Valentine’s Day

I have had a strange history with Valentine’s Day. For most of my life I was indifferent to it. I did enjoy creating those boxes in class and receiving cards and cookies. Thankfully when I was young, everyone was required to make a card for everyone else. I’m still horrified at the idea that there was a time when unpopular little kids were left empty handed with only the feeling of utter rejection and isolation on this “day of love.”

As I got older, I grew to detest it. I still don’t know if it was just the corniness and commercialism or if it was an attempt to distance myself from the fact that I never had anyone to share my love with. Whatever the reason that began this feeling though, it continued even into the years when I did have a boyfriend. I remember the first year we were together and he bought me a giant bouquet of flowers and had it sent to my classroom. I was humiliated. Red from ear to ear. I had to carry that embarrassing thing around with me the rest of the day. Of course, as far as he ever knew, I loved it.

By our next Valentine’s Day he knew me much better. Instead of a showy display, he got me a box of gourmet vegan chocolates, paid his mother to leave so we’d have the house to ourselves for the night, and presented me with five hits of acid and some ketamine. (I had recently gotten my wisdom teeth removed and raved about how much I enjoyed the laughing gas. He said ketamine was the closest street drug he could find as far as effects go.) To this day, I count that Valentine’s Day among one of the best days of my life.

It is hard to believe that was six or seven years ago now. So much has changed and yet, nothing has. In the years since then, I’ve celebrated Valentine’s Day as my cat’s birthday. (The acid that night inspired me to adopt her. I even named her Lucy.) And I guess that’s just one of the tricky parts about life. The good and the bad are so many thread inextricably woven into the same cloth. To trace along one, you inevitably stumble across the other as well. These precious memories of mine are, for the most part, too painful to recall. What a cruel joke of memory that the past can be soured by the present.

Maybe it is just an art I need to practice more, accepting and honoring those twinges of pain that impinge upon my happy nostalgia. There is beauty and growth that blooms from pain. When you look at a flower garden, you don’t often focus on the filth and rot and decay that has fertilized the soil. The longer I live, the more I come to understand that life is all about focus. It is a blessing to realize this and the fact that attention is a muscle that I can train with practice.

As for today, I will wrap myself in gratitude. Things are not perfect. They have not gone exactly as I would have liked. But so much unexpected beauty and love has come to me regardless. Lucy has truly brought me all the love and joy that a first child should. We know one another, love one another, and have grown with one another. She has been by my side through some of the darkest times in my life. She has been my strength and my purpose when I had nothing else to get me out of bed in the morning.

Today I choose to focus on that marvelous, miraculous bond we share. Today is a day of love. I have all of the love I could ever want or need from Lucy and her sister Sybil. We are a family that transcends species and language through unconditional love. And that is truly something to celebrate.

What Bindis Really Represent

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Recently, the bindi, traditionally worn in the east in places such as South Africa and India, has become a fashion accessory to young women in the West. This has spurred somewhat of a controversy. I have seen various posts online criticizing “white” girls for wearing bindis. Some people seem to think that this is insulting and disrespectful of the cultural and religious aspects of this symbol.

However, the bindi is not inherently for women of eastern cultures. The bindi can represent various things. Before I began wearing one myself, I looked into the meaning behind it. I found that the bindi was created as a way to worship one’s intellect. It is placed on the forehead, directly over the sixth chakra, the seat of concealed wisdom. The wearer of the bindi wishes to retain energy and strengthen concentration. It is worn as a reminder, in the hopes that one’s thoughts, speech, actions, habits, and character may become pure.

I would never want anyone to be offended or feel disrespected because they see me wearing a bindi. I simply wear it to express to the world and to myself, my wish for peaceful thoughts and a strong intellect. Being an intelligent woman in this world is not generally celebrated. Woman are expected to be passive, pleasant, and quiet. Many girls I know are even embarrassed to be smart and dumb themselves down to attract the interest of men. I wanted to show the world that I will never be ashamed of my intelligence. Knowledge is power, and I am proud of my mind.

Keep learning, ladies. ❤