I have my speech prepared..
about my love and loyalty
and how much she will mean to me..
but frustratedly, the days of lonely
used to be more purposeful..
Maybe I’ll never have it all..
and these doubts are reminders
that I’ll never have it all..
Like being myself is not enough
and never was
a path to my one true love
I could hope..
– janberry. 21sep2017. 7:08pm.
Feels foolish, yea…and then you say, nothing tried, nothing gained. You can learn about yourself and others by venturing… adventuring.
If you don’t go bravely, you would remain naive, about your own reflection.
Be courageous, and you’d see your desire. You’d own it, and admit your needs. In that light, you can make a decision. Run or stay, but see it all in the light of truth. The fear of possibility is the same as the despair of impossibility. It all begins at the point of return.
– janberry. 30 aug 2017. 10.43pm.
[The point of return is the flash of fear when you decide to either run away or pursue a love interest..]
Only now growing up socially…
worse things have happened.
failing forward. inertia dragging my emotions along.
age means nothing anymore,
and I have to accept that,
painful like teeth emerging.
Tooth fairy, spare me a dollar nah?
I’ll pay it back, just let me move forward painlessly.
harder on myself than anyone will ever be,
even still, the warrior way is not…painlessly.
– janberry. © 29 mar 2017. 12.16pm.
A few days ago I closed all my social media – Facebook and then Instagram and lastly Twitter.
I found two things to be true for me:
Social media had become an extension of my pride..my ego..a need to control the narrative surrounding who I am…thereby making me feel good, feel proud.
I could succeed at social media but still fail at social interaction, and social interaction is something that I will always need to apply extra effort to. I’ve seen time and time again how social media and social interaction are not the same.
Growing up the way I did, it’s imperative that I get better at social interaction. It’s way too easy for me to revert to my comfort zone…being alone with a book or a paper and pen..and just not talk for weeks, months, years..
I came off social media so I could focus on actually increasing my social skills. That might be the height of irony.
What has been seen cannot be unseen. I was bent over and clasping her bracelet, when my body began to shake. Tremors…like little jolts of awareness. This is too much. I let my knee touch the ground so I wouldn’t fall over and bowed my head. I’d given her this bracelet. How could I be so oblivious? Why didn’t I see this?
Halfway through this series I wrote about seeing, really seeing. It’s an odd concept, eh? I’ve been told that the way I write is a bit like navel-gazing. It is really…but that’s on purpose. Consider…if we are mirrors. The more I clean my mirror, the better you can see yourself in me…through me. Seen? Scene.
(..final installation of the Androgyny series. Thank you for reading.)
The feminine spirit yields, by design. And just like a key to a lock, safety and security is a catalyst that transposes her heart from an implosion of harsh echoes to a gracefully tuned harmony. The masculine spirit at it’s highest potential has the ability to provide this dynamic.
The God entity is an example of this interchange, with it’s maleness and femaleness together, as one, in a genderless ability to be the strong protector or the intuitive nurturer, and many other observations of duality. One does not feel donned over the other, rather, both are effortlessly apparent and arise when needed.
Just like a rare lily, in the right environment and given tender loving care, the beauty of woman opens and blossoms. I’m enthralled by this, even as it happens again and again, within myself, and through me. – Janberry
As she briskly applied the lipstick to my lips, the dam finally burst. It felt like spontaneous combustion. In my mind I see it play back and forth like those Boomerang videos: red lipstick – tears erupt, red-lipstick – tears erupt…
I hadn’t planned on crying but I just felt sooooo odd. This was me being dollsed up for Form 2 bazaar by my aunt.
The next year I wore a black mini skirt. It was cute, I admit, plus my karate instructor said he was passing through; needed to have my girl game tight riiiight. I don’t think that I’d rationalised it at all that much back then, but I remember Form 2 very well. As far as clothing went, I was in unisex heaven…Mummy had got me the Kriss Kross baggy pants (thanks to hip hop, baggy clothes were in style in 1993 through to 1995!) and a hockey top, plus I had those denim Farmer brown overalls with my green and white Ellesse sneaks. But after Form 3, the gates of unisex heaven closed on me, and my mother resumed sending whatever was in ‘style’. I think I became minimalist after that just to avoid the torture of choice. I just wore the same thing repeatedly, whichever was most comfortable, and most unisex. –