I need to see!

Real emotions. Feelings. Real love in people’s eyes.

I need it to be a certitude: love still exists. It will appear like a light in lovers eyes, in their smiles or in their voices. Or maybe, the sweet way they hold each other’s hands. I don’t want metaphors. Not anymore…The blossomed cherry tree and the sweet roses will fade in the cruel evening’s wind. The white butterflies will die in the darkness of the night.

So don’t…Don’t tell me that love is a butterfly, a sweet rose petal or a sunny day…Because, if there’s anything I wont accept, that’s the ending. Love wont end. That’s why I need to see it…

-And how will you see it, if your eyes are closed? If you’re always between worlds, never truly here, never truly there. How will you have any certitude at all, if you doubt your own being. Tell me: what did you see last time when you looked into your heart?

I saw a winter that lasted four years. I saw myself frozen, alone in the cold wind. I saw my tears turning into ice crystals and piercing my soul. I saw my trembling hands closing a door. Forever. But then…I saw myself praying for that door to open again…

-The One who opened the door for you. You’re here because He loves you. So, how can you doubt Love? You don’t need to see it, you need to feel it…

That’s exactly what I mean. I need to see it in order to feel it…

-Poor child, you’re so confused. You can’t see Love in other people’s eyes, unless you have it in your heart. Do you want to keep the roses forever blossomed? And the butterflies forever alive? And the light in people’s eyes forever bright? Do you want to see real love?

I do.

-Then love. Love with all your heart, forever and a day. And forgive. Forgive yourself for the moments when the everlasting winter will kill the butterflies. They will be brought back to life again.

By the power of LOVE.

So, BE Light and you’ll see Light. And BE Love so you can see Love. Give Joy, Trust, Hope and you shall never feel alone.

The old priest smiled but in his eyes I could see he was holding back his tears. In a church full of people, why was it so hard for me to see Love? Maybe I never looked in the right direction.

So here I am, kneeling with the Rosary in my hands, willing to see deeper and beyond my everlasting winter. Willing to believe again.

Who am I without you?

I almost lost her six years ago…

I remember laying in that hospital bed, trying to cry, trying to feel…there was nothing but a dark, deep emotional void. People around me were repeating the same senseless sentences. Empty words, pointless and cruel…

“You need to be strong now…”

“Your crying is hurting her…”

“You can’t see her, if you’re in this state of mind…”

“We have no explanation for what happen, unless…maybe you’re hiding something…”

Hiding something…

I hided my tears and I replaced the pain with anger. I kept acting calm, strong and cold. I asked about my rights. I asked about her options. I started to make accusations. I demanded another medical opinion. I fought.

And in the inside…

The pain was so deep, so huge and so overwhelming that I just wanted to die. I cried till I couldn’t breath. I started to pray with desperation. I stopped believing in justice. Any kind of justice. I felt helpless, abandoned and alone…

And with her…

I held her tiny hand when no one was looking. She looked into my eyes and I knew…our story was just beginning. I told her about a beautiful place called HOME. A place of kindness and gentleness and love…a place where she will be held unconditionally. I promised her that my love will heal every wound. I smiled and it seemed that she’s smiling back.

And now…

I feel blessed for celebrating her 6’th birthday.

I can’t imagine a day without her joy, her beauty, her sense of humor, her sweet and innocent way of discovering the world.

Who am I without her? I’m grateful beyond words that I never had to find out…

 

I wave my white flag unashamed…

Because we’re always building dreams just to burn them down…

And we climb over walls just to complain when they’re too high.

We want more of that bitter-sweet nostalgia, so we never give enough to fulfill each others need…

That’s why I’m surrender. With all my heart, knowing that I tried, I fought, I struggled. Knowing that I never gave up on him. Not me…

I’m calling a truce and I’m waving a white flag because this war inside me, inside us…must end now. I need peace like I need air.

Playing tricks with my heart was never easy. And it seems I was given a stubborn heart, willing to live and to love. Again. So I surrender.

To this new feeling.  Here I am, standing with my white flag. I’m not a hero, nor a martyr and the sacrifice ends here. Love is greater than this. I surrender to love.

So, with trembling hands and teary eyes, I accept THE GIFT. And I am taking the falling. In love.

 

When you’re too in love to let it go

You broke it…

I was starring at the little pieces of red glass on the floor, the remains of (what it was supposed to be) his heart, a trophy he won at a competition. We were both around 12, on our way to a wonderful vacation by the sea.

-You played with my heart and you broke it!

-I didn’t…it just slipped through my fingers. Your heart was…slippery…

-My heart was perfect! And now it’s broken. I knew I shouldn’t give you my heart! I knew! Why have you asked for it if you knew you can’t take care of it?

-I’ll fix it…I’ll get a special glue and I’ll put the pieces back together again…

-You’re so stupid! There is no such thing as a special glue…I can’t believe I gave it to you!

The guilt overcame my anger so I spoke in a very soft voice…

-I’m not stupid…

-Yes, you are! And spoiled too! It was precious, you know? And unique…

-Look, I would give you my heart, but…

-But you don’t have a heart, right? That’s why you wanted mine! And I told you to be careful, because it’s a precious heart! But nooo…you played with it and now it’s broken!

-It slipped…

I was almost crying.

-And I hope you’ll never win any heart! And you’ll never touch anyone’s heart! And if you’ll ever have yours, I hope someone will play with it till he gets bored and then he’ll smash it to the ground!

I started to cry desperately, covering my face so he wont see my tears. He stood there for a while, cursing and talking to himself. Then he looked at me and something changed in him. He came closer.

-I’m sorry I called you stupid and spoiled.

I was too sad to answer, but the change took me by surprise and touched me in a way I never knew it’s possible. So I cried harder.

-Don’t cry, it’s alright…it was just a stupid heart. Not important…a girly thing, I didn’t even liked it…

-No…it was beautiful and precious. I’m so sorry…I…I really didn’t wanted…

-Look, if you want it…even if it’s broken…

-Will you give it to me? All the little pieces?

-Yes, silly! All the little pieces. Who knows, maybe you’ll really find that special glue…

So I wandered through the deep dark paths of this labyrinth, searching for it. And I fixed every broken heart I’ve met on my way. And I lost mine on the process…

But the little red pieces are still shining. Even if, when I try to touch them, they cut through my skin, leaving me bleeding…I’m still putting them back together, praying for a miracle.

When you look into my eyes…

Who do you think you see?

One of my friends, a wonderful woman, a sweet soul has found the love she was looking for. It wasn’t a surprise, I was praying for her for this to happen, so, today she simply confirmed what my intuition already told me. And I hugged her and we laughed together and…

And I tried to remember…

My own love story.

And I couldn’t.

I couldn’t remember feeling so careless and free. Loving with all my heart, dreaming and playing, feeling that unique passion, laughing for no reason…with him.

But I remembered me trying to fly with broken wings. And failing. I remembered him telling me “I need you” and me, with tears in my eyes and that little spark of hope burning all over again in me…

“You need me?

Yes, I do.

Why?

Because I can’t handle everything by myself. I need you to help me with this house, with the kids, with everything there is to be done…”

I remembered how the little spark died, killed by our every day boredom, sacrificed in the name of commodity and conformism. I blamed myself, at least as much as I blamed him.

And I wanted to run to him, to make him look one more time, even if it would be the last time, in my eyes. I wanted to ask him.

Who do you think you see when you look into my eyes?

And to run away from him if his answer will kill another burning flame…

I want you to see the sea rushing to the shores with the power of a thousand waves…

I want you to see the rose petals melting in the sweetest summer wind, caressing your warm skin…

I want you to see the raindrops falling on your burning heart, when this world has set your dreams on fire…

Oh, how I wish you could see the woman who goes to hell and back in every nightmare because she tried to fly with broken wings. And she failed…

Oh, how I wish you could love me again.

This western type of woman…

That I just don’t seem to be.

Strong, independent and self-sufficient. One who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. One who’s not afraid to be alone. One who doesn’t need a man to feel complete…

Those were his words. Then, he looked at me smiling. He’s from a Middle East country, but that’s only a detail. Or, maybe, it’s my way to justify his need to create a stereotype about the “Occidental woman”. I looked away, not knowing how to answer without being defensive.

And you don’t fit the profile. That’s wonderful about you!

Is it?

Long time ago (14 years) I was taking one of my (too many 🙂 ) exams to become a psychologist. I was 23 back then, very in love with my fiance (our wedding was in a few weeks after that exam). I started to talk to a group of people, all around 35-40 years old. I was the “baby” and, once I told them about my wedding…let’s just say that they shared their experience and wisdom about marriage 🙂

There was a lady (she was 37, just like I am now) who told me something about “keeping the leash short”. I looked at her with big eyes (the rest of the group started to laugh seeing me so confused) so she explained better.

Oh dear…you have to remember that you are the boss. You make the rules. And if he doesn’t obey, you simply punish him. No sex till he does what you say! That’s how my marriage works.

I was…stunned so I said something like “but that’s so unfair…I can’t do this to him…to us” so they just laughed harder. And, to make it complete, I even stumbled and fell on my way out.

Years later, once she became a counselor, she divorced. But that’s only a coincidence (right?).

Now…returning to my friend and his stereotypes…I already had a speech in my mind about the danger of judging and generalizing and about our tendency to see our values above others…But it wasn’t the case. That wouldn’t have changed anything. So I just spoke from my heart.

I told him that love is a dance. It’s about being in harmony with your partner. About synchronizing the steps even if, sometimes, you need to take a step back…This dance, this love it’s what gives us a feeling of “being complete”.

I reminded him that no one “controls” the rhythm of the dance and no one can dance alone if we’re talking about a love song.

Then, I opened my heart, telling him about that lonely moment when you’re there, on the dance floor…but he got tired. So you’re learning to be strong, even when you miss his arms around you. You learn to be independent, to walk away, to smile in the rain.

He invited me to dance and I politely said no…

He understood.

This western type of woman…me…is still dancing in her heart. And she’s still in love.

 

 

Do you know what it feels like?

I’m just a few hours away from wearing a mask…

So…in the name of authenticity and honesty, I’m going to find a nice, cozy place, here, in the blogosphere, and tell you all the crazy thoughts running through my mind. Because today…I’m still 36! But tomorrow, oh tomorrow…lucky me…I’m turning 37!

Why, oh, why…can’t I be 36 another year? I don’t like 37. When I was a child, 37 sounded like…ancient. It still does…a little. But let’s be serious for a moment, because I mentioned something about a mask. And of course, there’s a story.

I created “the mask” around 10 years ago when I noticed that the people I love feel very disturbed if I act like myself in two occasions: Christmas and my birthday. (Myself meaning: a little self-irony, a bit of sarcasm, wanting to spend my birthday on the top of the highest mountain or…on the beach enjoying the biggest tiramisu ever, dreaming of a Christmas in a little village with tones of snow and no relatives at all…and so on). So I created a sort of emotional mask.

Other wise, it will be like…

What mountain, dear? You mean you want to be alone? Oh, that’s soooo sad…

What beach, sweetie? Can’t you see it’s raining outside, like every year on your birthday? (oh, yes, the sky knows it too!)

What tiramisu, darling? It contains alcohol and the children will be frustrated because they are not allowed…isn’t it nicer if you bake your famous strawberry cake? Don’t be selfish on your birthday…

A little village? Far away? No relatives? Just you, your husband and the kids you said? Ohhh, how you’re breaking our hearts…

And, of course…Don’t be sad on your birthday, mommy…

and…Are you upset with us?

and…Why are you so sarcastic…we’re all trying to make YOU happy!

Ughhhh…

So,(since I have my mask)  instead of those written above, it will be like:

Walking gracefully wearing a nice dress, high heels and a wild orchid perfume…

Smiling sweetly, saying “Age is just a number!”…

Expressing gratitude for every (un)necessary condescend remark…

Pretending to be happy, filled with joy and love.

That’s the mask…So, in my last moments of freedom, let me just scream from the top of my lungs Nooooo…don’t take me there!!! I don’t want my 37 birthday partyyyy!!! I want back, back to 36…or better…26…or better…No, 16 was awful! And I want my beach! Or my mountain! Or…at least…a little village…can I, can I???

OK, forget the mask! Who needs it anyway? I’m smiling now and it’s nothing bitter in my smile. I already have the greatest gifts anyone can ask for: my children, the love of my husband, a home. Thank you, God, for giving me another birthday!

And, dear Mister TIME…I know we had our disagreements but…could you stop for a second? To say the magic word, to enjoy the magic feeling. LOVE.

Okay, Mister TIME, I’m ready! Let me be 37!

 

 

Love will heal our hearts

I decided that love is beautiful…

I smiled at her, remembering the tears, the long sleepless nights, the dark thoughts. She had that light in her eyes…I took her hand. “I think that’s a wise decision”. She laughed.

And you know, I didn’t wanted to see. It was there, all this time! I mean, how silly was I…to imagine that true love must hurt, other wise is not true. But it wasn’t the hurt or the pain what I was longing for…it was passion. 

I nodded. Passion? Or love?

Is it a matter of choice? Like love is pure and passion is impure? No…I wont fall in this trap again! There is more than black or white…much more! I used to think like that, like there’s only one right choice…remember where it led me this kind of thinking?

Her eyes are bright from the tears. She shows me the marks on her hands.

See? See how stupid I was? Permanent scars…Anyway, that was long ago…

I gently touched her trembling hands. “It was long ago, but it still hurts.”

No! I’m happy! I’m in love…I don’t feel guilty this time…Damn…it hurts! Why? I want a love that wont ever hurt. Happy tears, only happy tears.

She wipes away her tears, forcing herself to smile.

She’s braver than she knows. More beautiful than she sees herself.

She’s an imaginary character, but “she” can be any one of us. Or, maybe, a little voice inside our minds, telling us how “it should” or “it shouldn’t” be love. Accompanied by guilt, pressure and fears. What’s beyond them? Who are we when all the lights are fading into the darkness?

May it be love in our souls…so that our hearts could heal.

Notice me, take my hand…

There is a special kind of innocence, one that survives through the years, creating that magic light in our eyes. This morning, while I was watching my little girl running and playing through the fresh green grass, I found myself smiling and dreaming away, chasing rainbows and counting my blessings.

And I thought I’d tell you you a story…

There was, long time ago, a little girl with golden hair, sweet, intelligent and sensitive like any other child. She always dreamed of a birthday party, with children, music, cake and gifts.

It was her 6’th birthday, so her parents organized a party for her. They invited all the children from the neighborhood, selected her favorite music, made her a big cake…and the little girl was so happy, so joyful, clapping hands and dancing in anticipation…

So when the magic day finally arrived, she wore her most beautiful dress, with big pink flowers on it and a wonderful pink ribbon in her hair. Her guests brought her big, colorful gifts, things she only had in her dreams. The music begun…

She was so fascinated by those big boxes filled with toys, so amazed by her new dresses and dolls, wanting to arrange them, to touch them, to smell them…

The children started to dance and play. She wanted to dance with them but, as she came closer, she heard them speaking. And she understood…Children’s honesty can be so brutal, so cruel sometimes…There was another party and they were eager to go there. This one was too childish, too girly, too dull.

No one noticed that she’s missing at her own party. So no one went looking for her. She found a place, the same place where, a little while ago, she was hugging her new dolls and touching the ribbons from her gift boxes…

She stood there, crying, asking herself when and who’s going to search for her. Would they cut the cake without her? It can’t be…

Someone found her after all. Someone asked her why is she crying and she just cried harder. She didn’t wanted her parents to know because she felt guilty. So she just wiped away her tears, smiled and went back to her party. The cake was her favorite and she found so much comfort seeing her mommy proud and happy because the party was such a success! She even told her parents that this is the happiest day in her life!

But she never played with her new toys…

She never wore her new dresses…

She never wanted another birthday party.

The story has a happy end because she grew up to be a dreamer. She never stopped believing in this special kind of innocence that lasts through years. And today…

…today she took off her high heels and went running and playing with her little girl through the fresh green grass. It smelled like spring.

It felt like hope.

Just let it rain down over me

It’s freezing cold outside and the cruel wind reminds me of winter. What I feel is a bitter-sweet nostalgia. I promised myself that I wont slip back again into that black hole of depression, but I wont deny that this emotion becomes more intense with every day…

I miss…no, I only wish I could go back in time and just take one moment to enjoy…

The feeling of having so many paths to uncover…

Knowing that it’s absolutely alright to make mistakes…and to try again and again…

Dreaming of my Prince Charming and a love that’s going to last centuries…

Being childlike and childish sometimes…

And it’s true, I had so many chances. I had my paths and I walked proudly through light and shadows, making choices that weren’t always the right ones. It didn’t matter. My choices, my mistakes, my lessons of life. I held my head high and walked on.

And I have built a family based on love, respect and commitment , just like I promised. It took me some time to understand that my Prince Charming is only a man, with qualities and faults. A normal guy…oh, how I blamed him for not being my fairy-tale prince. How I almost destroyed our home, the only castle I’ll ever have…How I searched for princes and fairy tales in all the wrong places.

How I hated myself after. 

But he was (still) there, with his arms wide open for me. It wasn’t a fairy-tale romance, it was real life. Normality…and I love him for giving it to me.

I always want what I cannot have. This morning, in this freezing cold rain, I wanted an ever-lasting spring. Butterflies that wont die after only one day. Sparks that wont turn into ashes. To rush into the arms of a gentle storm.

Now I wish it would rain down on me. So the water from the sky would wash away this feeling…

Restless heart, why can’t you find peace?