Every single day I hear the same remark, ‘What a good looking boy!’
Even if she is dressed in pink.
My remark of late, ‘She’s a girl!’
This girl is tough. She is no princess.
She plays with cars and balls.
Converses with everyone she comes across.
She has a striking personality.
Loud, practical and super smart.
And she’s a girl.
My girl.
A couple of weeks back, Amaya’s school, Montessori, held World Fair Day. The idea of the day was to change each classroom into a different habitat. I joined the Ocean Room team and volunteered my services. Here is the view of each of the rooms changed into different habitats.
The Ocean Room
The Rainforest Room
The Savannah Room
The North Pole Room
The Cave Room
Of course, part of the deal was that there had to be educational value attached to the design of the room. Each habitat room was so different and offered all sorts of varying learning activities. In the photograph above, the students had to find the turtle egg in order to gain a turtle bead to place on their necklace.
I know that these photographs look like it was a quiet affair, but it certainly was not. I started my volunteer services at 8.30am and finished at 12.30pm. It was so busy with little kids and their parents everywhere.
Amaya loved the World Fair Day. She drummed away on the drums, had her face painted, listened to stories, visited each room several times, and gained her necklace from the Ocean Room. It was such a successful day – every one pitched in.
I feel like I might write this blog entry with a little phoniness if I were not to admit the truth. That truth being: I am really struggling to be a worthy mother of late. In fact, I’m struggling to be a mother – full stop. I have little patience for argumentative behaviour, failure to follow instructions the first, second, third, fourth and fifth time, whining voices, grumpy attitude and an obsession to do everything with me and only me.
I’m also really struggling with my pain levels at the moment. I never feel rested or rejuvenated from my sleep. This whole mishmash of life, and my own lack of individual life, is leading to a very lost and frustrated mother. And yet, my first born still writes ‘I love you’ on her artwork and makes me necklaces and presents it to me at a Mother’s Day function at her school (above and below).
I’m not a natural mother. Motherhood is not my whole world and I don’t want it to be my whole world, yet I’m really struggling to let go of my daughters. It is a complicated mind screw of guilt, deep love and awe, mixed with a lethal combination of the need and desire to fulfill my own personal ambitions in life (Shan-ism 11 kicks in every day). And yet, I know that I’m at a crossroads. I’m done having children and it is now my turn to walk the path less travelled (Robert Frost – I heart you).
At the Mother’s Day function they sang songs of such joy and love for their mothers. This event that they put on meant so much to the children. Amaya was so animated and knew every word of every song – even the Chinese one. I thought about how I created these very hands imprinted on a jigsaw (below) – my mother’s day present from her. I created the four year old that I see before me today. I try so hard to hide my pain, hurt, sorrow, grinding joints and anger from my daughters, but after this week there is a realisation that this little cherub is picking up on every cue and nuance. And she too is in pain, hurting, and angry, in her own special way. In her own behavioural way. I just don’t know how to walk the less trodden path with or without her – and Art.
First of all, I would like to thank everyone for their comments on my blog regarding my latest flare. It moves me to know that I am heard and thought of, and doing so, you think of others who are like me. I have ups and downs with this blog. Some weeks I don’t know if I can continue to place my vulnerabilities to the world. I want to hide and live my life covered with a mask. Then I have moments where I feel strongly about continuing to spread the message of living a life with rheumatoid arthritis. But, when I do place my vulnerabilities out there I gain strength and support from your words. And for that, I thank you all.
Now, on with the show …
This playground would have to be the most friendly playground I have ever been to for arthritic children and arthritic parents. And added bonus here in Hong Kong is that it is an indoor and air-conditioned room.
It’s soft all over: floors, walls, poles, stairs and seats. I do not worry about my children falling, or ever myself. We bounce right back up and get on with our fun. In fact, last week Remy smacked right into the pole on the right hand side of the picture below. She feel to the ground, but within seconds bounced back into action.
This playground – the Pirate Ship at Club Siena in Discovery Bay – makes taking my children to the playground a joyful and painless-ish experience.
I have never felt this way about a playground … it actually makes me feel like someone in their big scheme design thought of those people who have arthritis.
Last Thursday I wrote this Viber text to one of my best friends, Alison: ”My eyes are so sore from crying.’
The night before I had crashed head-on into a flare. One soul destroying, Lenny Kravitz ‘I want to get away’, ugly cry, flare. It was like two long haul trucks smashing head-on at 110km/h in the blanket of darkness in the Australian outback.
Most times I can predict where my flares come from: too long on my feet; too long sitting; too much exercise; not enough exercise; sleep deprivation; a fall or whack from the day before; over use of the one joint; or pre-period hormone shifts.
But not this one, it was crushing. I sobbed, cried and then whimpered myself to sleep as my husband massaged my legs and rubbed my back – anything to ease my pain.
When I woke in the morning – after a restless night – I knew Art hadn’t finished his deed. There was more drilling, gnawing and bone chipping to be done. I looked at myself in the mirror and began to shed silent tears, tears away from the eyes and ears of my daughters.
I was exhausted and it was only 7am. There was a school run to be done, lunches to be made. back-to-back swimming lessons to attend, and dinner to be prepared. My helper – my entire support network – was sick.
Sometimes I feel like living here in Hong Kong requires more and more strength from me with no soft place to fall. It seems life ups the anti every – single – week. And each time this occurs I marvel at my inner fortitude. My time in Hong Kong has taught me just how resilient the human spirit can be.
It’s now Tuesday and I’m beginning to move through the other end of the flare. There is of course still residual drilling, gnawing and bone chipping taking place in Art’s playground, but he will tire, just as I regain my strength and pick up the pieces of my shattered soul.
Every four weeks I get a pedicure. Sounds a little self indulgent – I know. But, you would be amazed at how much pain relief it gives me. I don’t know what it is about the pedicure. I’ve thought long and hard about it. These are the parts of it that I do know that give me relief: the scrubbing and razor action of the dead skin on my heels; the exfoliation up the calf; the warm foot bath; and the massage of cream at the end. It has absolutely nothing to do with the nail polish.
These are not my toes. My toes are too ugly to be photographed and placed for public viewing. Whilst I mentioned above that the pain relief has nothing to do with the nail polish, the nail polish does serve a purpose – it helps to make my unattractive toes look a little less unattractive. And in that, I feel better and this results in less pain for me. I love my monthly pedicure.
Yesterday was my 36th birthday …
I spent the morning having a deep tissue massage and a pedicure …
I spent lunch with a birthday cake …
I spent the afternoon at the Family Kingdom …
But, for the whole day, I couldn’t shake a couple of things running through my head:
How did I get to be 36 years of age? I have vivid memories of my childhood, primary school, secondary school, university – and everything in between. How did I suddenly end up here? How do I squeeze every second out of life, from here on in, without creating bigger black bags under my eyes? How do I hold onto this life that I love so much?
Many people have heard my philosophy on life and facing fears. Let’s call it Shan-ism 11: I would be downright pissed off with myself if I were to look down upon my former self when I am dead and see that I failed to make certain life choices out of fear. I would be pissed off with myself if I had failed to enjoy life and make the most out of all opportunities and laws of attraction. Shan-ism 11 is a driving force that keeps me motivated in real time.
Yesterday, I had an internal monologue that was laced with fear because of the number 36. I’m struggling to fathom that in four years time I’ll be looking down the barrel at 40 (no offence to anyone 40 or over). Yesterday, Shan-ism 11 tripped on the wire. Today, any advice is duly sort and will be duly appreciated.
Is it me? Or, is it my condition?
Growing up one of my brothers called me a ‘socialist’ … he still does. Whilst I wouldn’t call myself a socialist, I would certainly say that our ideologies on the world, the workings of governments, the plays of large corporations, and the meaning of ‘repressed’ are as divergent as the countries we live in.
My line of thinking is to fight for the minority.
Maybe I feel this way because I also feel unheard, unsupported, alone and frustrated – at times – with the card I have been dealt in life?
This week I received a tragic case regarding a domestic helper. We will be in court on Thursday and for that the matter is confidential.
Last week, my research work through the university went into action in a low socio-economic, high suicide, special needs school in the New Territories.
I’ve applied to do volunteer work at an orphanage.
Is it me? Or, is it my condition?
Are people who feel on a daily basis just how hard life can be, more inclined to help others? Is it in our nature because ‘struggle’ is not a momentary word to us? Or is it just me? And you?
The weather here in Hong Kong has now warmed up – finally. I barely experienced any of the Australian summer to only arrive in a very cold Hong Kong in January. The wind, where I live in Discovery Bay, was icy. But, with a snap of a finger that all changed a couple of weeks back. The weather is now warm – consistently warm – and my joints have never felt better. Each joint is warm to its very core. It is a joyous feeling – it really is. I am feeling some relief after months and months and months of severe pain. One of our reasons to move to Hong Kong was to see whether or not the weather would make a difference to the quality of my life. For now, I can feel a difference and I’m loving it.
This clip made my cry from beginning to end. Why? Because she is me. And that is my mother.
This clip is why I write my blog. This is why I demand people pay attention to this condition. Bless Caitlin’s strength, courage and remarkable spirit.
