The Flowers

I’ve had something on my mind for the past couple of days, I’ve thought about it a lot, but I’ve been struggling to put it in to words.

It seems a simple topic, or well it might seem a simple topic to most other people, but for me its more than a opinion, or my own taste in decorating, it’s more like…how can I put this; the way I see life.

I’ve been thinking about flowers.

I believe the whole world knows by now that I’m getting married in about a month. I’ve decided a long time ago that I don’t want any flowers at my wedding, I’m using branches and leaves as decorations. I decided this without even a second thought, or looking for a reason as to why, or considered that flowers may be “prettier”.

It wasn’t until this past weekend that I began to think about it, to wonder why, it wasn’t such a struggle to figure out, but it was good realising why.

Our wedding photographers came to the farm, and we went out looking for good spots for our photo session. The photographer asked me what flowers I’m using at the table, for I moment I was stuck in a panic : flowers!!

She liked my idea about the leaves, she agreed with me that flowers is so “everyday”, which was my reply. But that’s not really the reason why. I think she thought I’m not a flowery kind of girl.

I love flowers! I adore the hell out of them. My friends call me flower child, I think some of them has even forgotten my real name. I get crazy happy and excited whenever I’m in a garden, and nothing makes me as happy as planting flowers in the garden. About 75% of my wardrobe are just flowery tunics. My first tattoo was that of a cosmos flower, it’s on my forearm so that I can look at it every day, so that people can see it and know that I love flowers.

But, a flower in a vase? Even as a kid I didn’t even pick flowers to put in my room. I didn’t like it. I still don’t like it.

Without wanting to sound like a hippie, (or a Buddhist monk) flowers lose their beauty the moment they are picked and rearranged to suit our desires. Flowers aren’t meant to be arranged and bundled up with other flowers to “look a certain way” or suit a specific occasion.

The flowers belong in the field where they were planted, where they grow, clearly this is where they want to be. When you pick it, you take the life away, you take the beauty away.

When I see a room filled with vases of flowers, I see death. I see panicked faces. I see the face of enslavement.

You might think, what’s the difference with the leaves and branches I’m using for decorations then. The answer is simple, and selfish I’m afraid: I don’t feel personally connected or attached to leaves.

I’m not much of a feminist. Well, I don’t really know the complete definition of a feminist, but whenever I hear the word I immediately imagine a bunch of women trying to break down men. So I’m pretty ignorant.

However, I am quite feminine. Yes, I like chick flicks, dresses and ducklings. Mostly I see myself as a kind of flower. At least, I yearn to be. I also want to be gently and lovely. I want to be free, to feel the wind blowing through my hair. I also want to feel loved by the kisses of the sun. I want to grow with the seasons.

But mostly I want to be able to be in the life that I belong.

You see, flowers are free.


9 June 2017 : Morning of Insecurities

This morning I’m back on reminiscing on the past. On past loves

Love hurts.”

No, It doesn’t.” At least now I know that, but I didn’t always.

Insecurities hurt. Fear hurts. Someone else’s pain hurts. The world hurts.

I think I have written about this before, but this morning I’m a little overcome with emotion, and all those past hurts and pain and heartbreak that I thought was gone, that I thought I had dealt with…actually, I’ve always known I hadn’t dealt with it. I didn’t know how to deal with it, I still don’t know.

Instead I simply bottled it up somewhere, hoping to forget about it, hoping it would go away eventually if I just went on as if nothing ever happened. But then every chance it gets, those insecurities come bubbling up to the surface. The surface of who I am.

I used to be in a very emotionally abusive relationship with a guy that I thought I loved. I don’t know, maybe I did love him. At the time it felt very real. At least to my definition of what I thought love was like.

I don’t blame him, and I hold no grudges against him, that I can honestly say. But he himself had been wounded by life so I was dragged(since I tied myself to him) along for a two year long ride. We had our happy moments, but mostly it was just one big roller-coaster of neglect, heartbreak, unworthiness and abandonment. Things like that tend to stick and are unwilling to go away.

I still find myself constantly dealing with feelings of unworthiness, it’s a day to day struggle.

No matter how good life gets, and that I’m in a healthy, loving and caring relationship now, I still fight with that demon every god damn day. I can say at least that there are more often good days, and mostly my I have learnt how to handle those shadowy corners of my mind…but those feelings are still there.

It’s been a long time, but whenever my mind has a open space it tends to wander back to those two years of my life. And I go back to the same question every time, a question that I know there is no answer to; “Why wasn’t I enough?

I’m at a point where I really want those feelings to go away, to not have to deal with their living presence every day, but yet they are a reminder of who I am. How I got here.

I got through two years of that. It is a cornerstone of my life, and my way to the light. Even if I did know how to deal with my past and all my bottled up wounds, I’m not sure if I would. I wouldn’t change those two years for the world, even if I could. It has played such a large part in defining me. Most days I like me.

These days of wandering back they make me sad. They make me question life again. Maybe that at least is a good thing.

My Dream Came True

I had a dream.

A dream about us, us all. We were gathered in a fatherly friend’s house, all of us. Sipping wine, making food, having conversation about stuff that really only relates to us.

We are all the same, we all have this similarity. But yet we are all worlds apart and different. We have our own ideas and dreams, our own separate lives, hopes, fears, pains.

There’s a warm wind blowing outside, there’s a storm coming our way, but there’s a warm fire burning inside.

The two dogs sleeping at our feet.

We have good conversations, but even the silence is filled with warmth.

We are bound with love.

Although this journey is about to end, but the time that we have shared, we know, will keep us together. No matter how far apart this world may take us.

We are bound in love.

My dream came true.

These past five months at chef school has miraculously changed me, helped we discover parts of myself that I did not even dream of. It has been crazy hard, as with any thing in life I suppose. Hardest of all was being here alone, being alone for the first time in my life. The first time I’ve truly been able to find myself all by myself.

I’ve been so blessed with the people that had randomly decided to come on this course the same time I did.

In the end I really don’t feel I’ve learnt so much about food, or how to cook. But I’ve learnt stuff way more valuable.

It has been a time of tremendous growth. Mostly just that it is okay. And by that I mean OK. Life is okay. People are okay. The world is okay. I’m okay.

Really it’s all okay.

And more than even I am able to say, and better understand, that love and acceptance is key.

A Beautiful Mess

I feel really excited, anxious, sad and exceedingly happy all at the same time.

I was reading a blog post from someone else. On a journey recovering from depression, self harm, binge eating…writing about how she feels; she’s only going in a downward spiral, and that maybe one day she’ll be able to say she’s recovered…

That made me sad. In my opinion no one will ever truly be healed, whole, but no one is completely broken either. I don’t believe in any set thing, I have my own messed up way of dealing with my own anxieties and crappy emotions…dealing with life. And it works for me. Well, it works sometimes.

But it’s not to say it will work for anyone else. I have my own unique life, I take the really horrible times one day at a time, sometimes one moment at a time. Although I fully know the feeling of wanting to stop existing because life is too unbearable.

I don’t believe that by focusing on your problems, sitting down to deal with them until they are all sorted out, you can fix them…in my own experience those where my lowest times.

You deal with life as it comes. Stay busy. Do new things…but have a safe haven, a person, a home, a hobby, just something that might bring you joy or take all your attention for a while as life sorts itself out.

Its okay not to be okay. It’s okay to make mistakes and feel horrible.

But just get through it. Let shit go! Let it takes it’s natural course. Just hang on. Stay in bed the whole day if that is what it takes. Hell, stay in bed the whole week.

I’m so grateful for my life. And I know for a fact that I don’t appreciate it enough, I never have.

I’ve been born in to a house that has always had enough, in a loving home with two brothers that has been my frenemies through my entire life.

I’ve been able to express in more way than one way. I’ve always had my own space…more than enough! I’ve had fields and forests and mountains to explore.

I’ve been blessed with talents, creativity and hunger for life and knowledge being my favourite.

I’m about to finish a cheffing course, which has been hard and horrible at times, but I’ve learnt so much about myself and humanity. I’d never want to take it back. I’ve been busy, my depression has been at a minimal these past six months. Yoga, good friends and being too busy to fuss has helped tremendously for me.

I’m about to marry my favourite person in the world. And although he is humanly flawed and a little messed up in his own special way, I can’t wait to start this messy life with him.

And most importantly I’ve noticed this great capacity of myself, to love and understand human pain.

I’ve learned to see the beauty in the most ugly things.