I think I have personally had to face ALL of these “judgements”…cheers to loving WHO you wish, HOW you wish! xxx c
“But I very seldomly follow it.” – Alice, from Alice in Wonderland.
Last night, over conversation that can only be had over multiple glasses of fizzy lambrusco and exceptional buffalo mozzarella with fresh basil and tomatos, as I was recounting my recent romantic failure, a very good friend had a brilliant and penetrating response:
“You know, you can only start being happy in relationships when you realize everything that happens in them, from the moment you begin to the moment it’s over, is about YOU.”
I knew this. I know this! But somehow hearing it from another had a different impact; gave me a moment to pause:
It’s not about you, it’s about ME. I cannot control, predict, or even understand all of your actions…but mine, mine I can, and I owe it to the people who have chosen to be a part of my life to to do exactly that.
Thank you, my friend…you are a wise woman.
Isn’t it funny how it always sounds better coming from someone else’s lips…
This is my friend…showing us her “Hump Day” humor, and yes she is cheeky and sexy and smart…all of the things that attract, but her post brought something else to my attention:
The power of expression,
and more to the point:
The power of expression in social media.
It likely comes at no surprise to you that for me social media represents both a means of expression as well as a vehicle towards real human connection. That said, social media recently has proven it’s breadth of communication, but has yet to offer evidence as to it’s true depth. Reading snippets of stories, reactions, opinions, images…they all flash through our timelines so quickly that we barely have the opportunity to process them. What are the implications of processing information like this? Errors in communication seem inevitable and yet I have also been witness to thoughtful, subjective, and critical articulations to very difficult issues.
The question then, is not one of the use or misuse of “power” in social media…influence we ALL share…rather it is the willingness of responsibility:
If I post/tweet/write this, I will then listen and respond to others’ reactions.
Too much to ask?
Too much to ask.
I suppose in the end, it’s best to keep social media in it’s place:
A means of communication.
Rather than make it out to be more than it is…
Because in reality (mine? or yours?), Meli’s “middle finger,” may indicate:
“Fuck you,” or
We’ll just never know. And hey, that’s okay right? Just as long as you’re still my “friend.”
“There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”
This is a fantastic film…detailing the bind all lovers face (as in the original), but specifically common issues faced by women who love women…and men.
The scenes depict both the tenderness of the mundane as well as the heat of passion in a way that so very few films actually capture.
Natasha: This is the first time in my life when I look like this at a woman. And never before has a woman looked at me this way.
Natasha: I think it will work better if you undress me.
Alba: I am going to give you the best kiss of your life; are you ready?
Natasha: Alba, this stays here, OK? In this room.
Alba: In Rome. But since we’re here, let’s have some fun.
Alba: If we did not have partners, what would we do, you and me?
Natasha: Do not forget, I like men.
Alba: But you like me as well.
Natasha: But I like men better.
Alba: I know some women who once they were with a woman they never went back.
Room in Rome is Julio Modem’s first English-language film and it’s based on Matias Bize’s In the Bed. In the original, a man and a woman share a night of passion and carelessly-spilled secrets. Modem’s adaptation promises all of the passion and all of the secrets — only this time it happens in Rome, between two women.
Lately…I have been “feeling my age”…not meaning I feel bad, or done, or “ova” as they say…rather I FEEL it…it feels good…comfortable…it feels like “the right age,” and so it makes sense that I should show it…no?
‘I’m showing my age’ said Anne, looking at herself in the small tarnished mirror in their bedroom at Bognor.
‘Rubbish,’ said Mary, ‘your hair’s as brown as ever.’
‘It’s the skin that gives it away.’
‘Where?’ asked Mary coming closer.
Anne pointed to various soft faint lines on her face and places where her neck looked stretched.
‘That’s only you…what’s the word? What does one say of statues when they’ve gained in charm over the years?’
‘Patina?’ said Anne, amused. ‘Like the yellowing of ivory.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mary. ‘Who wants their masterpiece to look new?’
(image by Michelle Wild Photography)