After the silence, she returns to the calling
March 19th 2009 12:53
On the nineteenth of the third month, in the ninth year of the second millennium, A.D.
I miss my father so much. Beyond the blackening heartache I feel, I miss the blanket of innocence he had me under while he was alive, and yet, I am partially glad it was removed, for I think it is high time I opened my eyes and saw the world a little more clearly.
I must confess that I know very little about this world, one could very easily call me stupid, or in more socially acceptable and forgiving tones; ‘young’. I admit to pronouncing utter dribble in my conversations to others, to say the silliest sweeping statements, and passionately pronounce romantic notions about life. I cringe, even while I say things, but at the same time I proudly own them, because, when will I ever be able to say ridiculous things and be forgiven for my youth and folly, except for now, while I am young and dumb?
For example: “Oh my God, I want to travel all over the world before I start work. I’d love to spend a year abroad, just going from country to country.”
In my pompous moments, where I forget who I am, and what I know, I can be seen stating things with vehemence and total confidence in what I’m saying, in a way, that in hindsight, makes me smile the way I smile when my baby nieces saying funny childish things. I know and care, and I also know and don’t care.
I find, only in youth, one can dream as big and wildly as they can, without consequence and forethought…no matter how harshly life has treated them thus far.
Or maybe, I shall continue to dream and open my mouth and say things only said in pre-modern novels. Maybe that’s just me, or maybe it’s everyone, or the majority, I don’t know. Is it? Are they? Are we? I can only get the answers from others who have lived longer, and harder, and wiser.
I have a suspicion that my vision of life will only get clearer. Is that not an obvious statement, if there is one?
I am too wordy, and too idealistic in my writing, but I’m adamant to not let that go and write in a simplified manner, because…well, I have a hankering, as of late, to write in the style that the young Elizabethan woman who has taken up residence in my head, chatters. I’m sure she’ll go very soon, but I like her where she is right now.
I miss not even knowing this of myself. My father would always say “You have no idea, I let so many things slide, but you have no idea.” And I didn’t. I pretended, I’d nod and smile and agree with him, and I thought (in my all-knowing mind) that I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t.
I think, I do now.
Adults and parents…they let so many stupid things slide by, because, well…it would be unfair to scold and judge a young person who wouldn’t really know otherwise. I had no idea I sounded like an idiot when I told my dad that I knew a fair bit of French after taking one semester of it at university. Granted, I learned some things, like ‘hello’ and simple grammar, and a few slang words thrown in to teach ‘the tourists’ to enjoy France a bit more, but how presumptuous of me. And yet, he’d smiled his sweet, charming smile and said “good girl, you almost know as much as I do”.
Of course I didn’t, at one point my dad was fluent in French, but for him to say that…it calmed my fragile teenage nerves, it boosted my confidence, it allowed me grow naturally without any issues in that particular area of study/life. And when I think about it, he did that for me (and so, of course did/does my mother) in everything, and everywhere and every time, and I find it such an interesting notion to learn in one’s life. Or is just instinct? To treat the young without ageism (is that a word?), or rather prejudice against their age.
To be gentle with their senses, and never ever make them feel like they are stupid, even though they are (I’m sorry to say, you may not be, but I certainly am, and not afraid to agree with myself), and to act like they know everything, even though they rarely do. Having one’s parents’ confidence in oneself is such a beautiful and comforting thing.
There are so many aspects to what my father taught me, and ingrained in my subconscious, and did for me, and in the way he treated me, and only now, one month after his passing, I’m starting to realise.
I regret this, and at the same time, understand. This is the natural flow my mind is taking and I should allow it. I cannot force myself to be wise and knowing without catalyst. I couldn’t force myself to come to this conclusion without something to have jarred me mentally and emotionally. I beat myself up so much for not knowing, and understanding and making the most of my time…but then I console myself, because, how could I have known? How can I not have lived my life, like most people do, in the moment? Isn’t this what you’d say to me?
And that famous line just keeps repeating: “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til its gone.”
I really do miss my father.
I miss my father so much. Beyond the blackening heartache I feel, I miss the blanket of innocence he had me under while he was alive, and yet, I am partially glad it was removed, for I think it is high time I opened my eyes and saw the world a little more clearly.
I must confess that I know very little about this world, one could very easily call me stupid, or in more socially acceptable and forgiving tones; ‘young’. I admit to pronouncing utter dribble in my conversations to others, to say the silliest sweeping statements, and passionately pronounce romantic notions about life. I cringe, even while I say things, but at the same time I proudly own them, because, when will I ever be able to say ridiculous things and be forgiven for my youth and folly, except for now, while I am young and dumb?
For example: “Oh my God, I want to travel all over the world before I start work. I’d love to spend a year abroad, just going from country to country.”
In my pompous moments, where I forget who I am, and what I know, I can be seen stating things with vehemence and total confidence in what I’m saying, in a way, that in hindsight, makes me smile the way I smile when my baby nieces saying funny childish things. I know and care, and I also know and don’t care.
I find, only in youth, one can dream as big and wildly as they can, without consequence and forethought…no matter how harshly life has treated them thus far.
Or maybe, I shall continue to dream and open my mouth and say things only said in pre-modern novels. Maybe that’s just me, or maybe it’s everyone, or the majority, I don’t know. Is it? Are they? Are we? I can only get the answers from others who have lived longer, and harder, and wiser.
I have a suspicion that my vision of life will only get clearer. Is that not an obvious statement, if there is one?
I am too wordy, and too idealistic in my writing, but I’m adamant to not let that go and write in a simplified manner, because…well, I have a hankering, as of late, to write in the style that the young Elizabethan woman who has taken up residence in my head, chatters. I’m sure she’ll go very soon, but I like her where she is right now.
I miss not even knowing this of myself. My father would always say “You have no idea, I let so many things slide, but you have no idea.” And I didn’t. I pretended, I’d nod and smile and agree with him, and I thought (in my all-knowing mind) that I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t.
I think, I do now.
Adults and parents…they let so many stupid things slide by, because, well…it would be unfair to scold and judge a young person who wouldn’t really know otherwise. I had no idea I sounded like an idiot when I told my dad that I knew a fair bit of French after taking one semester of it at university. Granted, I learned some things, like ‘hello’ and simple grammar, and a few slang words thrown in to teach ‘the tourists’ to enjoy France a bit more, but how presumptuous of me. And yet, he’d smiled his sweet, charming smile and said “good girl, you almost know as much as I do”.
Of course I didn’t, at one point my dad was fluent in French, but for him to say that…it calmed my fragile teenage nerves, it boosted my confidence, it allowed me grow naturally without any issues in that particular area of study/life. And when I think about it, he did that for me (and so, of course did/does my mother) in everything, and everywhere and every time, and I find it such an interesting notion to learn in one’s life. Or is just instinct? To treat the young without ageism (is that a word?), or rather prejudice against their age.
To be gentle with their senses, and never ever make them feel like they are stupid, even though they are (I’m sorry to say, you may not be, but I certainly am, and not afraid to agree with myself), and to act like they know everything, even though they rarely do. Having one’s parents’ confidence in oneself is such a beautiful and comforting thing.
There are so many aspects to what my father taught me, and ingrained in my subconscious, and did for me, and in the way he treated me, and only now, one month after his passing, I’m starting to realise.
I regret this, and at the same time, understand. This is the natural flow my mind is taking and I should allow it. I cannot force myself to be wise and knowing without catalyst. I couldn’t force myself to come to this conclusion without something to have jarred me mentally and emotionally. I beat myself up so much for not knowing, and understanding and making the most of my time…but then I console myself, because, how could I have known? How can I not have lived my life, like most people do, in the moment? Isn’t this what you’d say to me?
And that famous line just keeps repeating: “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til its gone.”
I really do miss my father.
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