Writing about some happy moments

I came across some girl’s blog post and found it fun reading her musings. It wasn’t deep. and I can’t even say what it was about. 

It got me thinking. A thought I’ve had before as well. Why do I only write about my moments of suffering and epiphanies that come out of suffering? I certainly love what I write about. It gives me clarity when I write it. But why is it that I usually don’t feel the pull to write about a regular day, or a happy day, or times where I am not in suffering. 

Like how would it be to write about yesterday. About going to this festival we went to. We drove there in our little car. It was fun. M was driving and I was enjoying his usual funny comments. He looked so handsome in that outfit. 

It was a medieval festival and we were supposed to be dressed as medieval peasants. We arrived there and met these friends of our friend who had invited us there. They were so nice. I was surprised how interested they were in us and our lives. I really liked this one girl and wished I could be friends with her. So it felt good that her and her husband kept inviting us over to their city and seemed to have the same interest.

M was so attentive to me. If I needed a bathroom, he looked for one. If I wanted to get food, he went and stood in line with me. We stood watching the stage (the medieval wedding) and my legs started hurting. He was in front of me. And he brought both of his arms behind him and held me from the back. And it felt so good to be held like that. 

It felt good to be next to my handsome, fun boyfriend. To be part of this group, to be experiencing such a local, non-touristic festival. To have the thought “Cool, we have friends here in Spain” and they were so warm, so interested in us, in our lives. 

After the main part of the festivities were over, people were dancing freely and getting food. 

I found myself a chair and sat there while M went to get a drink. Suddenly saw this girl on high stilts with another girl on the ground acting as her marionette doll. It was so funny and she made the marionette doll girl come and sit on my leg. I felt surprised, unsure what to do and just laughed and then found myself laughing for real. 

I felt so part of this little village’s festivities. For a moment wished I was Galician as they were all speaking Galego and felt to me they were all proud of their heritage. 

We then said goodbye to everyone and started heading towards the car. As we didn’t have any cash to buy food from the booths. But also my leg was hurting too much. 

I would have liked to stay longer. It was so cozy and fun to be there. Like I was getting a hug. And I felt good in my peasant outfit. 

And as we were going towards the car, I turned around and looked at the scenery. Gosh, it was gorgeous. The green hills and forrests in the background. The little village, the smoke coming out of the Churrasco/BBQ area. The music. I felt so grateful at that moment. So happy. 

M went and got the car and picked me up and we were both so happy and relaxed. He would crack his usual jokes of everything which make me laugh so much. We thought of stopping several times for dinner but then decided better to just drive to Santiago and ended up going to the same vegan place we had eaten in the night before. 

The waiter who is this cute girl with lots of tattoos and I like her vibe came to get our order and said: “wow, you look so nice tonight” I felt a little embarrassed of still wearing the peasant outfit with the flower crown in my head (M had changed to regular clothes in the car). So I tried to explain where we were coming from and she said again, you look so Guapa. This also made me happy. That this girl whose vibes I like is being so friendly and warm to us. 

We got home super tired but good tired. 

As I write this today, having started with no strong desire to write about the night which in my head was just a good night, nothing to note. I realize re-living it brought all these happy feelings in me. 

My mind says, this is so silly. You can’t post something this simple, with no articulate prose, no good descriptions, and just saying I felt good because of this or that. 

My mind also says “your happiness is from the same things that when absent, make you suffer. So you are still in the same mindset”

Well, I am gonna let these thoughts be and still post about this day in my not-so-sexy words.  And let myself bask in the remembering of the simple, happy moments which in reality, my life is full of. 

What hurts when I see that girl getting married?

I came across this Hemingway quote that says “write hard and clear about what hurts”

I write almost everyday for myself. Here in this blog though, I write intermittently, I don’t post most of what I write. I try to make it pretty or put a nice photo when I do post. I try to process my hurt first, then write about it.

But today I felt like just writing it raw. not sure why. but here it is.

I don’t know what hurts right now. Anxiety is here in my heart. The daily low-grade anxiety, and some more on top of it.

Maybe it is more than about my worry about my fucked up knee or what happens next. 

Maybe it is about wether I am making good choices. Am I making good choices with my knee, with my life, with my writing online or not. 

I remember the post I saw yesterday of this girl who is an author and she looks radiant and beautiful. It was a video clip that her new fiancé had posted, with her showing her engagement ring and he had written “my wife”

I have the thought that she is living her best life. She got married to her boyfriend of many years before, then fell in love with this guy, and is now marrying this guy. She is writing about of all of this. I think the thought “She is being courageous. Doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She is saying yes to herself” and am I doing that?

I compare my fears to the post of her and her new man in the car, and she is showing her ring and it is making me feel like somehow I am making a mistake, I don’t know what is the mistake, is it being with a man who doesn’t believe in marriage? Is it that I have somehow come to not really believe in marriage myself, to think why get married? is it that I think I am gonna regret it?

That maybe I am fooling myself. Maybe I want that. I want to be proposed to, by a an attractive man who is independent, has his own life but says I want you to be my wife. 

My boyfriend whom I find attractive, is independent, has his own life, and in essence is saying; I want you to be my partner, to live with me, I accepts you as you are, I let you be you, I don’t judge you, I support you, I cook for you, what I have is yours, I accompany you where you need me, I let you see the real me, I tell you about my life, I plan the next trip and the next year with you and the year after, I want to buy a house with you, one we will renovate together and live in…. but no promise of forever.

And I think, well, it makes sense. How can I promise forever to anyone? I may even feel trapped if I were to actually get married. I haven’t felt consistent love for anyone in my entire life, not my family, not even myself. How can I say I will love you forever? Even this girl who is engaged and looks so happy, 2 years ago she told the other guy “I will be with you until my last breath” and is now marrying this other guy. 

A part of me doesn’t give a shit about getting married, doesn’t believe in it. This part of me has no doubt about my boyfriend’s love for me. I know he wants what we have now, forever but is also open to life and what comes. This makes total sense to me and I believe the same.

But what is it about that photo, this guy who looks like such a free spirit, such a non-marrying type, saying “this woman is gonna be my wife” that makes me feel like I am not loved enough, not worthy enough, not doing the right thing in my life, not making good decisions.

It takes me to that part of me that feels unloved. The teenage girl who was not attractive enough, too olive-skinned, too clumsy, not feminine enough, not savvy enough, not cool enough, not popular enough. 

The one who found out one day that she doesn’t look like the pretty girls. Was told another day that she walks like a duck, was told another day that she is too loud and that this is not lady-like. And remembers so many memories of feeling stupid and uncool.

Then I come to the now, and realize I went from a photo of a woman, a man, looking happy, she showing her engagement ring, him calling her “my wife” to some very distant memory where I heard and somehow believed I am not as lovable, that I am lesser. 

Here is the hurt. The wound in my heart that opens whenever I feel unlovable. The teenage girl. No matter how much better looking I have made myself to be, a nose job, weight loss, better hair style, plucked eyebrows, how many people calling me attractive. 

None of that matters. 

The girl that feels ugly, stupid, uncool, dumb, clumsy, not-feminine, not-desirable lives in me and is ready to feel hurt when “he doesn’t say or do what would mean he loves you and means you are lovable”