womanhood

a work in progress

Category: Motherhood (Page 1 of 21)

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Cold

I caught up with a friend recently.
We are talking over lunch and coffees.

She was telling me about decades of love.
She told me of stretching out her arms.
Of seeking love from her man.
Of seeking touch in the night.

And she told me of the response.
Negative.
Nada.
Nill.

“It was like a slap in the face, Kish,” she told me.

Tears welled in my eyes.
And I realised.

I come from a community which shuns physical touch between men and women in public and maybe even doesn’t relish it in private either.
I’m extremely private, I don’t even feel comfortable holding hands with V in a street where no one knows us.
I’m wary of physical touch, especially if I’m stressed.
I don’t reach forward and hold his hand.
I don’t lean on him the way he does me.

I can’t explain it.

And when she said that.

I thought of Aru’s childhood.
How I lift him, cuddle him, love him, adore him.
I snuggle into him.
I can do this anywhere.
Nose to nose.
Cheek to cheek.
He knows.
It in his bones.
That his Maa adores him.
I tickle his toes and plant kisses on his forehead.
I rub his tummy.
I sneak under his t-shirt to rub his back.
I am a physical mum.
I get the most satisfaction from his touch.

And I realise.
Vivek probably had that kind of love from his mum.
This regardless abandon of physical love.
Skin to skin.

Touch.

And here I was.
Loving him.
Yet rejecting him.

And I cry now.

Because I’m trying.
But I will never make up for the million times I might have rejected him.
Made him feel unloved.

Because my finger tips failed him.
My cheeks failed his love.
My arms failed his warmth.
My language didn’t recognise his.

And I try now.
More than ever.

To undo a stigma of touch.
To undo lessons learnt.

To love.
With reckless abandon.

As a child, innocent to norms, rules and expectations.

X
K

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Dear Aru (early May, 2017)

Hey Poochie,
I don’t know where the mind goes.
How to tame it.
Whether it should be tamed or understood.

But for you.
I try to be good.
Even if my mind is pulling me elsewhere.

But what is good?
Who defines and decides that?

One day, your eyebrows might raise.
As your start to unravel your maa.
As you start to know the world is round and
People do things differently to good.

And I guess.
I want to be good for you.
So you know it’s possible.
But I’m learning now.

That maybe it’s not.
Not all the time, for everything anyway.

So I guess.
If I can be accepting of you.
Then perhaps I’ve taught you a thing or two.
About what I need for us when it comes to me.

X
K

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Schooled

I’d just like to take a moment.
To thank my husband Vivek.
For preventing me from becoming a man-hater.
For listening to my distaste in men, distrust in men, disgust even, in men.

And then pausing, to give me the potential other side of the story.
For reminding me that I married someone very similar to these men I so despise.

It’s simply that.
We’ve travelled a journey which has changed him and I.

And men are often whom they are,
Because they weren’t educated otherwise.

So.
MY WOMEN IN THE HOUSE.
PLEASE TAKE ON THIS ROLE.

Teach a man.
He doesn’t own you.
He doesn’t own your money.
He doesn’t own the surnames of your children.
He doesn’t own the style of your skirt.
He doesn’t own the sway of your hips.
He doesn’t own the food you have when you go out to dinner.
He doesn’t own your career.
He doesn’t own the relationships you have with your friends and family.
He doesn’t own the jewels you buy, or those that he gifts you.
He doesn’t own the right to tell you when to be home.
He doesn’t own a single inch of you.
Not an inch.

 

And it’s your role, to lock this shit into place.

To cause an uproar.

To fight the fight, be it little or large.

Stand up for what means something to you.

Live a life on your terms and not his.
Because if you keep playing the victim,
Don’t you dare go blaming a wasted life on him.

X
K

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Dear Aru (mid March, 2017),

You are my barometer.
Yesterday and today, I didn’t want to be around you.
I wanted a break.

But why?
You’ve been at daycare most of the week!
Your dad is here to help.
So why.

Don’t I want to be with you?
I feel like you steal time away from me.
Steal opportunities from me.
Steal peace from me.

To browse a store.
To capture a moment in a gallery.
To be at peace, flicking a page in a novel.

Darling Aru.

I know now.
As I learn over and over and over again.

These are simply things.

I have not given myself.
And I really truly need to.

Prioritise them.

So I can come home to you.

Xx
K

It just is.

You can never tick all the boxes.

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Going around in circles

Life seems to me.

To be cyclical.

Learn what you need to learn, or it’ll go full circle, only to push you back to learn what you resisted the last time around.

So when you complain about something.

Ask yourself,

Have I complained about this before?

Make complaining twice a sin.

Make making change the solution.

X

K

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Raised

I wonder.
How to find more women who raise you.

And how to walk away from those who don’t.
X
K

Eden

A Truth Bomb, 

As my friend calls it. 

This is no place for dishonesty. 

So let me lay it out there. 

For you women. 

You readers. 

Who take my good with my bad. 
I never wanted a child per say. 

It was the done thing. 

I did it. 

Never really knowing what it might entail. 
What has transpired from that, is a real journey. 

Moments of never fully unleashing any regrets, but also moments of not loving this whole scene of baby smell and whining at all. 

Being unsure if this is my path. 

Or if I just let it happen. 
I honour and admire my mother. 

Who passed no judgement at all upon these emotions. 

She has let me feel. 

That it is simply ok. 

To feel.

How you feel. 
I’m better now. 

I have Kholo. 

Which is for me.

A making. 

 

And I have found my peace, at least for now, in the role I play in Aru’s life. 

I have found my delight. 
So moving on from children. 

I am vulnerable. 

To heights of emotions. 

To a charged sexuality when it comes to other men. 

Outside of the love bonds. 

Outside of the contract. 

Outside of the need to have and to hold. 
And I don’t know what that means. 

Don’t know how to break it down. 

How to FIX it. 
But I’m learning now. 
I’m not the only one. 

And of course, that makes me feel better. 
But. 

For now I’m a prisoner just as much as a thriving flower. 

In my own garden of Eden. 
X

K

Git

What life are you running from?
What life do you want? 
 
What am I shining upon you? 
 
 
There is no room for that man in my home. 
 
In my spice box. 
 
In my jewellery jars. 
 
No room for that man in my bed. 
 
No room. 
 
 
 
So go. 
 
Get gone. 
 
To the Himalayas. 
 
To the furtherest point from all of this. 
 
Because. 
 
If you don’t go. 
 
Imma send you there myself. 
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It’s Not About You

I want to stop looking at all the things you aren’t.

Because once I do that.

I can start seeing myself for all the things I am.

And all the things I need to change.

If you don’t look out for me, why am I not looking out for me?

If you don’t permit me, why do I think I need your permission?

If you don’t indulge me, why am I not indulging myself?

I am all these things for me.

X

K

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