The Joy Of Closure

There's this delicious sensation that comes with closure, let me tell you, its powerful juju.

Day before yesterday you would swear I was drunk as fuck from my constant laughter.

If you got loose ends from a relationship, trust me, tie that shit up! You'll rejoice like you found religion and it comes with your favorite chocolate!

Had a cuss out for someone but you stopped because you wanted to be the bigger person, and you did this one too many times and now its weighing on your soul and is the proverbial dark cloud over your head?

Imagine you don't HAVE to cuss them out, contrary to popular belief I have walked away from enough cuss outs that people deserved and then later informed them quite casually that they had it coming, but I chose to be diplomatic, and reconsider my approach, instead of directly cussing them out, I took my time and outlined to them why I chose to not waste my generous tithes of profanities upon their illegitimate asses, and instead chose to be quiet until I had worded my anger in a less vile manner.

End result, closure upon that issue, and the load is lifted, you get to move forward, minus that playing on your mind non stop.

I have actually employed it enough times in life to say its more satisfying that telling ppl off, or holding in anger or deep emotions for prolonged periods of time ...

Incredibly, it physically manifests itself as well, I literally glowed in person, and in capture.

You could see that I "felt better" and it was infectious and exhilarating too, officially recommend tying up loose ends... 

The art of Closure, is one I am eternally grateful to have begun understanding! 

Burning the Bridges Without Remorse

Weeeellll... 

Somehow this weekend I got the good common sense up to begin a conversation with the absent denying father of my child's mother. 

Who in essence would be the grand mother of my child. If she were to be accepted by myself as such. 

Which ... isn't going to happen. 

After 3 years of my running from that conversation, which addresses the fact that I had no idea his other child's mother were actually involved - I DID NOT KNOW, I WAS TOLD SHE WAS A SITUATION AND HE'S SINGLE- long story short, my daughter was born 6 months after the other daughter was born, and mine is the one that's trying to be forced on a man (by forced, he means I simply have admitted HE is the father, not that I ever want a penny from him, nor him to get pictures, since he's been deported FROM Barbados TO Guyana for being a too stupid to know when to quit jackass, not that I want him to do such stupid and hypocritical bullshit as call us asking how the child he said he would rather see dead in my belly with me dead as well, the child he cursed to suffer and told me if she ever comes around him again he will hurt her, I simply say he is the father, and I am FORCING a child on him) who had me all up in the club, as his wings, had me hired at the club to be his supervisor, who was distributing his meager $250 pay stubs come the end of a week,  who everyone swore was his girlfriend going and coming, because no one else ever saw the real girlfriend. 

I finally chose to reach out to his mother, because she apparently had reached out to me, and I shot it down shortly after my daughter was born (I dont want him in her life for any reason before she is old enough to accurately pull a trigger to defend her life and be able to hit that target without second guessing herself, knowing that it is her life, or whatever is coming at her, any ties to his mother at that time seemed like a window for him to slither through).

I felt that as a woman, I needed to close that chapter and make my stance clear, I don't want anything from her, nor him, or any member of the family. I simply wanted to answer her unasked questions because I know how it can feel being completely left in the dark regarding a relative. 

So I contacted her via the other daughter's mother. 

Lord Krishna what a stupid idea. 

Now Baby Mama #1 and I are cool, we talk like regular girl friends, after all she REALLY got to the bottom of that man's insanity shortly after my daughter was born and began to see that I wasn't lying about anything regarding his sociopathic delusions. 

Grandmother doesn't like that at all, of course not, here I am, calling her son's name with my bastard baby, and everybody knows I slept around with Toohoo, Baku and La.  (funny ... no one else knew that but that's what he's told his entire family and close circle... I chuckle at the fact that none of them know fuck all about me, but know EVERYTHING about me from a man who has been a whole Sergeant in some American Army - but still got deported from there too- and on loan to the Barbados Defense Force as some "trainer" - yet trained down in Rodney's gym instead of the on the BDF grounds , posted in Afghanistan, draws anime -which looked eerily like my best friend's work, in fact, it was my best friend's work- and writes poetry, sleeps with any 8 women who can pay for his latest brand stuff ... yeeeeeeah... ok).

Anyway, after my written monologue to her, I felt lighter, I don't want her approval or acknowledgement of the child, definitely don't want his. 

I felt closure, I felt like if I could now stop looking over my damn shoulders and let my child live freely, I felt completely relieved that I don't have to do that again. 

I certainly am not the first, last nor only woman to have gotten pregnant for a man who has no interest in being the father of her child, who's tried his hardest to destroy her character -good luck buddy, my reputation is everyone else's business, my character however, is mine, and I am ruthlessly efficient at keeping it at the top of the field- 

But I am the woman who is now more than ever, prepared to be the BEST MOTHER my child could ever have had, and overjoyed to know I missed the bullshit drama ferry! 

Rambling On Love

Seems like I have a lot more to say here than I thought, after all I'm the quintessential multifaceted contradiction to every rule. 

In a strange way all that's on my mind recently is love, I just don't acknowledge it in my normal day to day monologues/dialogues on social media, but it's definitely on my mind.

Have you ever wondered if the mold was not broken after that first model was made? Meaning somewhere out there is a second or third or even more copy of the original model? 

I hope to god so. 

Hell, he might even be better than the first edition. 

If I ever meet this guy ... there goes my virginity again.

Taller, with tattoos, and finally mine ... 

That would solve quite a lot of my issues with monogamy. 

Face it, I suck at being monogamous, and I refuse to lie about it to anyone interested in being involved with me, but it all stemmed from some interesting shit a few corners in the road called life before I became conscious.

I'm not saying I'm completely closed off to the idea of being singly involved with a man, I'm just saying, given what I'm presented with for men, that just won't work.
Especially since I know exactly what I want in a man, and where to find it. Which is normally not in any of the eager victims who run forward into my Enchanted Forest of Thorns and Wolves ... 

Maybe, a change of pace will change my mind.

The Origin Of Arte - The Unknown Years -

Being 18 in a foreign country was exhilarating, I was running around, going to raves, out on my own time, irresponsible (the one time you forget to buy a new bus pass the damn marshals get on the train, and you get spot checked, get your first fucking fine... oh joy!) 

Getting put out of your aunt's apartment becaaaaaause you were too bajan for her tastes, too ''powful', (honestly, I was a disrespectful little shit and totally oblivious about it), being taken in by her pure swiss ex husband, and discovering that you pass out after running from freezing cold into boiling shower. 

- there was a moment of utter stupidity between there when I slept in an underground train station. ABSOLUTE AND COMPLETE STUPIDITY- 

This is where I began to question what I thought I knew and who I thought I was, my aunt's younger friends she had tried hooking me up with decided they didn't like me because I wasn't outgoing enough, I kinda laid back, and just let them decide what we were gonna do whenever we went out. Somehow that made me into the type of person who only "uses people" ... Alrighty then. 

Anyway, the experience of Europe stayed with me, Europe was the first place I saw a guy strolling along in an italian suit, one half  of his head blue, the other half red, and stroll right on into the corporate office of some swiss bank or the other, while my jaw swung off. 

Sex in switzerland wasn't bad ... It was pretty sensual actually, there somehow were always candles, I mean seriously, there were ALWAYS candles! Of course, I was also a single black female, in no way attracted to the single black males in my immediate social circles, I'm sorry, I'm an islander, I'm also socially inappropriate in the most ridiculous ways, so my longing for what I had grown accustomed to sexually (let's not focus on the fact that at 18 I was already accustomed to sex, enough to know what I liked, or didn't like, even though I had never had a true-blue orgasm, that would come later) led me to hunt my satisfaction in some strange circles, but I could never get my damn high or anywhere near it.

By time I returned to Barbados I was thinking in german, and speaking such, it sounded beautiful to my mind, or rather anything but bajan sounded beautiful. 

I came back home, swearing up and down that I was a grown woman and I had made it in Switzerland by myself (yes I conveniently forgot that my uncle saved my ass, heck I conveniently forgot quite a lot about Switzerland, like the fact that my green lil ass ran out of money, and had to walk from LangStrasse, Zurich To Zumikon, at 2 am because I was too proud to call anyone to come pick me up ... That's from Belleplaine, to fucking Speightstown, UPHILL, once again out of sheer teenaged stupidity)

Obviously, my mother and I could not do, so I moved out.

What had happened, right, was I came home accustomed to going on dates and not having to ask permission, and she STILL my mother, wasn't having that, I wanted to go football with a guy I had met, and she was vehemently against my doing that, sooooo, I moved out and moved in with that guy. 

Frankly, the stupidest thing I ever did. That was when my mother and I fell so badly apart that there was no way we could be back together, heck, my mother couldn't even hug me anymore, we haven't had non-confrontational physical contact (aside from her holding my hand during labour) since I was 14, if you have girl children, don't let the lil shits rule themselves until they're working at least 2 years, no matter what. 

Most of what happens after that can be found on my facebook and I don't feel like talking about it. 

This is the introduction to who I am, and more importantly, why I am. 

Today I'm in a strange emotional mood, I feel hurt, inadequate and sentimental, but not bad, just, strangely sentimental.   

The Origins Of Arte

You know ironically the hardest thing about growing up for me? 

It was recognising, I would never be "that girl" ...

Recognising and accepting that there is nothing remarkable about me aside from the fact that I'm a smart ass, who can occasionally wield a pen or pencil with surgical precision and renaissance-like finesse, I was utterly uninteresting. 

So, I got blue hair. It seemed like a brilliant idea, no one can forget you if you have blue hair right? I mean, heck, I'm the girl who got her teeth knocked out, never was and never would be pretty, skin was ruined and NO ONE would love me. Blue hair was definitely a step up. 

Being black didn't help a bit, because in the West Indies, if you're not perfect, and you're black, ya better be able to sing, or master quantum fucking physics, because NO ONE will take you seriously otherwise. 

So I got blue hair. 

Funny enough, people did pay me attention after that, well aside from telling me how much a smart ass I was, people began to check enough to like or dislike me, not just over look me. 

How can people overlook me you wonder? 

I'm six feet tall, and not exactly quiet, in any way, my personality is loud, in that bubbly, brawling kind of way, when I'm quiet, it's very uncomfortable to people accustomed to me, yet, people overlooked me. I was too ... not enough. 

I had fleeting interests in music, but i can't sing for shit, and failed my music exam at age 13, after playing musical instruments since I was 4 years old believe it or not, I panicked in the exam, that was the end of that.

I draw, well more like I hold a pencil and something fascinating happens when I breathe, because half the time, I have no idea where that came from, or where it was going. To focus on it takes every ounce of energy within me, so illustrating portraits and landscapes in front of me, while I can do it, that is a labor of excruciating consequence to myself physically. 

However, drawing really isn't that special, drawings don't stay with your mind, you don't feel sad and remember a drawing, you don't feel angry and remember a drawing, but you feel these emotions and remember a song. 

For that kind of emotional attention from people I began writing, (don't ask, I was writing complex poetry almost as long as I was drawing, I knew what Horatian Odes were, I knew what Irregular Odes were, fuck it, I knew what the hell a Triolet was at age 10 but I abhor order, so I never stuck to the rules of poetry), yet, writing was not satisfying that monster within me. 

So... I got blue hair.