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~Well Well Chanel

24 Sep
A few months ago I wrote a post in complete and utter anger to Coco Chanel in regards to something she always used to say; “Don’t spend time beating on a wall, hoping it will transform into a door.”
No, I’m not taking my words back at all. In fact, f**k you Coco Chanel for your blunt stupid words that take hope away. I’m bringing up that post simply because we were beating on that wall, so hard and at times that we’d crumple in tears and in vain we’d sob. I wished, I prayed with every fibre of my being and soul that this wouldn’t be the outcome. We all wanted to take my mother’s place, the world would be better if she stayed and we went. I’m bringing up that earlier post because I want to reflect. Reflection is good. 

The entire time we were moving on a crumbling dance floor, it was coming out from under us and yet the only thing we could do was continue forward. What choice did we have?  We can’t just jump off this crazy train and say “Alright, I’m done, tired of this, I need something new and exciting.” No. The choice was made for us, and it’s too bad you know? Cause we’re all such control freaks; for something like this to happen beyond the reach of our grasping fingertips; it’s unimaginable. What on earth? How can this be? How will our world continue to spin without such love and beauty, devotion and care?

Well it must spin on, I guess. I am beyond thankful for my family and we’ll move forward together…

A few months ago, when my family discovered what Mom was suffering from we, none of us, understood the gravity and the result of the circumstance. But here we are now, and it’s been a week and day since my family has said goodbye to mom. It’s surreal. I can’t even think to describe the ache and the weight of hurt our hearts feel. Only those who have also lost someone so dear and precious will comprehend…hardship is not relative, hardship is hard.

A few months ago, I had believed with all my aching heart that Mom would recover, because loosing her would mean living without her. Of course I’d thought Mom would go to the hospital, have the extra bout with chemo, come back and she’d be ok, not fine, not great, but ok, she’d be alive. I’d even signed up to do a FearlessChallenge thinking if I threw myself into this… ugh. My heart and my head were floating on a cloud of illusion and they’ve come down now. Because now Mom is gone and yet, not really gone.

BUT, and here it is Coco Chanel; I’m not angry. Of course I’m hurting. Of course I’m broken. Of course I miss her terribly, and I hate that I can’t hug her or tell her I love her. BUT I am not angry. You know the clichés are true? I feel my mom everywhere. No I’m not crazy. I feel her, and I talk to her always. It’s a constant conversation. Here’s the thing, even when I was living in Beijing, I would talk to mom, when I got on a plane I’d say; “Well Mama, here we go again…”I wish I’d told her that. Now I know that she won’t see the photos I take or hear about my adventures I have. But I’m not angry Coco Chanel.

There is beauty if you choose to find it. On September 20th, the day of Mom’s funeral, the sun was shining and it was my nephew’s birthday. He turned seven. And when we came home from saying goodbye, there was a rainbow waiting for us. There was pain and there was life and throughout the entire day I felt Mom just smiling away.

smiling mom

We were hammering on that wall and I truly do believe it turned into a door. I truly do Coco Chanel. It’s not the door I had wanted it to be, but it’s a door none-the-less.

That being said, we will forever and always love and miss you mom. That won’t change.

Us happy people gotta stick together.

Giving won’t bring my mother back it will let someone else keep theirs. Please check out blood.ca to find a clinic and give.

Oh hello hi! Have a Happiness Experience you'd like to share? Well share it here by sending me an email (triciamariadm@gmail.com). AND after you've done that the paradigm of logic states you should like FindingFelicity on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/findingfelicityproject) Pretty please help me spread a smile, and some awareness. Muchos Gracias! Merci Beaucoup! 谢谢! 
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Weekly Photo Challenge: Lunchtime

15 Mar

Nothing could be better than dining with family, munching and crunching on each other’s pests. Having a grand old time.

As to what goes into this lunch; I’m certain a keen eye and a well developed sense of what should stay on the body and should not.  Unfortunately to show what is actually being eaten for this particular lunch, I would have to get dangerously close.

These monkeys aren’t the friendly, take-a-photo-of-me kind. Once after taking a photo, a large one that had teeth this big, pursued me, and stole my crackers.

Henceforth I kept my distance. But still doesn’t it look like the ideal meal?

Family Meal

Community Pool: “Shutterbug”

10 Mar

In a pattern of hexagonal holes carved into marble on the west side of the Taj Mahal. This man told me that I’d get a view of the “other-side” if I took a photo. He promptly motioned with his index finger the clicking motion one would do with one’s camera.

I nodded and shoved my lens through the nearest hexagon. This is what I saw:
DSCN3029

the Experiment.

6 Mar

*First before you begin. You must read the entire post to reach the point of what I’m writing. 

Side Note:

When I started blogging a few years ago, I thought to myself; “A random publisher, a random millionaire, would find me…tell me I’ve got talent and then say ‘let’s make you famous’.” And then I’d say, “Of course.”

Just do. Leave it there, if it comes, let it come, but don’t look for it. ~ Swami Satchidanada

So I’ve a good 10 “likes” on one of my earlier posts and well in my mind that’s just as good as being famous. Heck, the world knows me now! Am I right or am I right?

***

Throughout my days at my beloved high-school, I was quite obsessed with perfection (as mentioned in my earlier post titled Rambling). Yes, during that time in my life, I allowed myself no deviance, no obscurities, no mishaps. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never dated. If I wasn’t perfect, I’d berate my intellect with harsh comments as if it were an unclean rag.

My formula for life followed the integral rule:

(a negative)(a negative) = a positive.

How does it work?

Let’s say one week I knew I had a huge test coming up. I’d study for hours, write out my notes, memorize, practice, quiz myself and test my knowledge. Like a good student would.

The test day would come, I’d write my test. Then promptly upon exiting the test room, convince myself beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had failed. How could I have passed? I wasn’t bright, I wasn’t brilliant. Yes I had studied, understood and learned what I was meant to. But in the end did it show?

I’d whirl myself into a tizzy, lure my brain into the belief that indeed, “No, I wasn’t smart, I had in fact, failed.”

My logic was that if I made myself believe the worst upon the worst, then when I got the test back and I had failed, then I’d be ready. But, if I got the test back and I’d “aced” it, then the enormous amount of happiness in my heart would be that much greater.

Another example. A certain fellow wants to get to know me more, we hang out. I convince myself that the only reason this is happening is…(you list the reasons). I make myself believe those things, so that when the roof falls through the ceiling; I’ll be ready.

It works.

All throughout high school, throughout college. Practice makes perfect and so over time I’ve become adept at making myself believe the worst. I’m in top form. And I continue to do it. Throughout life I let myself believe the absolute worst about my situation, so that when the worst happens, I’ll at least be ready.

Until recently.

I read an article about positivity. I don’t remember where. I don’t remember who wrote it. But I have it stuck in my mind and it surfaces when those ever so convincing thoughts surface.

In the article the formula for life followed the integral equation:

(a positive)(a positive) = a positive

Meaning if I send out positivity, positivity will find its way back to me.

***

experiment time.

So I’m experimenting with this new formula. I’m thinking those positive thoughts, sending them out into the world and I’m waiting to see what happens in a situation.

The situation:

Met a guy. We hit it off so to speak. Usually I’d think, “Nothing will happen.” BUT on the positive strain I’m forcing myself to believe “Something will spark!”

We’ll see won’t we?

Clenched Teeth & Baby Faces

6 Dec

English: Beijing subway system Dawanglu statio...

China. Beijing. The land of many many people. They’ve got pulses. Hearts that feel.

So do I.

There’s a soft and steady tap as I walk under the bridge near Guomao (国贸); Dawanglu specifically. My only thought is getting home. “Gotta get home. Gotta get home.”

Guomao

I can’t lie, I’m excited about the 50 kuai bottle of wine I’m carrying in my right hand. It’s from Chile, Cabernet Sauvignon, specifically La Cara. Not my favourite, it’s not the best, but it’s a red and I always enjoy hongjiu (紅酒) . Let’s be honest here, it’s a $8 CAD bottle of wine. Ha!  Definitely not the best. But I like drinking wine…what can I say?

I’m content. Happy. And things are seeming to go my way. Maybe work is not as great, maybe now there are problems and my boss isn’t the best. Maybe the fellow I like isn’t answering my texts, or whatever. Let’s be clear:

I don’t care. Meh…

I come walking at my jet speed; I learned it from my mother, and then I see them. I’m crossing the Dawanglu bridge and I see them. A tall Chinese man, very thin, chasing a shorter man around a small three-wheeled tuk-tuk so to speak.  Another man comes, he’s holding something. Staring is something I’m good at. So I do. I grit my teeth and I stare.

The third man holds a hammer and he starts hitting the shorter man with it. The tuk-tuk belongs to the shorter man. How do I know? He’s wearing knee-pads and his coat barely fits. He’s barely living. He’s surviving.

Soon there are ten short Chinese men running at him and then the short tuk-tuk driver is on the ground and they’re hitting him.  Crow-bars appear from no where, lead pipes seem to pop into their hands. They’re punching him. Kicking him. I’m still staring and they see me.

They say ” Foreigner, she doesn’t understand.” (她不明白.)

I do. I understand. But what can I do? What can I say?

Now these thoughts are floating in my head. After-all I am foreign. I am a woman. I speak Chinese but only on a basic level. Are these excuses?  What should I do? Dear Lord what should I do? I stare. I stare and I stare.

I stare as they carry this man to a van. I turn away and I hear screams. That’s all and there are a few others who are staring with me. They are native speakers. A man and I exchange a long look. But he looks down and continues to walk. There are people who can do something, but it’s not their job. “Why do something that you’re not paid for?” Why stick out your neck for someone who potentially did something wrong? Justice. It’s lacking.

So what’s worse? A land full of people who won’t take a chance? Or a person who could have stuck out her neck and didn’t? I continue to walk. Damn. DAMN. I am so angry.

Subway: Line 1 to Xidan. Subway transfer: Line 4. Renmin University (人民大學). At the Wangfujing stop a baby runs on. His smile is as big as his pudgy face. Soon he’s crying to his mom, stretching his arms up, he wants to be held. Carried.

His eyes meet mine and we begin to make faces, well I do at least. I puff out my cheeks, make a fish face.  Yeah that’s right. I went from witnessing a gang beating, to making a little child laugh.

The cuteness of the situation dissipates and that adorable baby becomes the annoying baby. Spoiled, loud, crying. I transfer to line 4 and then I see a mother and daughter. They are cold to each other. Uncommunicative. They don’t even talk. I think of my family.  I consider my father, my mother, my older sisters and my younger one. How on earth could I not talk to them?

I’m plagued with what I saw. I care. I care a ton. But it’s not enough that I simply care. It’s not enough that I’m crying on the subway home. It’s not enough. My compassion without understanding, doesn’t help at all.

I’m overwhelmed with a feeling. Shame. Shame is all I feel now. Shame then, shame now. Shame at being obsessed with my damn romantic life, with damn money and damn materialism, with my damn happiness. Happiness. I am desperate for it and that short tuk tuk man most likely…won’t know it for a while. That baby’s got boat loads of it, and that mother and daughter will have it but won’t know what to do with it.

Shocked at my nativity, astounded at how ruthless and heartless humanity can be, I won’t pass judgement. I don’t know.  My uncertainty about life is heightened and my humility has deepened. I can decide to be better, but I can’t hide the simple truth; I am humbled.

Die ahead?

Die ahead? (Photo credit: cobblucas)

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