It has now been a few months over a year since I started blogging, and as usual, I let an anniversary go by unmarked. Couldn’t be bothered to make a fuss I suppose.
I can’t really recall why I started this blog, only that Huz egged me into it. It’s not that I think of myself as a big fat writer or anything. Just big and fat perhaps. But that’s probably my body dysmorphia manifesting itself…
I guess I started writing to have something to do with my time. Not that I’m an idle person, that wouldn’t be true…
I do a lot of stuff that doesn’t exactly have anything to do with ‘making a living’. Which makes me wonder, is making a living the only thing that substantiates one’s life? What gives a ‘working’ person superiority over a ‘non-working’ person? Does the fact that I’m a ‘non-working’ person make me, in fact, a ‘non-working’ person?
‘What is it that you do?’, I’m often asked, and frankly, this question always stumps me. I usually start babbling some nonsense or other so as to baffle the questioner, when all I really want to do is punch the person in the face. The reason, I suppose, is because I hate being categorized. I don’t want to be one thing or another. Just because I’m someone’s wife and don’t go out to work doesn’t make me a ‘housewife’.
Yes, I am a wife. Yes, I am a mom. No, I don’t have a job. But a lady of leisure? Hell no.
I digress from my original train of thought, but I find I have ventured into saying something else that needs to be said. But I’ll get back to that later. First, let me make the point I was trying to make.
No, I’m not an aspiring writer. I just did well in English Language at school, and enjoyed writing essays. A lot. And I enjoyed reading. A lot.
So I’m doing now, what I used to love doing when I was way younger, and with no desire to take it any further than what and where it is. Does that make me unambitious?
I’m really glad to have a bunch of people (you guys who’re reading this!) who read what I have to say….some of you respond to me and leave a comment, or ‘like’ what I write, which gratifies me no end.
But writing this blog had nothing to do with ‘improving’ myself, or my style of writing or whatever. I just said what I felt needed to be said. Nothing earth-shattering or anything. Just, you know, stuff that I felt like articulating somewhere convenient. So, if a friend tells me, ‘Hey, I like your blog…you’ve really improved from the stuff you wrote earlier’, I’m left with mixed feelings. On the one hand I feel warm and fuzzy….on the other, I feel kinda let down.
I never wrote to be judged for my writing. Any comments like that just leave me feeling hollow, and a bit offended. I never asked for an opinion!
Then again, isn’t that what a blog is about? Aren’t my musings up for inspection?
Phew, okay now, my point has been made. See? Nothing earth-shattering at all.
So to get back to that other train of thought, no, I don’t consider myself to be a ‘housewife’. And I’m definitely not an ‘aunty’, though that’s what Amu’s friends call me, something that took a while getting used to. Does that mean I’m in denial?
I won’t bother answering that, and neither should you, if you know what’s good for you 😉
The fact is, there are a lot of things I do, which I don’t let anyone else do for me. I cook, I drive, I wash, I sew, I garden, I move heavy furniture, I paint, I write, I visit, I do groceries, and a whole bunch of things that glue our tiny little household together. And through all these things that I do (that I don’t get paid for…but I should!) I try to find time to do some fun things too. I get tired though. I love my alone time. I like to sit some place quiet and just…think. Look at my plants. Admire the sky. Think of ways to prettify the house. I don’t always appreciate being invited out, because it makes me stop doing all the things I do to pay attention to how I look, my hair, my clothes, my face, and it makes me think, life is a lot of work.
It makes me think, one works, just to stay on top of things, and in the end is known only as someone who doesn’t….you know….’work’.