The Turning Wheel

I want his brain so bad. John Mayer might have let a lot of shit erupt from his mouth, but he’s also the creator of so many beautiful things. Words, songs, thoughts – his mind is incredibly attractive.

I haven’t binged on his stuff in a very long time. Now, as I’m going through this period of grieving I find myself back here and I’m incredibly nostalgic, but also content.

I miss her, and yeah I walked through the door today and expected to see her waiting there for me. Sure, upon that realisation I was filled with an intense sorrow and longing, but part of me is glad in knowing that she’s no longer in pain. I don’t know whether there’s a life after this, or a place that we go to meet again. Nor do I know whether living things have souls or not. All I know is that she’s no longer here with me any more. I have a hope that there will be a time where I will be able to see her again. There’s a lot that I know now that’s she’s gone and it sucks, and if I had my chance I’d go back and make sure she received the care that she needed. Whether that was a premature end to her suffering, I don’t know. Things like this happen for a reason I believe. At least I was there when it was her time to go. Surely if it was not now it would have been in 5 years. The thought of losing her at a time in which I could not be there troubles me more than the current fact. I was there for her, I held her, and the bond that we had was still there even at the very end. She may have just been a cat but to me she was much more. Goodnight, my old friend; you will be dearly missed.

“You can find me, if you ever want again
I’ll be around the bend, I’ll be around the bend
I’ll be around, I’ll be around
And if you never stop when you wave goodbye
You just might find if you give it time
You will wave hello again
You just might wave hello again”

I am proud of myself in this though. I am proud in my determination and my resilience. I’m proud of myself for admitting this and admitting my grief, no matter how silly I feel. I am amazed by the maturity that has come in just four years. I remember reflecting very early in 2014, on my grandmothers death. Her death was a catalyst for all that happened, the good and the bad. All that is happening and what will happen. Her death has shaped the way my life has turned out, and will turn out. It’s in the small instances in which one pair of lungs stops breathing, that another breathes it’s very first breath. I find comfort in that. It took me years of ignoring my faults. I spent years in recluse, thinking about what I wanted to be. I created fantasies of grandeur and lived to dream. I avoided my selfishness and the amount of disrespect and disregard that my grandmother was dealt with by my own hand. I was never there for her. I ran away.

I feel like I have come full circle, but this time I have the maturity, the love and the strength to truly say goodbye. I am not 250% better than I was this time 4 years ago, but I have grown and whilst I still may hold the same faults and failures, they like scars have very much filled in, however completely, and faded as I have grown and adjusted to my life.

I thank life, whatever that means, for giving me the chance to have crossed paths with so many souls and to have been loved by them and in turn, been given the chance to love them. There mightn’t be more to life than this, but I wouldn’t take any thing or any of it back.

So now, I wave goodbye to one, and await eagerly to greet another. I will not get her back and I do not want a replacement. Whom or what I may now be greeting I do not know, but if it’s anything like what I’ve now left behind, it will be well worth my while. I will hold no regrets or stop my movement. Truly, that’s just the way that this wheel keeps working now.

BREAKING NEWS: Terrorist Attack, After Terrorist Attack.

Oh look another terrorist attack.

Brussels explosions: Airport and metro hit with ‘at least 13 killed’ – BBC News

Seriously this is going to start to become common news. I’m no where near as shaken about this as I was by the Parisian terrorist attacks. I remember watching the video and seeing this policeman shot outright. Ruthless.

It makes me want to pursue journalism even more. To be able to cover stories like this and be in an environment that changes with the minute. 

Regardless these terrorists are becoming like ever buzzing flies to me. They fly right near my ear, make me shiver and shoo them, only seconds later to have them land on my hand, mocking me. 

I do not want children in a world like this. I don’t want to be a woman in a world like this. I don’t want to be young in a world like this. I don’t wish to grow old in a world like this. I have to clean up the mess these men and women are making. They bomb towers, they kill magazine editors, they crucify people for their beliefs, they film as they behead their people, click upload to Twitter, they chase citizens out of their country, and now we see that again they bomb and attack the innocent. 

It is all the same.

It happened in Roman conquests, the crusades, in the French Revolution, the American civil war, the KKK, the Armenian genocide, the holocaust, Vietnam, dictatorships in South America, Africa, Yugoslav wars, 9/11, and now we see it again. We never learn. It appears human life comes at the price of the name and the ethnicity labeled on your identity card, the cross in your hand, the star on your shirt and the black flag on your back. It’s all for the same god, the same man, the same ideas, the same name, the same truths and the same lies. It won’t ever stop really. We’re far too stubborn.

Forever Young.

Listening to Forever Young by Alphaville. It’s becoming eerily relevant nowadays. Written in 84 right. The Cold War ended in 91 if I learnt anything in History. 
“Let’s dance in style, let’s dance for while.

Heaven can wait, we’re only watching the skies.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst

Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?”
Reminds you of anything similar going on as of right now? The war on terrorism, anyone?
The world keeps going around and around. We’ve never known anything besides war. Think about it. 

My grandparents we’re born in the late 1920’s and early 1930’s. They were born in the aftermath of ‘The Great War’ and were children during WWII. They had kids in the early 60’s. My dad was born 1960 and my mother in 1963. They grew up during an intense period of political unrest. Dad was born in Australia, while his parents were Italian. Most likely hit hard by WWII. My mother was born in Uruguay. A small country in South America with close ties to Cuba. A communist country. Home of The Cuban Missile crisis. Heard of Operation Condor? (www.latinamericanstudies.org/chile/operation-condor.htm)
My mother left Uruguay in ’77 and moved to Australia. A country that had just fought in the Vietnam War. Both my parents grew up in a time where war saturated TV screens and sometimes their homelands. 
The Cold War ended in 1991. Now ten years later, 9/11 hits America. Thus bringing the war on terrorism closer and more political unrest and tension. All I have known is war. No doubt all I will ever know is war, and I am sad to say that no doubt it will be all my children will know too.  We never learn. Now as France is being attacked by terrorists, we now watch the skies in fear of a bomb. 
“Let’s dance in style, let’s dance for while.

Heaven can wait, we’re only watching the skies.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst

Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?”
Again.

Nostalgia

Weathered arm outstretched.
He reaches out. His wrinkled hand holds, a desperate grasp, on the joyful age of youth. 

The vanity and the irony of his actions, he has no clue.

He wears his rose coloured glasses always; turning merry moments into quixotic memories of euphoria.

Slowly it slips away. The bitter old man seeks again for a link to yesterday. So Bittersweet.  

A lowly drug addict, he searches, looking for his high, his ecstasy; inevitably to fall, each time deeper into the pit of despair.

He spirals into an incurable depression, a nagging melancholy, the fault of his never moving on. 

He is stubborn, he is ignorant.

He is clueless, he is lost.  

He is nostalgia.