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Archive for May, 2011

The Fateful Day

Yesterday I wrote about how I pissed off J-O on Friday by saying I would not be able to meet her at the airport on Sunday (today). Well, I managed to talk to her yesterday and, although she was still annoyed with me, I think she realised how unreasonable she was being. She was still upset though, this time because she found out that she was not going to be the au pair of the family she thought she was going to, it was a new lot. (Although, to be fair she had turn the others down so she shouldn’t really have been surprised). She was upset because she didn’t know who they were, what they would be like, and if she would have any problems getting to them, as they lived on basically the other side of London from the airport, right on the outskirts. Which is understandable. She was worried if they would exploit her in her job, like asking her to do things for them outside her work hours (if it does indeed work like that, and not the entire day).

I received a text from her this morning, and it made me feel relieved – I was worried about her traveling to this place on her own, across a foreign city. It said “I am on the train to Earl’s Court. I enjoy it, London seems fantastic. Talk to you later”. So it looks like she is finding it ok. We are hoping that she will have internet access at some point this evening so we can chat. Hopefully she’ll be feeling a lot better.

It’s hard to believe she is finally here and that (hopefully) we will see each other next Sunday – finally. It’s unreal. I can’t wait!

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Disaster

Yesterday it emerged that J-O will be coming to the UK tomorrow, where she will meet the family she will be working for (as an Au Pair) – I think she will start working on Monday. Why is that a disaster? I’ll tell you.

When she talked to the agency people about it yesterday, they said there might not be anybody to pick her up from the airport, and they gave her directions to this family’s house – by bus. They’re expecting her to turn up in a foreign country, a unfamiliar city, and be able to navigate around it with no problems at all. I don’t know what the hell these people are smoking.

Understandably, she was upset about this, and she asked if I could meet her at the airport. Given that this was only 2 days warning, that I had to get permission from my parents, get a £55, 6:55 train just to get their 2 hours after she lands, I said I doubt I would be able to do it.

Somewhat understandably, she didn’t like this. She got very upset with me. She said that she needs somebody she can trust, suggesting that she cannot trust me any more. Today, she won’t talk to me at all. Now, I can understand that she is upset at this – I know I would be. But there’s no need to take it out on me. I can’t just drop everything and go and meet her after 2 days notice. I’ve done my best to be supportive. It’s just something that’s not achievable for me.

I can’t believe that, after 1 year and 4 months of waiting for her to come over, she is about to throw it away just over this. Yes, she has a right to be upset that nobody will meet her at the airport. She has the right to be upset at me for not being able to meet her there. But to throw away what we have, something this special, seems to me to be just silly.

I really hope I don’t lose her. She is the only thing positive thing in my life right now. I don’t know what I would do without her.

Men and Relationships

When you’re single, you tend to notice what couples are doing if they’re around you. I know I do, and one thing I’ve noticed is that guys can’t keep their hands off their girlfriend’s bodies. Literally. The most obvious indication of this when I was on the train and a couple were on opposite sides of two rows of seats that were facing each other, but the seats were just more than an arm’s reach apart, yet the guy still had his hand on her leg – and it looked like it was a bit of a stretch. Maybe it’s true that guys are more obsessed with sex, with the physical side of relationships. That’s certainly the impression this thought gave me.

Categories: Girls, Life, Relationships, Sex, Thoughts

The Little Things

Exercising Demons

For too long
I have cared
How you feel
How you think

Always at my shoulder
Always in the corner
Always lingering
In the back of my mind

For too long
I thought we’re close
I cannot delude
Myself any more

But from now
I will break free
From the chains
I’ve set on me

So I can feel
Well again
I can feel
Liked again

So I don’t
Look over
My shoulder
For you

The Room and the Book

A white room;
A white floor
A white ceiling
White walls

How big,
Or small
No way
To say

The room is empty
Save for a chair
And a table
And a book

In the chair, I sit
For the book, I reach
A blank, white cover
Except ‘My Life’, in black

Tentitivly
I open it.
I stare at it.
All there is

Is a blank page

My First Funeral

Just over a week ago I attended my first funeral. It was for my step-grandfather who died only a week or so before his 90th birthday. Everybody was saying how they thought he would at least hold out until then. He had been in hospital for several weeks, after a heart attack of sorts. He had been living a very sedate lifestyle, shall we say, for the last few years, hardly ever leaving the house, but he was ok, health-wise. It was somewhat of a shock, and to be honest I thought he would recover. But my mum (of whom he was stepfather) said that when she visited him (I could not bear to go myself), he seemed resigned to death and accepted it willingly. Even up to when I heard that he had passed away, I still thought he would have made it. But it was clear that he felt his time was up.

The funeral was not perfect, the priest reading slightly the wrong part of the Gospel, and not doing a proper sermon, but apart from that it was okay. I volunteered to do the first reading, but during the first hymn, just before the reading, I started crying. I must admit that I was not very close to him, but still I was very upset. I regretted not visiting him in hospital, not being able to say goodbye. I am crying a bit as I am typing this, even. Luckily, I managed to compose myself by the time I had to do it. Throughout the day everybody kept saying that I read beautifully, which was nice. When my nan said it to me, I could see she was welling up a bit, and that made me feel even more sad.

After the church service we went to the crematorium, as he was going to be cremated. It was surprisingly short, taking only a few minutes, which made it seem almost trivial, like a conveyor belt. Luckily, my cousin, who is a great singer and guitar player, sung and played his favorite song, The Fields of Athenry. He was not Irish, but my nan and mum is, and when he married my nan he apparently really got into Irish culture, even becoming a Knight of an Irish order, of which the name escapes me. My nan told a funny anecdote about it, saying about how he got up on a stage, at a party with the Irish side of the family, and sang the song, and my nan’s brother turned to her and said “look at that, an Englishman going up to sing the Fields of Athenry, and me sitting here can’t sing a note!” When my cousin played that, it got a lot of people crying, especially me, my mum and one of my aunties. My sister even started crying, and later said to my mum that it was my crying that set her off. I had composed myself after the song was over, but almost burst back into tears again when I saw everyone else still crying.

Lastly, a bit of background on my step-grandfather. He served in India when it was part of the British Empire and served in the RAF in WWII, both of which he used to tell stories about (also, he is mentioned in this article on the BBC History site). He was also a Conservative councillor in Wolverhampton, where he was originally from. Apart from those things, I do not know what he did. Certainly, he was a nice man was proud of his past, his links to England and Ireland. He deserved to at least reach his 90th birthday, I think, but after the stroke, he’d had enough, and that’s fair enough.

Certainly, it is an experience I will never forget. I kept the leaflet from the service to keep as a momento.
RIP John. We will all miss you.

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