Seasons thinkings

So far, I am decided not to complain anymore. As Calvin’s dad would say “it builds character” so why not taking upon myself more often, think less, and get that paranoid feeling outta my head for good.

I think that it is sort of a family aspect, so to speak. Being used to do anything the very opposite way than other (be it the car we own, the house we live in, or merely the ideas we have). Not than I complain about it, no way. I love my family because of its marginality, its “survivor” feeling, its genuine simplicity and fun. We laugh a lot. We snap at each other sometimes, but that’s the way it is when you put strong personalities together.

As long as I can recall, I’ve always been/seen myself different. And, once the elementary school and first year in HS over, been rather proud about it. My family have always been there for me, supporting me in all my hard times. They’ve always done the maximum for me. I remember all my Christmases being fun times, even there were only little under the Christmas tree. I still have some of those presents by now. I remember one, especially: A “my little pony” house. At that time, it had cost an arm and a leg to my dad, I know it. And I treasured that gift more than ever. I remember how happy I was – I still can see myself opening the wrapping paper with trembling hands.

As Xmas time draws near, I know that my mind gonna linger over those memories, tress, candles, wood fire and winter cold. I remember as it was yesterday the drawings we made in schools, then, ona cold Saturday, the preparation of the Xmas tree, the decorations that were there before I was born – and still are. (but for a few ones broken, the law of gravity has no feelings sometimes^^) . I remember the gorgeous presents my friends were showing off, but I didn’t care. Nothing could replace the time spent with my family, and certainly not precious presents.

Not even the insults, the nasty tricks. I remember how the kids would steal my winter bonnet, and throw it in a garbage bin. I would scream at them, yelling to them, finally getting all the blame from my teachers ….But I would have died rather than telling my mom everyone was making fun of her present to me.

I guess that’s why I am so ‘I don’t care about fashion” attitude. Everyone go a driving license and I look like a retard for not owning a car? So what? Still, sometimes I cannot reach that feeling of blessed detachment I am yearning for. Some words still hurt me, even if I know the people telling them to me aren’t worth my getting upset at. Old reflexes you know….

Die hard ones.

And now it seems that the wheel has turned my way at last. My job is not a gratifying one, but it pays the bills, and allow me to give my family and loved ones presents. Real ones, meaningful, helpful ones. I don’t know what all those kids, ghosts of my past, have become. I wish them an honest life, and I sincerely wish that their own kids won’t have to suffer from what I did suffer. I don’t wish to anyone being treated as the ugly ducklings.

Maybe there is something hard inside of me. Maybe that’s why I have such a hard time to open myself, unveil myself. Those who knows me can see what my real me is….someone rather funny, rather enthusiastic, rather fragile. And one person only can see how I love, one only. I thank whoever above for having kept this ability to love unharmed.

Just because of that, I want to feel grateful, and forget about everything else.