Icing sugar dust in my street

And finally – Stillness.  I am sitting at my window in the still most beautiful street of Norwich as I observe the calm sense of stillness floating over the street like a cloud of icing sugar dust.

Finally – Stillness – I am listening to my fridge’s murmuring; its own endless story. I hear the scratching sound of my pen and contently sighing I realise: finally! So much needed to happen, flights needed to be cancelled, my workplace needed to be shut down, people had to be locked away – so much! until I finally sit down in absolute stillness. Almost guilty, I am thinking too myself, “you could have had that earlier!”.

I didn’t. I waited until the world collapsed to have my big breather. But even then, in midst watching the world fall apart, even then I found so much to do; essays had to be written, things needed to be cleaned and washed before I finally retreat to my window and let myself be embraced by a deep silence.

My fridge all of a sudden decided to change a sound-gear, before falling into a periodic silence, I decided to change my thoughts, before falling into old patterns. Silence has to be felt and is hard to describe. But it feels like home, like childhood memories of old wooden floors. It remains me of the short felt freedom I had, whilst my mother was napping and only the clock was watching. It still feels like freedom, like a majestic power beyond time, it feels like me without a character, it feels like sitting in the eye of a storm and waiting to see a new world emerging. It feels like seeing us battling through the birth pain and loving the newborn baby already.

From the cage to the movies

While I am finishing my tea and observing my neighbors cat, I am thinking of the next topic I would like to share with the world. Not having had promoted my blog too much yet, doing so was probably be very wise; I am thinking.

Because the topic that constantly pops up in my head and eagerly yearns for attention, is in other words, not at all glamorous and fun. I am seriously doubting the idea of writing about it, but contrary to me, the theme doesn’t mind my fear nor my outdated shame. It wants to be heard and spoken about; right now. More so, it demands that I fully honor its existence by calling it by its name, and the name of this reckless, self promoting theme is; (next to all other equally important topics of our day, like for example the tears of a fallen leader)

Premenstrual anger!

Here it is, proudly, sassy, it stands now in the open field and gives me the look; saying, see, I made you type it! I am here, on your page, on black and white! You can’t ignore me no longer, you wanne be feminist and intellectual, how dare you not to speak about the topic that matters so much! You can’t face the uncomfortable truth! You, who hides behind novels of past days, interior magazine and other lighthearted girly rubbish!

My premenstrual anger all of a sudden loves the lime light and gets completely over confident. Like a wild animal, held back too long in a dark cage. Now stands in the light ready to fight a battle with words like; “period poverty”, “social taboos”, “blood soaked tampons”, and “shame”.

“Ohh no, please, really”?? I am pressing my palms over my ears. Really, do I have to listen to all that now. “Hold yourself back a little, please.” I try to sooth that wild beast. “This is only my third blog post, and I am still in the process of finding my voice! Please don’t scare me or my readers away!”

But all the soothing words have absolutely no effect on my premenstrual anger. So I had to come up with some mean accusations. “Old bastard, you’ve already ruined enough of my life!” I add with reassuring voice. “You made me start endless, stupid conversations, made me look ridiculous and hysterical as I was trying desperately to defend myself and explain feminism to idiots! And yes, you even made me cancel a date!” I add here a little theatrical pause to give my words more meaning and to observe the reaction on its face.”Go back where you belong!”

My premenstrual anger, however on tasting the freedom of expression, had a new sense of confidence and was impossible to stop; it was not the slightest impressed by me. Like a lion on stage, it turns around ready to attack, dominating the space with its elegance and tension. The beast owns its power and walks majestically in the red lime light. After a dramatic head turn it stops and looks at me with big bestial eyes and tells me the truth:

“Firstly, be happy you can feel me! It means you are alive and healthy!”

“Second, if you think back at all these apparently embarrassing moments. Wasn’t it true what I made you feel and say? Wasn’t it me, who told you all the injustices; wasn’t it me who gave you the strength and power to speak up? To confront? You overly indoctrinated girl, your strength has already been weakened by all the social norms and conditioning!”

I take a step back, starring at the beast unable to find the words to say or contradict.

“I will leave now” the lion roars. “and will come back next month, to discuss why I had you cancel the date”

And out it walks into the free wild prairie and engulfed in the deep red sunset. I add some imaginary music to it, and feel the sadness and relief of an ending, similar to the end of some old fashioned, way too long western movies.

The way to power

This is the best moment of my life: the moment I finally sit down on my couch and take time for the art of musing; just thinking and feeling and sitting. Time to be, to write and proudly I proclaim: “Virgina Woolf, I made it!” I finally have it, the room of my own. My room to sit, muse and write. I have all I need. It’s taken me a while and it wasn’t easy.

But now, while I have it, I am realizing the power of it. A girl in her room, happy, fulfilled and creating. Not for money, not for admiration and not for followers. No, just for the pure joy of creation. It could be crap, worthless but it doesn’t matter. As the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder – the joy of creation lies in my hand. I have my power back. It’s taken me a while and it wasn’t easy.

But now, while I have it I am realizing the revolution in that fact. A girl in her room; happy, fulfilled, creating and powerful. Not to gain anything, not to win a battle, not to be a heroine. No, just for the pure feeling of being in one’s own power. ”Mary Beard” – I want to shout ”I found a way” I finally have it. I included myself in the club of the powerful. I walked through my fear of shame and here I am taking myself seriously. It’s taken me a while, and it was certainly not easy.

After these words, I blow off the last grain of guilt from my shoulders. Take another sip of my tea, gaze out of the window into the most beautiful street in Norwich, and promise myself to stay strong.

The start of a love affair

If I didn’t have the pressure to make money; I would keep on laying on my couch, reading ”Wuthering Heights”; You cannot really call it reading; it’s more a sort of being impressed by each word and then considering whether I should look them up or not.

You guessed it!

English is not my mother tongue. But’s a language I start to love more than I thought. I try not to be overly intimidated by the extent of vocabulary this language holds and the sheer endless combination of word correlations!

But if a language describes your mental absence as ”away with the fairies” it must be for sure a good one!