Work

work

Why work? I don’t know why? For some people it is because it defines them, gives them a sense of purpose. I know without it,  we would have an enormous amount of time to spend with those we love:  what if we discover their flaws? .

Work enables us pay bills and become responsible adults (whatever that means). Does work matter ?  should the type of work you do matter?

why work though ? i know it maybe easier for me to con some pot-bellied businessman to take care of me for the rest of my life (lol, those who know me well will laugh while others may say, ” How can a feminist think this? ” ) I wont go into how a housewife can be a feminist: blablabla but it is a conversation for some other time.

If money weren’t a factor what would you do for a living? Most people I ask say writer, artist, musician, and producer etc.. They speak of the arts and for the non-dreamers say they just need work in a structured organization. All work is work. This has taken some time for me to understand. How is a doctor not more important than a gateman?

Imagine getting home and having to open the gate? (Not a nightmare right?) What if it was raining cat and dogs? (It would be nice to have someone open the gate right?).

Lets not neglect the house helps, oh my favourite the handyman who provide a service that most husbands and boyfriends no longer need to do to prove they are the man of the house (I have a handyman that does all my electrical stuff and plumbing and he is always available, I like that he solves these little things for me, so when I date a man I am not worried if he knows how to change a light bulb).

That is why the twitter food debate makes me laugh; if only cooking and cleaning made women suitable wives, i know for a fact that I wont have any single friends. There is always something else which is more important than chores or food  but on social media we can go on and on about stuff . Maybe I will tweet later today (a man who can’t install a ceiling fan is that a man?) (Just for laughs, evil grin emoji).

Summary #Allworkmatters, even if it’s not a job you like.

Why do you work? That’s a deep question? A question I hope this post makes you ask yourself.

 

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Labels and why , oh HI !! …

I always was a sucker for labels. To be identified as good, smart, intelligent, sexy, and witty. The constant need to be the perfect woman and get everyone’s approval. Whew!! It was stressful; the journey of people pleasing is so exhausting. Do you know why? Nothing is ever enough, you are kind and people think your kindness is a scam to manipulate them. You are generous and they may think you are trying to buy their affection .You are happy, you may have a secret lover.

Screw label’s, I am a weirdo. Sometimes, I am overly loud and say and do inappropriate things. Other times, I am the patron saint of love. I am unusually kind, forgiving and amiable.

Who/what makes us care about labels? We are labelled from an early age, in playgroup, that’s the shy kid, that’s the vibrant kid. In high school, the labels are: popular kid, smart kids, loose kids, born again, etc. You are the bully or you are getting bullied. Or God forbid the untouchable cool kids. Those we all want to be but love to hate. They do the most on Instagram (i.e perfect posts by the beach #waves, #summer vibes) .

Please we all drink coffee and I know it’s the Holy Grail to you but a morning run, or any workout gives you the same feeling. You don’t see a lot of #greentea posts without the chill vibes; coffee drinkers will make you believe they are zombies before coffee (I know I will get backlash for this, you guys will be ok). Yes, we tea lovers need to start a movement.

I haven’t written in a while but I am back now. I thought I was hiding behind words and not living but that was the opposite. The keyboard is the truth; I am the most authentic when I write. It doesn’t matter what people label you as; but it’s important to know whom you are and own it. That’s how you become whole.

What’s your label? Embrace, it. Except you are: a F**CK Boy, a Stalker, a con artist etc. . You need to find another label.

For the rest of us weirdos, see you tomorrow. Oh, I’m going to do a why series? Who knows why?

 

 

I want to be free

I don’t want despair or desperation at my doorstep. I don’t want to tire from the effort of loving you. I don’t want to be one of them constantly existing yet not living. I don’t want to pretend, I don’t. I want to wake up and greet me. I want to see my reflection and lift my shoulders high. I want to stop being ashamed of the poor choices I made. I want to stop making excuses. I want to be free from slouching, free from the mistakes of father and free to forgive myself. I want to be free.

I want to be proud to be me, I want to meet me tomorrow and see me grown. I want to be a virtuous, courteous and a proud woman comfortable in her own skin. I want to dress in bright colors and pretty clothes and not care who stares. I want to be free of these clutches that I carry. I want to be free of you, the voice in my head that rejects me, the voice that says you are not enough, the voice that criticizes me, the voice that reminds me of all the wrong places I have sought for an embrace, the voices that say I would never be loved enough, the voice that makes me think that these struggles are a part of me. I want to be free of you insecurity, the voice that says what I am is not beautiful, the voice that says all you have is your smarts, and the voice that says my looks are my curse.

 I want to be free of you, black and yellow demon of lies. My smile lights up the room, my heart recovers from all wounds, my lips are soft and give the best kisses , my skin feels velvety and tell no stories of ruin, my belly is well-rounded from good food, my moods  flourish like the full moon, I am all woman true and true and only a fool would misconstrue my eloquence as being opinionated, my frankness as being proud, my shyness as being snobbish and my feminine wiles as being slutty, I am a virtuous woman made in the likeness of my maker , I am hard-working, result oriented and an upward moving young woman.

 There is nothing wrong in loving me. I was made to be loved and I am a fountain of love. So be gone you teller of lies. Be gone, you poor judging fellow. Be gone, you strange-looking man. Be gone, voice in my head.

happy