For the last two years, I have taken part in the Anzac Day Blog challenge. I've talked about the impact war has had on my family. I've shared my research into a war grave. What else is there to talk about?
When asked if I would take part this year, I heard the words 'I could do my family experience of Anzac Day' come out of my mouth. So... here is my impression of this day, and its relevance and importance to my family.
I haven't been a regular Anzac Day service attendees, but going to services is an important part of my family's collective memories.
It was my maternal grandfather who started it. His choral group performed at the Dawn Service, at the Cenotaph, in front of the Auckland War Memorial Museum. (In an aside: he'd seen the ground being levelled in preparation for the building of the Museum when he was laid-up in hospital as a child.)
If he went to the Service, so did my mother.
And, sometimes, years later, she'd take us, too. From that, it feels like the *real* service is this one. (Well, if you can't get to Gallipoli, that is. Oh, and you're from Auckland.)
If we went, the invitation was there for anyone interested. One of the most haunting sounds in the world is the marching feet approaching the Cenotaph in the near-dark of near-dawn. The near-absolute silence of the crowd makes it even more eerie. Alas, it is crowd that has scuppered our family attendance at this service.
I remember going with a couple of friends, in my late-teens. We followed through tradition, and stopped off at the White Lady (near Fort St at the time) for breakfast. One of my friends went with an ice-cream. We laughed at the look of shock on a policeman's face as we walked past him. Ice-cream at 7am. Hey, we'd been up for hours!
One year, my brother-in-law decided to come, and he brought along a couple of his kids. We shared out the passengers between the cars. On the way home, I went with him (his car was sealed and had a working heater, unlike my mother's. It's often VERY chilly on Dawn Service time.) That meant we had a chance to talk to the kids about what it all meant.
My half-brother came one year. It was the first time I'd heard 'The Lord's Prayer' in te reo. It was funny watching him hide in the crowd (which, admittedly, isn't that hard. He's not that tall. And the crowd was quite large. But, we were right at the front.) so the Padre leading the service wouldn't see him. It was his Padre from his time in the navy.
Although I didn't see it - I heard about it - and was so proud of my niece acting as honour guard one year to the morning service in Helensville. Who knew you bled into your gloves, thanks to the force of the gun-handling manoeuvres. I always figured it would hurt, holding those positions, and doing the drill with precision, and my niece said it really did.
A couple of times recently, I've gone to Waikumete for their Dawn Service with a friend (aka The Boy) and his family. One year, I really wasn't inclined, but gave myself a pep talk. Honestly, all I was doing was getting up a 4am in the cold. Absolutely nothing in comparison to the hardships dealt with by the original Anzacs.
The Boy thought it was important for his baby girl to go to Anzac services, even though she was a baby - seven-months-old. She was one well-rugged-up button. And very well-behaved. And, she wasn't the only baby at the service.
One of my nephew-in-laws tries to take his family to a service each year. He believes they need to appreciate the Anzac story.
If I don't make a service, I will try and listen to the Auckland Dawn Service on the radio. I will watch documentaries and services on TV. I will think of the sacrifices made which Anzac Day commemorates. I will thank those who made them for their courage and contribution. And, I think of the words of The Boy's grandmother - 'none of the boys I knew came home from the war. Sometimes men with their names did.' How simply put, and how poignant and devastating.
What I won't - and refuse to do - is shop. I believe it is a disservice to the men and women - and the history - Anzac Day commemorates - to sully it with sales and shopping.
Anzac Day is sacred.
Saturday, 30 March 2013
Friday, 1 March 2013
Sense of smell
They say smell is the first sense we remember, and the last we lose.
Some smells seem to be (nearly) universally loved and evocative: baking bread (well, baking fullstop); freshly-mown grass... As a city-dweller, I have a fondness for the smell of rain on sun-heated concrete.
There's the smell of freshly-brewed coffee that, for me, can go both ways. Sometimes I love it, other times, not so much.
Vanilla. Lavender. Sandalwood. And just the right amount of rose.
Flowers... Early-cheer equals spring. Violets and pansies remind my of paternal grandmother. Yes, pansies do have a scent. It's very delicate and faint, best experienced by sniffing a sun-warmed flower.
But, for me, the smell of home is a bit odd. Well, maybe not home, but the smell that means comfort and safety. It's a stinky one, which most people hate, and so obscure almost nobody know what it is. It's the smell of the pink goo my dad painted on moulds to make concrete slabs. (Think of it like greasing a cake tin, it's the stuff used to make the slab come out of the mould.) It is very similar to the smell of the glue used for tiles - so you may have smelt it when visiting a mall being refurbished.
What smells mean home for you?
Some smells seem to be (nearly) universally loved and evocative: baking bread (well, baking fullstop); freshly-mown grass... As a city-dweller, I have a fondness for the smell of rain on sun-heated concrete.
There's the smell of freshly-brewed coffee that, for me, can go both ways. Sometimes I love it, other times, not so much.
Vanilla. Lavender. Sandalwood. And just the right amount of rose.
Flowers... Early-cheer equals spring. Violets and pansies remind my of paternal grandmother. Yes, pansies do have a scent. It's very delicate and faint, best experienced by sniffing a sun-warmed flower.
But, for me, the smell of home is a bit odd. Well, maybe not home, but the smell that means comfort and safety. It's a stinky one, which most people hate, and so obscure almost nobody know what it is. It's the smell of the pink goo my dad painted on moulds to make concrete slabs. (Think of it like greasing a cake tin, it's the stuff used to make the slab come out of the mould.) It is very similar to the smell of the glue used for tiles - so you may have smelt it when visiting a mall being refurbished.
What smells mean home for you?
Wednesday, 6 February 2013
Heritage and home
This Waitangi Day, when politics and dissension seem to rule the news, I spent the day contemplating my Pakeha family's existence in New Zealand.
I gave thanks to all of my ancestors who make the choice, for whatever reasons, to start a new life in a new land. And I thought about them and their lives - and the lives of their descendants, shaped by our home.
I thanked them for making their choices that led to here. The choices that enabled me to enjoy a day in the sun, in a climate that is temperate, in my pyjamas, in a house that is warm, a house financed by a job that I love and which pays me well - thanks to my education (oh, and experience, a result of age...).
My mother is a first-generation New Zealander. Her father's father used to take her out walking the fields around his home in Onehunga, enjoining her to breathe deeply of the clean air, something that was obviously lacking in his native England.
I calculated how many generations of my direct family - through the paternal line - have been born in New Zealand, mostly in Auckland. We're up to six now. Sarah M arrived in New Zealand from Ireland in 1840.
My genetic heritage is British. Some of my nieflings and great-nieflings have Māori heritage. Some have Dutch. Some have both. And, I gave thanks for that, too. How rich my family has become.
I gave thanks for my friendships with people of different cultures and genetic heritage. They, and their perspectives and history (both personal and cultural) add richness to my life.
I am forever grateful to my smoking mates, who embrace me as their 'token Pakeha'. I love our wide-ranging conversations. And I appreciate how they understand my family and they way they work. Maybe just being in New Zealand has seeped into our family cultural practices. Maybe it's that Celtic heritage that, sometimes, seems so similar to Māori (this argument is odd, as one of the main proponents is my 99+% English heritage mother. That said, my Māori workmates are convinced my mum is Māori. Maybe her soul is). I don't know.
What I do know is that my smoking mates *get* it. They understand the things we do. And the whys which, sometimes, is just that we *have* to do it that way.
Things like the fact that family - whanau - isn't limited to people born or married into the family. Some people *become* family, with no legal or blood ties. And, sometimes, alas, some 'real' family just aren't family-of-the-heart.
Like the celebration and commemorate of Dad's 10th Deathday.
Like, whenever possible, family die at home. Surrounded by family. With their bodies prepared by family. The grave filled in by family.
Some people with the same English background of my family just don't understand. They think we're weird.
I am so happy that we have shed some cultural baggage in the move here.
From my parents down we have a lack of sectarian thinking. (Well, maybe not my Dad. He preferred not to get out of his car when visiting me at one workplace - a Catholic school. But that's a long way from his mother, a member of the Orange Lodge. And my maternal great-uncle who would always ask me if the Catholics had got me yet. Mind you, his sister, my grandmother, was taught to spit at nuns by her aunt.)
My maternal grandmother would probably not be impressed by us Wearing the Green on St Patrick's Day - even acknowledging St Patrick's Day was probably anathema.
Being so anti-Catholic - learning those prejudices - would have meant I wouldn't have accepted a couple of jobs in my past (including that Catholic school). And, those jobs helped lead me to my current role.
And, most importantly, it would have meant we wouldn't have had my wonderful, brought-up Catholic, sister-in-law, her children and her grandchildren, as part of the family. And that would have been a tragedy.
So, I thank those ancestors. I thank the Universe. All of those elements and events which led to my life here and now. Sure, it's been tough for all of us over the years (Sarah M in particular) - but I'm sure that living in New Zealand helped eased that pain.
I gave thanks to all of my ancestors who make the choice, for whatever reasons, to start a new life in a new land. And I thought about them and their lives - and the lives of their descendants, shaped by our home.
I thanked them for making their choices that led to here. The choices that enabled me to enjoy a day in the sun, in a climate that is temperate, in my pyjamas, in a house that is warm, a house financed by a job that I love and which pays me well - thanks to my education (oh, and experience, a result of age...).
My mother is a first-generation New Zealander. Her father's father used to take her out walking the fields around his home in Onehunga, enjoining her to breathe deeply of the clean air, something that was obviously lacking in his native England.
I calculated how many generations of my direct family - through the paternal line - have been born in New Zealand, mostly in Auckland. We're up to six now. Sarah M arrived in New Zealand from Ireland in 1840.
- Her daughter, Sarah N (#1), was born in Auckland and married a fellow first-generation-er.
- Their son, Alfred C was #2.
- His son was Ray (#3, and my father).
- Then me and my siblings (#4).
- Then my nieflings (nieces and nephews) make #5.
- Therefore, the great-nieflings are #6.
My genetic heritage is British. Some of my nieflings and great-nieflings have Māori heritage. Some have Dutch. Some have both. And, I gave thanks for that, too. How rich my family has become.
I gave thanks for my friendships with people of different cultures and genetic heritage. They, and their perspectives and history (both personal and cultural) add richness to my life.
I am forever grateful to my smoking mates, who embrace me as their 'token Pakeha'. I love our wide-ranging conversations. And I appreciate how they understand my family and they way they work. Maybe just being in New Zealand has seeped into our family cultural practices. Maybe it's that Celtic heritage that, sometimes, seems so similar to Māori (this argument is odd, as one of the main proponents is my 99+% English heritage mother. That said, my Māori workmates are convinced my mum is Māori. Maybe her soul is). I don't know.
What I do know is that my smoking mates *get* it. They understand the things we do. And the whys which, sometimes, is just that we *have* to do it that way.
Things like the fact that family - whanau - isn't limited to people born or married into the family. Some people *become* family, with no legal or blood ties. And, sometimes, alas, some 'real' family just aren't family-of-the-heart.
Like the celebration and commemorate of Dad's 10th Deathday.
Like, whenever possible, family die at home. Surrounded by family. With their bodies prepared by family. The grave filled in by family.
Some people with the same English background of my family just don't understand. They think we're weird.
I am so happy that we have shed some cultural baggage in the move here.
From my parents down we have a lack of sectarian thinking. (Well, maybe not my Dad. He preferred not to get out of his car when visiting me at one workplace - a Catholic school. But that's a long way from his mother, a member of the Orange Lodge. And my maternal great-uncle who would always ask me if the Catholics had got me yet. Mind you, his sister, my grandmother, was taught to spit at nuns by her aunt.)
My maternal grandmother would probably not be impressed by us Wearing the Green on St Patrick's Day - even acknowledging St Patrick's Day was probably anathema.
Being so anti-Catholic - learning those prejudices - would have meant I wouldn't have accepted a couple of jobs in my past (including that Catholic school). And, those jobs helped lead me to my current role.
And, most importantly, it would have meant we wouldn't have had my wonderful, brought-up Catholic, sister-in-law, her children and her grandchildren, as part of the family. And that would have been a tragedy.
So, I thank those ancestors. I thank the Universe. All of those elements and events which led to my life here and now. Sure, it's been tough for all of us over the years (Sarah M in particular) - but I'm sure that living in New Zealand helped eased that pain.
E kore au e
ngaro he kakano i ruia mai i Rangiātea
I will never be lost, the seed which was sown from Rangiātea.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
On moving,mementos and memories
Sometime soon I’ll be moving… My landlords need to sell, and I know I won’t be able to afford a rent increase, which will probably be coming whether they sell or not – or if the new owners don’t mind a sitting tenant.
Which means, sorting stuff out, as I’ll be downsizing from two bedrooms to one. Which raises questions on what to keep, and what can go. Yes, I know there’s a whole heap of rubbish in my place (for those who have seen my desk, just think of that chaos, but over a whole house) which can go. Magazines I don’t need any more. Recipes books that I’ll never use. What about those videos and cassettes that I don't watch / listen to any more?
But, some of these things come with memories.
But, some of these things come with memories.
One of those recipes books was a school prize. Is that memory enough to redeem it? And, those ornaments and trinkets? I inherited some. Some were gifts. Gifts that were thoughtfully chosen, and given with love. Doesn’t that justify their continued existence in my life?
The clothes? The shoes? The handbags? The jewellery? What do I get rid of? The dress my sister made me – the first thing she sewed that wasn’t for work (being a handbag machinist at the time). Or, the jumper my mother knitted me with the special wool we chose together at an out-of-the-way craft shop when I was about 14. Does anyone want my collection of library staff t-shirts?
What about furniture? What if all my furniture doesn’t fit… Can I bear to part with Nana F’s chest of drawers which holds, amongst other things, my present collection. (For family who remember that chest of drawers from Nana’s bedroom, I keep my presents in the same drawer.) Or, the Ann Box – which I acquired at 7ish from my mother, who got it from my uncle’s ex-girlfriend who was emigrating and couldn’t take it with her. (Mind you, there’s someone I’d happily pass it on to – one who has the same spelt Ann in her full name, and is the daughter of said uncle.)
What about those bedside cabinets another uncle passed on to me – again, they’ve been in my bedroom (whichever house I was in) for over 20 years.
I’ll happily part with my computer desk which is currently in pieces in the spare room wardrobe. See, I have a netbook now, which fits in a drawer. Yes!
Then, on the level of ornaments – what about toys? I have toys that were lovingly chosen and given. What do I do with them, now I’m over 40, and most of them have spent the last 3 years in a laundry hamper in the cupboard-under-the-stairs. So, it’s not like I’m using them or anything…
Artwork? I haven’t been able to hang any artwork in this place – so it’s all been in storage. Do I really need it? What would it matter to my life if I got rid of it? Would I really regret not having the ‘sheepdog protecting lost lamb’ picture that hung in my bedroom since I was about 6? Or the poodle toy I got about the same time, from the same person. Now, these two objects have strong memories for me, since they’ve been in my life for most of it – but the person I got them from was not the nicest person ever. I’d had the things for so long that I couldn’t remember where I got them from, and finding out who gave them to me did change my perspective. They were from someone I have very, very few fond memories of – but a few bad ones. (Considering how fragmentary my memory is from this time of my life, that says a lot about her impact. For many years, I wondered if my memories had been formed on others’ memories. I couldn’t remember what she looked like. Then, I saw a photo of her, with me and others in the family. And I had a visceral reaction and almost threw the photo away. Down deep, I remember her. And, maybe those memories I have are just the tip of the iceberg.) Do I keep the picture and toy? They deserve some reward for the 35+ years they’ve been with me. But, being associated with one of the meanest people in my life?
I will say, straight away! – my big bookcases will be staying. There is no way in hell I will get rid of those. They were made for me by my dad, for my 30th birthday. They are non-negotiable. I’d rather downsize my bed, if necessary, to find room for them. But, what about the other bookcases? I’m not emotionally attached to them – but I am attached to the growing collection of books contained in and on (and beside) them.
Books. Yes, when I move, most of my boxes contain books. How do I decide what to keep and what goes? I may never re-read my extensive LM Montgomery collection, but they represent a phase in my life that I remember with fondness. Or the books I studied for my MA. (I was a poor ex-student., and sold my BA books – some of which I had to repurchase years later when I did my MA.) Or my picture book collection. I love them all. There are illustrators I love. Stories that I remember as a child. Authors I’ve discovered as an adult that resonate with me. Then there’s those comfort reads – those I totally justify, as I re-read them regularly. But, what about those I loved once upon a time, but will never re-read? Do I get rid of them, and the memories linked to a specific time of my reading life. (Those Old Skool Romances, I’m looking at you – those ones that had ‘forced seduction’ [ie rape] scenes, were EPICally long, and EPICally historically detailed. Hey, it was the 80s, and I was teenager.)
Now, this is on the understanding that I have already culled my books a couple of times. Yeah, I have acquired more since then. But I looooove them all!
Oh, and then there’s all my craft material. These show my various obsessions and phases of enthusiasm. Yes, I might actually get back to doing some scrapbooking. Oh, and beading. And I will give up my yarn stash over my dead body. (Among knitters/crocheters, I have reached SABLE… Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy – I have more yarn than I will ever use in my lifetime… but I never seem to have the yarn I need for a project, which necessitates another public SEX act [Stash Acquisition eXpedition], or is it a YAQ [Yarn Acquisition Quest]?). Which reminds me, I haven’t measured up my giant Ali Baba basket, which is my main YCZ (Yarn Containment Zone) (my YCZ extends to the basket ON TOP of the giant Ali Baba one, and a small suitcase beside it).
What about kitchen stuff? I bake and all that – but I’m not that great on the entertainment front. And, moving to a one-bedroom house – do you think I’ll be inviting that many people around? Seriously. Me, my cat, and the furniture – with exploding craft stuff and books - will take the whole space up. There will be no room for more than one visitor at a time. Oh, and I’m not that into people visiting, either. I need plenty of warning, the moon to be in the right phase, and offerings made to Athena at the full moon for me to cope with visitors. Yes, I’ll have visitors – but…
And – what do I do with the stuff I don’t need anymore? That computer desk? I dismantled it about two years ago, but it’s still in storage. I suck at getting rid of stuff. But, if I take the risk, and get rid of things… there will still be things to move. And, what will happen to them when I die? As a childless spinster aunt (doesn’t than sound so ancient! Just think, by the time I die, I will be a childless spinster great-great-aunt), who do I leave things to? Nieces and/or nephews (great nieces and/or great nephews) who will also have a fair amount of stuff in their own rights.
I just have too much stuff. Too much stuff with too many memories attached.
Saturday, 30 June 2012
Singlism
So, I've just read this book Singled out: how singles are stereotyped, stigmatized, and ignored, and still live happily ever after by Bella DePaulo.
I'm single. I live alone. I don't have children. I don't want to have children. I don't want to be part of a couple.
The book made me think about my life as a single. Whether I am actually happy and content in my life, or is it all self-deception.
It also made me think about whether I've encountered instances of 'singlism'...
This morning I heard one on the radio! About singles and buying apartments in the city... with the implication being that singles only need small apartments. I don't. My two-bedroom place is 90m2 – and I'm growing out of it. Yeah, I really do need to sort that out at some point.
The most prevalent myth is the completeness one... or the just-need-to-find-the-right... one. That really annoys me.
I've never suffered from 'matrimania' - except as a teenager, when there is huge pressure to couple-up. I wish that I hadn't succumbed to it then. But, I got a great friend out of the deal - one of the most important people in my life. He's just not my partner. He - and his partner - are my friends. And I'm rocking the honorary-aunt status with his kids. He, and his family, are also vital to my family as a whole - they are part of us. I just wish that we stopped trying to work as a couple a lot sooner, to lessen the hurt. I don't work in a couple. To my last breath, I will regret the hurt I caused those young guys I tried to be normal for and with. All I can do is be grateful that the two I still know are happy in their lives. Oh yeah, and both are coupled with children. And, good on them.
The author discusses 10 myths about singles - so... do I fit? Do I agree?
Myth #1: The Wonder of Couples: Marrieds know best.
Do my coupled friends treat me like a child? Do I get included in parties / events, even though everyone else are couples?
Maybe I'm lucky with my friends and family... there are a lot of singles in my social / familial grouping - and it doesn't seem to make any difference in how we're treated.
Myth #2: Singled-Minded: You are interested in just one thing - getting coupled.
You know what - I'm really not. And no, it's not in a lady-doth-protest-too-much way. It's in a I'm-much-happier-without-having-to-put-up-with-someone-else way... Yep, I've had this one a few times. The whole you-just-haven't-found-the-right-man-yet attitude. Get this: there is no right man. (Or woman - just in case you thought I was gay). I don't want a partner.
Myth #3: The Dark Aura of Singlehood: You are miserable and lonely and your life is tragic.
Not so much. I'm happy. I am loved by my family and friends. I love them back. I'm not lonely - I am alone. And I like it that way. Too much people contact does my head in, and I want to scream and throw things at them.
Myth #4: It Is All About You: Like a child, you are self-centred and immature and your time isn't worth anything since you have nothing to do but play.
I'll admit to being selfish with my time and energy. I spend most of my time at work. I value my time alone. I spend most Sunday mornings breakfasting with my mother. I spend time with my oldest sister more days of the week than not (we often commute together in the mornings). I do volunteer work, and work for charities. Most nights I'm creating and crafting presents for family and friends.
Is that playing? Well, sometimes it's fun and enjoyable. Is any of that worthwhile? Yes. It is.
Myth #5: Attention, Single Women: You work won't love you back and your eggs will dry up. Also, you don't get any and you're promiscuous.
My work doesn't love me back - I know that. But, my workmates do. And, the customers I help are grateful I was there. Selfishly, most of the time I feel fulfilled in my work.
How do I know the people who work with me care? Because, if I'm not on top form, they ask questions. Not, why isn't she working as hard as should be?, but - is everything ok?
My eggs drying up? Please do. I didn't really want them in the first place. 28 years of pain each month... with more years to come.
I don't get any and/or are promiscuous. So? What has that got to do with anyone other than me? How many couples get any? Isn't that one of the myths of couplehood... sex is on tap?
Myth #6: Attention, Single Men: You are horny, slovenly and irresponsible, and you are the scary criminal. Or, you are sexy, fastidious, frivolous and gay.
Not being a man, I can't say much about this... but... I don't believe this myth, either.
Myth #7: Attention, Single Parents: Your kids are doomed.
I'm not a parent, single or otherwise. My dad was, for a time. So, for a couple of years I was raised by a single parent. Which is a complete lie. My parents didn't live in the same house (sometimes not the same city). But I had two parents. I also had older siblings, and aunts and uncles, and grandparents. And parental friends... I had a community around me to love and care for me. And, so do most kids - with sole parents or not. I'm part of those communities now, as an adult. What matters is the quality of love, attention, and care children receive - not how many parents they have around.
Myth #8: Too Bad You're Incomplete: You don't have anyone and you don't have a life.
I don't have anyone. YAY! I don't have a life? Maybe not to an outsider's perspective. But, it is my life - I've chosen it. And I love it. Just the right balance between sociability and solitude. God. The thought of having to put up with someone else's issues and crap and stuff in my life... Urgh. And, I am complete. I am me. Complete with attitude, ups and downs, issues, joys and successes.
Myth #9: Poor Soul: You will grown old alone and you will die in a room by yourself where no one will find you for weeks.
I am a daughter, sister, aunt, niece, cousin, great-aunt, friend. I love my family and friends. They love me back. I will be missed when I die. People will cry and mourn me. People will notice I'm not around. You won't be finding my body in weeks, and no one realised I'd died. Worse-case-scenario... would be from 11am(ish) Sunday morning through to 8am(ish) Tuesday... that's the longest period I go without contact with the outside world.
Incidentally, just because you have a partner and/or children, doesn't mean that you will be with any of them when you die.
Myth #10: Family Values: Let's give all the perks, benefits, gifts, and cash to couples and call it family values.
I read this chapter and thought - thank GOD I don't live in America. The benefits/taxes here aren't that weighted toward couples.
However - it would be nice to go on holiday alone, and not be penalised. Until that happens, I'm pretty sure I could drag along a single friend/family member... And have a whale of a time.
Maybe I've lucked out and my family and friends are so great nothing's made of my singlehood. Or, maybe things are a bit different here - and now... The book was published in 2006, and is based on the situation in America.
I'm single. I live alone. I don't have children. I don't want to have children. I don't want to be part of a couple.
The book made me think about my life as a single. Whether I am actually happy and content in my life, or is it all self-deception.
It also made me think about whether I've encountered instances of 'singlism'...
This morning I heard one on the radio! About singles and buying apartments in the city... with the implication being that singles only need small apartments. I don't. My two-bedroom place is 90m2 – and I'm growing out of it. Yeah, I really do need to sort that out at some point.
The most prevalent myth is the completeness one... or the just-need-to-find-the-right... one. That really annoys me.
I've never suffered from 'matrimania' - except as a teenager, when there is huge pressure to couple-up. I wish that I hadn't succumbed to it then. But, I got a great friend out of the deal - one of the most important people in my life. He's just not my partner. He - and his partner - are my friends. And I'm rocking the honorary-aunt status with his kids. He, and his family, are also vital to my family as a whole - they are part of us. I just wish that we stopped trying to work as a couple a lot sooner, to lessen the hurt. I don't work in a couple. To my last breath, I will regret the hurt I caused those young guys I tried to be normal for and with. All I can do is be grateful that the two I still know are happy in their lives. Oh yeah, and both are coupled with children. And, good on them.
The author discusses 10 myths about singles - so... do I fit? Do I agree?
Myth #1: The Wonder of Couples: Marrieds know best.
Do my coupled friends treat me like a child? Do I get included in parties / events, even though everyone else are couples?
Maybe I'm lucky with my friends and family... there are a lot of singles in my social / familial grouping - and it doesn't seem to make any difference in how we're treated.
Myth #2: Singled-Minded: You are interested in just one thing - getting coupled.
You know what - I'm really not. And no, it's not in a lady-doth-protest-too-much way. It's in a I'm-much-happier-without-having-to-put-up-with-someone-else way... Yep, I've had this one a few times. The whole you-just-haven't-found-the-right-man-yet attitude. Get this: there is no right man. (Or woman - just in case you thought I was gay). I don't want a partner.
Myth #3: The Dark Aura of Singlehood: You are miserable and lonely and your life is tragic.
Not so much. I'm happy. I am loved by my family and friends. I love them back. I'm not lonely - I am alone. And I like it that way. Too much people contact does my head in, and I want to scream and throw things at them.
Myth #4: It Is All About You: Like a child, you are self-centred and immature and your time isn't worth anything since you have nothing to do but play.
I'll admit to being selfish with my time and energy. I spend most of my time at work. I value my time alone. I spend most Sunday mornings breakfasting with my mother. I spend time with my oldest sister more days of the week than not (we often commute together in the mornings). I do volunteer work, and work for charities. Most nights I'm creating and crafting presents for family and friends.
Is that playing? Well, sometimes it's fun and enjoyable. Is any of that worthwhile? Yes. It is.
Myth #5: Attention, Single Women: You work won't love you back and your eggs will dry up. Also, you don't get any and you're promiscuous.
My work doesn't love me back - I know that. But, my workmates do. And, the customers I help are grateful I was there. Selfishly, most of the time I feel fulfilled in my work.
How do I know the people who work with me care? Because, if I'm not on top form, they ask questions. Not, why isn't she working as hard as should be?, but - is everything ok?
My eggs drying up? Please do. I didn't really want them in the first place. 28 years of pain each month... with more years to come.
I don't get any and/or are promiscuous. So? What has that got to do with anyone other than me? How many couples get any? Isn't that one of the myths of couplehood... sex is on tap?
Myth #6: Attention, Single Men: You are horny, slovenly and irresponsible, and you are the scary criminal. Or, you are sexy, fastidious, frivolous and gay.
Not being a man, I can't say much about this... but... I don't believe this myth, either.
Myth #7: Attention, Single Parents: Your kids are doomed.
I'm not a parent, single or otherwise. My dad was, for a time. So, for a couple of years I was raised by a single parent. Which is a complete lie. My parents didn't live in the same house (sometimes not the same city). But I had two parents. I also had older siblings, and aunts and uncles, and grandparents. And parental friends... I had a community around me to love and care for me. And, so do most kids - with sole parents or not. I'm part of those communities now, as an adult. What matters is the quality of love, attention, and care children receive - not how many parents they have around.
Myth #8: Too Bad You're Incomplete: You don't have anyone and you don't have a life.
I don't have anyone. YAY! I don't have a life? Maybe not to an outsider's perspective. But, it is my life - I've chosen it. And I love it. Just the right balance between sociability and solitude. God. The thought of having to put up with someone else's issues and crap and stuff in my life... Urgh. And, I am complete. I am me. Complete with attitude, ups and downs, issues, joys and successes.
Myth #9: Poor Soul: You will grown old alone and you will die in a room by yourself where no one will find you for weeks.
I am a daughter, sister, aunt, niece, cousin, great-aunt, friend. I love my family and friends. They love me back. I will be missed when I die. People will cry and mourn me. People will notice I'm not around. You won't be finding my body in weeks, and no one realised I'd died. Worse-case-scenario... would be from 11am(ish) Sunday morning through to 8am(ish) Tuesday... that's the longest period I go without contact with the outside world.
Incidentally, just because you have a partner and/or children, doesn't mean that you will be with any of them when you die.
Myth #10: Family Values: Let's give all the perks, benefits, gifts, and cash to couples and call it family values.
I read this chapter and thought - thank GOD I don't live in America. The benefits/taxes here aren't that weighted toward couples.
However - it would be nice to go on holiday alone, and not be penalised. Until that happens, I'm pretty sure I could drag along a single friend/family member... And have a whale of a time.
Maybe I've lucked out and my family and friends are so great nothing's made of my singlehood. Or, maybe things are a bit different here - and now... The book was published in 2006, and is based on the situation in America.
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