dishusbandmata

It’s interesting to reflect on the sort of things we have names for these days.   There was a time when everything was black and white; but these days we have a wide range of shades in between. For example, there was a time when a kiss was a kiss. Now we have pecking, necking, single lip kiss, earlobe kiss, and many others that have fought for independence from the simple term ‘kiss’. I recall a girl in my teens who thought she was just being curious with her little sibling.   Her mother was passing by during this curious encounter and the name ‘Child Abuser’ was uttered.   She told me that the phrase haunted her for years.   She just couldn’t believe that such a term could EVER be associated with her.   I think I had the same feeling when I heard the term ‘ Emotional Abandonment’ .   What! You mean this is actually a thing , and like, people have carried out studies and stuff on what I am feeling in my head? Does this mean I need to see somebody, like go for counselling, or see my GP

She laughs even though it hurts. She smiles though it cut deep down. The pain is now a constant, an expected foe. They promised to stay but that didn’t happen, as she expected. It started with her father, of course, when he decided he could love her from afar. He was there physically but never present, he just wouldn’t or couldn’t connect with her. She saw how other fathers were and couldn’t quite understand why hers was different. The same, of course, was received from her mother. Every time it happened, she laid her protective bricks. It happened so often from “friends” and “family” that she had her fortress up in no time. She was left alone in her fortress, able to hurt privately. They tell her she’s cold, unfeeling and hard to approach. But she doesn’t get why they can’t see that she feels every let down, that she’s cold from being abandoned, that she’s hard to approach because she’s not sure she has any more bricks for the inevitable neglect coming. Why can’t they s

I  sit back at my desk thinking of what to write today as I have just returned from a long day shift. I hardly ever run out of ideas and have been thinking about topics we would be dealing with very soon but if there is any thing I would generally like to write about , it is those things I remember that bring laughter. Laughter sometimes not because it is funny but because somethings are so crazily akward that the only appropriate response is to laugh. I remember as a child going towards the bus stop  where the shoemakers usually keep their wares / There was this particular shoemaker  who we referred to as aboki. He usually helped with our Dunlop or slippers/shoes that got cut. Sometimes I would take my shoes there to get them polished. However I noticed that most times when I went to repair my shoes or slippers, the aboki would refuse to collect money. Well I didn’t see it as strange as we had an aboki driver who was also kind to my siblings and I. However one day, reality st

Every day at work is quite typical for me. Most times, I have to visit clients in their homes and so it was commonplace diary calling at the home of a guy we would call Tony. His house was a short drive from my office and having made a mental calculation of how many turns I needed to get there and current road diversions, I decided the services of the satnav would be necessary.  Guided through a few turns by the lovely voice of the Sat nav lady,I eventually  pulled  into the drive of a white cottage house. I smiled to myself, impressed by the  “typical” middle class house.  Judging from the outside,I was not expecting it to be “really” bad …after all most of my clients were just folks struggling with uneven legs of a table in their challenges of daily living. I was wrong. Tony let me in …...he was dressed in just underwear. Alarm bells now buzzing ! I was immediately conflicted with the complexity of intersectionality  …my multiple self that sums up who  I am - cross roads of the