of the heritage she left me when she passed away. I never thought about it in my 24-years-old life (it is already 7 years ago) and when I faced her sudden death that no one from my family was prepared for, I tried so hard to find connection between us, and realized that there was any.

That was the moment I choosed her religion, so we would be connected in any ways and keep her memories alive.

Today I though a lot about her, what would she tell if she sees me. She, despite I never visited her except by the obligation until she got Alzheimer in her 90's, knew me very well. At least, that was the feeling I got. She knew that I was not made to be tied in a small country and persuaded my mother to let me fly away. Who would ever know, she was in her 90's, with Alzheimer and cancer, but had more clear mind than anyone.

Her picture is always on my neck, she keeps me alive, she makes me feel protected. After her death, she became the light on my path. So ironic, we never had a decent conversation while we were there, but after her death, we became best friend.

I would like to know, what would have happened if she had been here next to me. I miss her lullaby with the soft patting on the stomach. I miss her reading scriptures in clumsy way. I miss her white hair and her summer hats. I miss her small room with tidy closet. I miss being free and alive as she wanted me to be.