womanhood

a work in progress

Category: Family (Page 1 of 23)

Dearest Aru (early June, 2019),

My little man.

You are extraordinary.

We asked you if you wanted to go to Singapore without us.

At 5, you said yes.

And you went.

And you loved it.

 

I held back a tear or two when I saw your little hand,

holding your chacha’s.

With that red backpack.

Walking far off.

Not looking back.

 

I held back a tear or two, when your Daddy played “Yaari” in the car.

How would you manage without us?

Whom would you turn to?

When you woke up in the night?

If the food was too spicy?

Or if no one understood that all you needed was a nap?

 

But you loved it.

And Aru.

I want you to know.

 

You’ve always known.

What you’re ready for.

What you’re capable of.

 

And I trust that.

Stick with that gut.

Stick with your vibes.

 

If there is one thing I want to have taught you through all these years.

It’s only this:

Listen to your insides.

 

They’ll never let you down.

There may be lessons to learn,

And that is ok,

Mummy gets lots of lessons all the time.

 

But you’d rather live thru it all,

Having lived.

Than avoided your fears.

And living a life half lived.

 

Love you,

x Maa.

It’s Corny (consider yourself warned)

I think after the miscarriage, I went through what I’ve labelled as “mild depression”. It wasn’t too bad, I probably got a bit addicted to sugar to keep me afloat and am thankful to Aru for giving me a reason to drag myself out of bed.

In the middle of it tho, there was a lot of Ayurvedic support medicine I was taking and I just started getting back to my basics. Less work, a little yoga. Homemade food. Friends. That sort of stuff.

And one thing was more meditation.

I am a total sucker for Deepak & Oprah.

And one thing Oprah said really rang true for me.

She said.

It’s corny.

Be warned.

But she said.

Say “Yes To Life”.

And I realised.

That for a long time, outside of Kholo, I had been saying no.

No, I don’t want to go to Bendigo to see the Marimekko exhibit, it’s too far.

No, I don’t want to see friends, because of XYZ.

No, I don’t want to go see that movie because what if it’s not good enough?

I wanted every experience to be 100% perfection.

So much so, I had started missing out on experiences in general.

Now, I’m trying to get back to just saying yes.

To having something to look forward to over the weekend.

To catching up with friends, even though I may need to process some vibes (I tell you, I feel soooo much :/).

To having potentially bad experiences (as well as amazing ones).

All I’m saying is.

There was a greenhouse in Bendigo and it was so, so beautiful.

So.

Say Yes To Life.

And it’s beautiful surprises 🙂

X

(May, 2018)

Volatile

You called me volatile.

But where did that come from?

I feel like I needed to.

Start to fix.

This control.

Thing.

Of.

Yours.

Because, it’s been going on so long.

Now I see it from outside of us.

I see you and me.

What it does to you.

And what it does to me.

You push.

I fold.

You push.

I fold.

And so it goes on.

I think the aftermath of that,

Is always going to be volatile.

 

(May, 2018)

Ok.

It’s ok

It’s ok to go slow.

It’s ok to show up late.

It’s ok to feel everything.

It’s ok to not know where it’s all going.

It’s ok to be late for after school pick-up.

It’s ok to send out deliveries a day late.

It’s ok to not be on top of your insta-game.

It’s ok to online shop when you shouldn’t.

It’s ok to feel jealous and not understand why.

It’s ok to eat that dairy milk when you wish it had been 80% dark instead.

It’s ok to pause.

It’s actually good.

So for all my A-types.

Just know, you have my blessings for every time you fuck shit up.

With love.

X

K

Steady Love

I’m glad you’re here.

I’m glad it’s you.

I’m glad I can dish it and you can take it.

I’m glad you know how to talk about your feelings and feel ok to be vulnerable with me.

It’s the safest place in the world my sweet.

I’m glad we’re both broken.

I’m glad you feel it and I do too.

I’m glad our love is the ordinary, mortgage and kids type of love.

Let me tell you, that’s the luckiest type of love in the world.

I’m glad you take flight and take risks.

Both of us bearing the burn.

But never living a life unfulfilled.

Stand by me.

And I’ll stand by you.

I’m glad.

You chose to be glad with me.

Because one day.

They’ll write about us.

One day.

We’ll make history.

We’ll change minds, as we do now.

You and I.

Always.

Lifetime after lifetime.

I can hear you chuckle.

Stuck with me.

Over and over.

You have my heart.

x

 

(April, 2018)

Dear Aru (May, 2018),

Oh my darling.

Sweet sweet boy.

You are growing up so very fast.

Becoming such an incredible human.

So persistent when you want something or when you need a question answered.

I admire that you in. Although I appear exasperated often.

You are cautious, it is in your core.

Perhaps it came from a past life, perhaps from your time in the womb, perhaps from your star sign.

Just know, it is ok to take a risk every now and then.

It is ok to fall and hurt.

Your friend is right by you, and he won’t let the cut be too deep.

Dearest Aru.

I may or may not choose to have another one.

Are you ok with that?

Some part of me dies with the thought that you might not have a sibling.

But do I really, truly, madly, deeply, want another?

I just don’t know.

I simply don’t know.

I want one for you.

That’s for sure.

But for me?

I don’t know.

Could I bear more sleepless nights?

More crying?

More whining?

Could I bear the emptiness of being a mum?

Yes.

For me, those early years often felt empty.

Empty of a cause.

Empty of an end point.

It’s who I am.

Seeking the next step.

Tick. Tick. You have arrived.

Motherhood isn’t like that.

It’s about being okay in the all day, every day.

There is no acclaim, no accolades.

It sucks, but there is some part of me that cares about that stuff.

We’ll see sweet pea.

We’ll see.

Maybe I’ll change.

Maybe I won’t.

I love you the same.

But learn from me.

A life lived for someone else, even if it is you,

Isn’t a life lived truly.

X

Pages

We were always on the same page.

You were always as deep.

Running alongside me.

Catching my thoughts from where they left off.

I accepted and understood your limitations.

But maybe I’ve found a new limitation.

One of feeling a little less.

A little less than me.

And now I know.

Why when a child dies,

It’s rare for a couple to stay together.

To stick it through.

Because.

You simply.

Feel.

Less.

X

K

 

(April,, 2018)

Worth

I have spoken to countless women about this. 

Countless mothers. 

Countless friends. 

You know what they say? 

You know what you all say? 

Money is the determining factor. 

As a society, we use money to determine things. 

He earns more, so we thought he should work. 

There is no point in me working because it doesn’t make financial sense. 

He made the decision to buy the warehouse because he makes the money. 

We moved three times for his career. 

I conceived and so a career wasn’t an option.

It seems. 

Who earns more money, seems to call the shots. 

And women especially seem to feel this the most, once they have children. 

Because they aren’t earning money, their sense of worth plummets. 

They toss their power, their self worth and arguments out the window. 

Because. He earns. 

///

Using money to decide worth is the WORST call you can make. 

Your worth is in who you are. 

Is in how loving you feel towards yourself. 

How contented you are. 

And if that means, putting the kids in childcare at an additional financial cost, so you can get some hours away from the home and engage with the world and feel HAPPY, then, your family is going to see the benefits of that. 

Don’t let money be the only measure. 

There are so many more measures. We need to give them more priority. 

Or we’ll have more depression and damaged children. 

X

K

So Mad

I’m so mad at you.
At you all.
For not showing up.
When I thought you would.

You know what.
Life doesn’t boil down to a matter of life and death.
Relationships aren’t about that final moment, as if I’m hanging off the edge of the cliff.
And that is when you need to show up.

It’s made of everyday moments.
And those are the ones.
You needed to show up for.

That’s when you choose.
Me.
Us.
This.

Not when I’m hanging on the edge of a cliff.
Cause honies this ain’t no Road Runner episode.

X
K

 

(Also a post from last year, feeling all ok at the moment:))

Burn

Oh.
Us Indians.
Our forefathers taught us well.

We got taught, how NOT TO GET INTO TROUBLE.
How to lie low.
How to play it safe.
How to avoid the fire.

Play the white game.
Wear the white clothes.
Change your name to Tom. Or John.
So it eases the barriers down.

And we did it.
Before us, our parents did it.
Our forefathers.

We rubbed off the bindis.
Traded the saris for blouses.
Our houses smell like curry, so we change before we head out.
Exhaust fans always on.

Assimilating.
Apologising.

I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you apologise for the smell of your tuna.
I didn’t hear you apologise for your thick accent, the one I can barely decipher.
I didn’t hear you apologise for the skin you bare, so offensive to the culture I come from.

That’s right.
You don’t need to apologise.
It is who you are.

So why the fuck.
Are we apologising for who we are?

I blame us.
Us.

Me.
Me.
Me.

So now, when I order an latte, I don’t say “Kish” to make it easier for you to spell my name.
I say Karishma. So you learn it for the next Karishma.

I don’t tell my son to take off his rakhi, or hesitate to speak in Indian to him in front of you.
It’s not rude. It’s our language.

I cook up a curry storm and I invite you home for it.

We are us.
And the differences make us beautiful.
And who we are.

Erasing them, erases us.
And we are hollow inside.
Lost, confused and messed up.
Trying to be like you, but when we see ourselves in the mirror, we know can never be.

X
K

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