If we were pieces of puzzles – 12/07/2016

If we were pieces of puzzle, we would start off as square blocks of one colour in childhood, able to fit in mostly anywhere, with anyone. Slowly slowly we start taking shape and earn our particular and distinct shape. I am 22 and after this summer my close group of friends of 5 years will all be married. This has never been problem for me, I have no desire to marry in the near future, but as I’ve mentioned previously, I’m a third culture kid. In puzzle words, I’m…maybe a middle blue piece of sky, could fit in many many many difference puzzles, a plain piece that can mistakenly be put anywhere until all the pieces find their rightful place. I think this is what’s happening, this close group of friends, they are all from one culture, looking at the culture and lifestyle puzzle, they all fit. We were pieces of puzzle they hung out together, hanging in the same box, getting along, but slowly slowly the pieces are falling in place, and I’m not part of this puzzle.

I feel like after this summer life will be very different. I may be wrong, it may be the medication playing with my brain chemistry, making me see things darkly.

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and now an attempt at poetry. It’s was supposed to be in the shape of a puzzle. Maybe one day I’ll draw it out properly. (Don’t look forward to this). It has to be a picture because of the formatting.puzzle pieces.JPG

 

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The opposite of Love

If I were to ask you, “what’s the opposite of Love?”, would you reply Hate?

 

I think it’s a common (in my opinion, mistaken) belief that the opposite of love is hate. I’ve talked about love before, a long time ago (I may have to revisit that blog and maybe write an update…) but for now, I want to talk about Hate.

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Suicide, or the lack thereof

Being so ill so quickly (btw, I got the first illness again) can make you feel really crappy; having a body that’s not working the way it used to, changing relationships with friends and more importantly family, having to rely on them more and this feeling of loss of independence can really get to someone. But let’s not get all emotional and psychological, having you hair thin, losing muscle mass (aka not being able to work out the way you used to) and more importantly having your skin fall off, peel off, regrow and be super dry – needing intense moisturisation every few hours and relying on anti-histamines to get you through a few hours where you need to wear suffocating clothes; talking about clothes – not being able to wear the clothes you like because they’ll get ruined because of the greasy moisturiser; all these little things, minor things, they keep tap tap taping at the back of your head and some days they overwhelm you and you think “what’s the point?”

 

The furthest I’ve gone is thinking about my will (So as not to further inconvenience others – I’ve done that enough) but I realised I didn’t have much, that ring can go to my sister, really they can choose what they want to keep, chuck what they want and donate the rest. That’s pretty much it. Then I thought about my family, especially my mum and how much of everything she’s put up with and pulled through and I stop that stupid line of thinking.

 

The other day I had a thought that triggered this blogpost, I have a question, do you think it takes more than 12 or 24 hrs to decide to genuinely commit suicide? I think so. I don’t think it’s something you decide one morning and carry out in the evening. Thing is, I’ve been living on the edge of life and possible death for a while now, 5 years to be precise. I’m on a firm “life” ground, usually its beautiful and has lush green grass and wild flowers and the sun is shining and there’s a gentle breeze; but just on the edge of my theoretical vision there’s the edge, a ragged dark edge that falls into an abyss of end. I have epilepsy, and what we’ve discovered (with me being a rebellious, in denial teenager) is that if I miss my medication twice in a row then I’ll get a grand mal seizure. Grand mal seizure can lead to death, plain and simple. I’ve already had ten (don’t ask, it’s all on that rebellious, in denial teenager) so I’m not going to be asking any doctor about my odds for the next one or anything like that.

 

“Missing my medication twice” what does that mean? I have to take medication every 12 hours, so if I forget and go about 24hrs without that drug I’m basically playing a game with my literal life on the line. That…definitely gets you thinking. Another way to look at this is that every 12 hours, I renew my will to live.

 

So it’s hard to brood suicidal thoughts and then willingly pop a pill that is basically you saying “I don’t want to risk dying” and carry on brooding like nothing happened. Then you don’t want to NOT take the pills because you don’t want to die of an epileptic fit, having bitten your tongue, banged your head on something, lost control of your bladder and other such disagreeable side effects.

 

So, ladies and gentlemen, this is why (amongst other reasons) I probably will never commit suicide, aside from the selfishness of the act and as someone I’ve heard describe it, suicide is “not ending the pain but passing it on” I personally think it’s useless. It’s quitting the game because it got a bit hard. Who does that?

 

Through all the struggles, I’m learning new things, I hope my patience has gotten much better and my empathy has grown to immense proportions. All that tap tap tapping, I hope it’s shaping me into something great, if I let all that great experience opportunity go, what kind of human would I be?

Third Culture Kid

I don’t really like labels, I don’t fit any of them and they are quite restrictive by nature. Still they help shape us and define our identity. Fitting under no label makes one feel lost and confused, one label that I not only like but which also helped me make some sense of myself (as I previously thought I was a complete and utter weirdo/crazy) is the term TCK – Third Culture Kid. It means someone who has a culture different to their parents, it’s usually from living in different places, thus assimilating the cultures from those places as well as the original parental culture and creating a “Third” culture.

This is what I am, a TCK. My parents are from Mauritius, I grew up in France and now live in the UK. Read more

Loathe Thy Neighbour – Thoughts

What a title eh? Well, it’s what attracted my attention. I’m not Christian, but I’m taught to treat neighbours well; don’t hoover at 10 pm and don’t argue at midnight (though that one is a bit more tricky). I apologise to all my neighbour in this completely useless way as they will probably never read this. That title attracted my attention, what could it be about? I like challenging, emotion-triggering titles like that. Outrage me with this title, make me pick up your book and demand explanation of this senseless title! The size of the book was also eye-catchy, even though it’s hardback, it’s lighter than most paperback, it’s tiny, truly pocket size, I pick it up and flip it over.

“What would happen if we never talked about immigration again? If we treated a person’s geographical origin the same way we treated their star sign? Well, we’d all be a lot happier, for starters…”

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The courage to forgive

I remember in my mid teen coming to term with apologising, how much strength it took, how to do it right, not to say “…but…” after saying sorry. Not giving excuses, just apologising, just genuinely saying sorry to whoever and taking whatever it was that needed to be taken responsibility of. Sometimes you’ve done or said something wrong and you say sorry for that. Sometimes you acted like a jerk, and you apologise for that. I often try to say WHAT I’m sorry about, to add meaning to it (I’m big on meaning). Sometimes I can feel something isn’t quite right but I’m not sure what, so I say sorry; or I ask if I’ve done anything wrong.

The courage needed to say sorry is real. But recently I came across something that opened my eyes to how much courage is needed to forgive. Read more

What the heck IS love?!

We only need one thing to be happy.

The 75-year Harvard Grant study –one of the most comprehensive longitudinal studies ever conducted — followed 268 male Harvard undergraduates from the classes of 1938-1940 (now well into their 90s) for 75 years, regularly collecting data on various aspects of their lives. The universal conclusion? Love really is all that matters, at least when it comes to determining long-term happiness and life satisfaction.

The study’s longtime director, psychiatrist George Vaillant, told The Huffington Post that there are two pillars of happiness: “One is love. The other is finding a way of coping with life that does not push love away.” For example, one participant began the study with the lowest rating for future stability of all the subjects and he had previously attempted suicide. But at the end of his life, he was one of the happiest. Why? As Vaillant explains, “He spent his life searching for love.”

So, the one thing you need is Love eh? what the heck is love anyway is the top and bottom line of this whole blog. Read more