One of the two things that I came to realize about myself as of late is that I no longer write poetry when I’m mad. Particularly when I’m upset with my mother, something that’s just going to have to be another joint struggle in the universal discourse with mothers and daughters out there. Upon realizing this, I thought it was pretty cool that I could write for myself now. Then I pondered in my duck pond some more and thought that maybe, perhaps was I ever trying to talk to my mother through my written words? – God knows that’s impossible, if I write in English that is. If I have to write in Chinese, then just forget it. We’ll shame each other to stuttering deaths before anything significant takes place.
This train of thought actually takes me back to grade 5 and 6. My father passed away and I began to revere and adulate him to no end when writing. Embellish his many life accomplishments though I only know the basis of it. And nowadays I know that he in fact partook in a 3-4 year long affair and paid for the woman’s lodgings to bring her with him. Geez, dad, could you get any worse of a drama plot line than this? But without knowing this, I wrote about him every year for at least one of those ‘touchy feeling’ papers for school so that all my teachers would come to know him as ‘the greatest man that lived’. Matter fact, I did it this year too. Now, don’t think I didn’t realize this as reality, because I did attempt to write about my mother before – it was in French, does that speak for how much I did not want her to understand this? – everything just came out…wiry. That sounds better than sarcastic. At that time also, everything I said to her was punched out by a secret jab too. I couldn’t stop it. The secret to feminism.
The second thing that I found interesting about myself was that, I did not want to be alone.
Does that sound too simple? Maybe it’s common sense to a lot of people out there, but the Duck and her niche of quirky folks (out there somewhere, hidden in their dungeon) rather adores it. She always has, ever since she learned to grow into herself and acknowledge that hey, she’s not going to be princess swan and featured on DvD for the rest of her life. She’s like the turtle in the movie that can’t quite get things right. That is fine with the Duck.
So where did this thinking come from? And when I say alone, I don’t mean like, oh my dear fairies, I need a partner, pop out a couple of children, have them proliferate a little before I die old and happy. Flutter, flutter. No. More like I want a million cat babies. But that’s not the point because alone does not even include my cat (shock). Alone doesn’t even have to be ‘real’. Cause let’s face it, in this world you’re a phone call, a computer button away from being alone. Alone just defines the feeling of having been there. Being alone at home is one thing, it’s okay, it’s your domain, nobody’s going to judge you, not even yourself. But being alone in the outside world…school, work, social functions…All of which except from school will be the off chance that I somehow end up plopped into one.
Then there was the aspect of being ‘alone’ that got me to do so many stupid things the last year. To having wondered and frightened yourself for why you feel compelled to be harmed – but I guess being so deathly scared of ‘doing things for attention’ is humility of a sort. And not just the standard, not saying no, but having compelled yourself to argue so convincingly that you are right, you don’t even question the idea that you did not partake in the decision making of it when the end of things come. I’m quite sure now that I did not. Ugly little reflection, but getting stripped while sleeping and waking up to someone just on the cuff of having sex with you does not make you an accomplice. Not even the fact that the Duck froze and did nothing, and actually even began a sexual relationship with the same fellow and rolled over when he told her to, and complied when he wanted. No, Duck, you were not at fault as so many people tried to tell you and failed to really reach you. And yet again, just writing it aloud makes me want to reconsider the final verdict, but just, no.
This discovery was made while I was having a spell of being publicly upset, and I guess saying it aloud really takes it away from just thinking about it. I remember distinctly though I was well aware that I was making such a face in public, that my words sounded so…naive, small…and improbable when I said them aloud. But then of course, one of the things about talking aloud is that you can never take it back. So there it went off. My tender hearted thought that said – I don’t want to be alone, disappearing into a wisp among the cacophony of the lives of everyone else present.
Both of those are rather heavy subjects for the Duck’s mind alone to having revealed. So not too shabby there mate.
To make things more light hearted, the Duck also discover something else that is presumably common sense also when one is put into the work force.
– Help and Smile.
I don’t mean it for clients or costumers or just the boss man. I mean for each other, the co workers that you’re spending half or more of your month with. Such simple things that we neglect to do or ignore when we’re on the job. I experienced having done both, being awkward and racking up thoughts of your coworkers all planning together to bury your body is really just, oh dear Duck Lord. On top of being overly sensitive about their comments – People have their quirks. I don’t even know what the Duck was thinking – how did she think she got made?
Any who, yes, motivated, smiles, and help. I can safely assume that my manager at the least does not hate me now from his first impression of the Duck waddling in a minute late. And having guided a fellow quacker to a decent sized sale actually helped the coworker herself to a little dose of self-acknowledgement for quote-on-quote “being such a bitch to you this morning – sorry.” Apology accepted and thanked for. But even then, something as little as helping someone pick up their belongings when it’s dropped, I got thanked. I don’t know if that was even called for because being a good kindred soul wasn’t what I was going for at that moment. It was more of a, “look at that mess, look at all that junk!” and thinking, “my god that wrapper looks like a condom, please not, please not.” So hoolios to my crazy assistant manager with his awkward unexpected thanks. I’ll continue on calling you out for drinking a liter of pop and eating a large bag of chips during break time.
That’s that. That was a hefty claim to bright and early Sunday morning. People in renowned Raincouver, enjoy the sunshine that betrays it’s actually still just a few degrees above 0 Celsius outside. And if you have snow, then stop wishing it away to nonexistent and send them here. This is your overly excited neighbor.