Don't stop believin'.

My grandmother is one of my favorite people on the planet. She's been the source of so much comfort & inspiration to me, as well as the backbone of my family. Every one of my friends that has met her was greeted with a warm hug, & left with a smile on their lips. On the day Kylie was born, she was right there, holding my hand & whispering words of encouragement in my ear. Growing up, whenever tough times were upon me, she ALWAYS bailed me out, no questions asked. When I got expelled from school 3 weeks shy of graduation, she helped me attain my G.E.D. When I passed with soaring colors, she bought me my first car as a gift. Asking nothing in return. When Kylie was little &  I didn't have a clue what I was doing, she was there guiding me along the way. She such a remarkable person with the most devoted servant's heart. I love her dearly.

She has a total of 4 kids, 3 girls & the lone boy being my father. She's never played favorites, but I've always known there has been a special bond between my dad & her. She has said more than once that he was the most pure & noble heart, as well as the child most like her. I agree.

About a year & a half ago, she & my dad had a falling out of sorts. You see, my grandmother never really cared for my step-mom. I'll admit, up until fairly recently, neither did I. She was always so difficult to love, not that I tried that hard, but still. Our relationship has always been, well, I think hazardous is the best term for it. Anyway, my grandmother did not approve of the way my step-mom treated me, & mettled in affairs between me & my father to cause us to not get along either. It was the huge mess, which resulted in a complete fraying of the family ties. They don't speak, visit, or even acknowledge each other in public. Mother & son have become complete strangers.

Worse than the obvious, a metaphoric line in the sand was drawn, & everyone chose sides. My 3 aunts of course immediately sided with my grandmother. My grandfather, absolutely adoring my dad, pled a silent allegiance to him, but also claiming the whole situation was absurd to begin with. The only one that refused to play this ridiculous game was me. I chose to remain neutral in this war, & at times I resent thatdecision. There could not have been a gathering at my grandmother's house that did not involve a complete slander of my dad & step-mom. I have a history as well as a reputation for having a bad temper, in which case I just stayed quiet to avoid an outburst. 

The biggest heartbreak, to me anyway, was my wedding. My grandmother told me that if my dad was going to be there on the big day, she would not be attending. I couldn't even breathe. I was so torn. How could I not have my dad there? I mean, it's my DAD. Even so, I could not imagine walking down the aisle knowing my grandmother was not there in the first row, watching. It was so hard for me, but in the end, honoring my parents won, & my grandmother was absent on the most important day of my life. Adding insult to injury, one of my aunts showed up. The other two, as well as a few cousins, didn't even bother to send a decline RSVP in the mail. As much as it hurt me not having them there, I got over it & acted like nothing even happened. I really could not bear to have another family feud.

Last sunday, Roger, Kylie & I visited my grandmother because she was leaving the next day for Cuba. We all knew this was going to be a very hard trip for her, as she was seeing her brother that was recovering not so well from a stroke. She had it in her mind that this was the last time she would be in his presence. So, we went for moral support. My aunts were all there was well, & the atmosphere was slightly awkward, but amicable all the same. My grandmother smiled enough, but seemed really depressed & glossy eyed most of the time.

My aunt Vivian, the one I'm most close to, pulled me aside at one point in the day.

"We called your father", she said.

"Oh?", I replied

"Yes," she explained. "Your aunt Mabel & I asked him to just let the past die & come over to say goodbye before Mami left. She's been crying since yesterday saying how much she misses him & just wants her son back. Let's see what happens."

Sometime later, I excused myself to the bathroom. I locked the door, dropped to my knees & prayed deeply. I cried so hard, begging God for a miracle in my family. For the relationship to mend, for hearts to be changed. I repeated over & over "God, please. Just this once. Fix things."

I would really love to end this post with a true God sent miracle of how my dad surprised us all, came to my grandmother's house, gave her a huge hug & apology & now all is well. I want so bad to leave you with that. 

Truth is, as long as our visit lasted, there was no sign of my father. I called the next day to hear my dad never came, but did tell my aunt Mabel he wasn't coming, & that all attempts to reconcile were useless. That he had no family.

I told you all of this basically to iterate how my relationship with the Lord has progressed. Ashley 3 years ago would have been so unbelievably angry that God didn't do what I wanted, that I would have burned my bible, denounced God & considered buddhism. And true, maybe He really didn't give me what I wanted, but he showed me what I had. Faith. Although there were no tangible displays of God's power resulting in my intercession, my heart did not waver. I'm at peace with knowing that He's got it. He knows what's going on, & He's dealing with it. One day, an absolution will come to my family & we will be closer than ever. Right now, I'm just happy that I'm closer than ever to God & feel His love always instead of just at certain times.

So, I will continue to seek Him, & I know the rest will follow.

-A.A.

 

Love thyself.

The direction I've taken with talking about my mom doesn't seem to have an end in sight, & I'm not sure how to go about writing about the next part of my life coinciding with hers. So, I've decided to take an artistic break until God grants me the words to write the rest.

In the mean time, I'd like to talk about something I've been struggling with lately.

Myself.

That's a very broad topic, yes I know. In all honestly though, the enemy uses me to get in the way of my walk with God. My own thoughts are the ones that pollute my mind & thwart me from progressing spiritually. I really am my own worst enemy (or the most successful vessel in the enemy's work against me, you could say) There has been more than one occasion where my body was physically tired from the beating my mind gives me, & I've had to find refuge in my bed, & even so satan's thoughts sometimes inhabit my dreams. 

Romans 12:3 says "For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather, think of yourself with sober judgement, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you."

You may take this verse & apply it in your own way, but for me, I don't take this "thinking highly" literally. As in, thinking yourself better than another. I'm considering this highly in terms of amounts. I think about myself entirely too often. That sounds pretty weird, but hear me out. 

We all have our shortcomings & faults that we should work on. I, however, seem to be deceived in thinking that I have WAY more defects then anyone else. The negative aspects of my being are at a alarmingly bigger magnitude then most. My self-loathing in itself is terrible, but that's the way I think. Despite all the things that would label me as being a "good person", I wouldn't consider myself one. I have too many flaws, I'm not enough, I'm not worthy.

For example, my relationship with my daughter seems to create the most mental turmoil for me. I always feel I should be doing more for her, & I in no way mean that in a material way. She has more than anything she could ever want in life, including love, but for some reason, in my mind, I'm the worst mother ever created. (In my heart, I know this isn't true, but still. Like I said before. The enemy. Such a manipulator.) Recently, it was brought to my attention that I was not the only one that felt this way, but this person decided to be more vocal about it when not in my company. When I heard word of this, it only reverberated what I already thought of my parenting habits. Nevertheless, it was painful.

Whatever the reason may be, that threw me into the most ridiculous one day pity party ever. I cried, laid on the couch & just hated life. It was stupid, but I let someone's untrue words pretty much destroy me. In retrospect, this person's opinion really held no weight, it was my own thoughts magnified that did it.

The Lord wrote those words in Romans for me. My thinking about myself all the time is the cause of so much self-inflicted. I always criticize everything about me so unnecessarily. It could be considered a borderline obsession. 

So today, I'm making a stand.

I'm tired of hurting myself through my thoughts, or letting the enemy get a foothold in my thinking. I don't want to basically hate myself anymore. I'm going to try & dwell on my good attributes more often, & just invoke more positive thinking.

I'm going to love myself a little more.

& even if I can't, I will be happy in knowing that my God loves me, & that's always enough. 

-A.A.

Mommy Dearest [Part 2]

I must say that I could not have been more unprepared for my husbands remark. Not only did it catch me off guard, I felt as if I would have to be admitted to the nearest emergency room to take out whatever just stabbed me in the chest.

"You're just like her", (the "her" referring to my mother, if you didn't catch my last post.)

It's not as if I haven't heard this statement before. Often times in a tiff with my father or anyone else in my family, they would remind me who I was going to turn out like if I kept on with my behavior. After I had my child, & I wasn't making the best choices, but the only ones I knew to make considering I was 17. It appeared as if I was just skimming the surface of diving into being her clone. According to my darling family, that is.

Naturally I was quite put off by Roger's observation. Before reacting, I remembered I had never actually explained my emotions towards my mom. He knew of all my history involving her, but he never knew the stigma on my psychosis when my even looking like her was pointed out. I said nothing, & forced a smile accompanied with a "Really? Aww."

The last thing I wanted to do was become her. I wanted to take certain actions just because she did the opposite ones. I wanted to live different than she had, to never delve in the atrocious things she took part in. To care about more important matters than partying, drinking & living recklessly.  

Of course, this was what I STRIVED for, not what actually happened.

When Kylie was born, my life was not the happy picture we often see after the birth of a child. It should have been a beautiful time spent bonding with my new baby, enjoying the special milestones & allowing myself to fall in love with her. I did, but not to the degree I would have liked. I acquired postpartum depression, & I morphed into this stubborn, violent & over the top person & I acted in ways that, well, just didn't make any sense. It was frightening. Sadly, I remember very little of the first 2 months of her life. The condition took a momentous toll on me. I overcame it, & got better. That's not to say everyone in my life got better with it.

 

Because of what happened in that time, my home situation was strained to say the least.  It was pins & needles with everyone. My father & stepmother avoided me at all costs for the sake of not arguing. There was always a thick atmosphere of negativity when I happened to walk into a room. When I did talk to my dad, it was on the basis of necessity. Unless we were fighting, of course, which became routine. Violence occurred more often than not. Although they housed me, I really had no support from them. 

After a volatile senior year, my tolerance had reached it's point. I couldn't take the constant turmoil that poisoned the place I laid my head at night. I would have liked to turn things around & try to bring peace in the abode, but we were too far gone. I eventually declared my state of affairs hopeless, & chose the best place for me was anywhere but in the house. So, I left.

I would like to say that my mother's lack of example changed the course of my life. That I knew how to succeed because she had shown me to fail. That no matter what, I would not turn into a lost cause, like her. I would never be what she had been to me. I was determined to make it.

The single act of leaving my father's house & being on my own was the best & worst decision I have ever made. One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it, & despite my efforts to hold it off....

I

became

Her.

-A.A.

To be continued...

Mommy dearest [Part 1]

I recently married my sweetheart. As most of you are aware by personal experience or word of mouth, your wedding day is supposed to be the "happiest day" of your life. I'm not one for romantic over-exaggerations, but I do admit it was the best day to date, & it was the happiest I had ever been on a single occasion.

The time leading up to it, as hectic & nerve wracking it was, was also surprisingly enjoyable.

If you asked me if there was anything I could have changed about whole experience, I would without hesitation blurt out: "My mother."

I had originally made plans to have her stay here for an entire week before the wedding, so that we could spend time together & partake in all of those classic mother-daughter things events you're supposed to before your betrothal. She could only spare 4 days with me, & quite frankly, on day 2 I'd had enough.

My mother & I's relationship has been tumultuous at the very least. I'm not referring to the years that are tough for any teen girl & her mother. I mean my entire life. I don't doubt that shortly after my exit of the birth canal, we were arguing about something the temperature in the delivery room, or what blanket to wrap around me. We've never gotten along, never will get along, & I've learned to accept that.

My mom's life wasn't easy. Her mother vacated her life at 3, & she was left to be parented by my grandfather & great grandmother. I won't get into detail, for that's her story to tell, but her life was plagued by various degrees of abuse for many years. She decided at 16 enough was enough, & began life on her own. She met my father in the wake of breaking up with some boyfriend, & never one to like being alone, began dating him immediately.

If there was anyone more inept to be a couple, it was those two. I've heard countless stories of disrespectful spats, physical fights & outrageous acts of revenge. Nevertheless, they were in love & although they aren't together & haven't been since I was in diapers, my family maintains that my mother is the only woman my father ever really loved. My father will never admit this, not that I've asked.

I whole heartedly think my mom got pregnant with me out of sheer boredom. I wouldn't doubt if she just woke up one morning & decided she wanted a baby. I'm sure if she had asked anyones opinion prior to the conception, they would have told her she was out of her mind & needed professional evaluation. Regardless of what anyone thought & how many people tried to change her mind & get her to abort me, she stood her ground & 9 months later on January 1st, 1989, I came into the world. She was 19. I admire her for this.

She tried to fill in the mommy role for a while, I imagine for a party girl like her, playing house was fun but it got old when college night a the bar rolled around. My dad has given me recounts of him coming home & finding me in the care of a couple girls he had never seen before with beers in hand, my mother nowhere to be found. When I was sick, my dad took care of me the best he could or would take me to my grandmothers house. If I didn't sleep, neither did he. Diaper changes, twilight feedings, sleepless nights. Dad, dad, dad. He gave it all that he had, but broke up with her shortly after my 1st birthday.

I wouldn't say there was a visitation routine established between the two of them. It was more like my dad got to see me when my mom was sick of me, or had a party to go to, or whatever it was she did. On more than one occasion, my mom would call my dad in the wee hours of the night to come & get me because she just couldn't handle me crying anymore. Once, my dad & aunt drove to find me in a decrepit house where they were greeted at the door by a rather large man demanding to know what they were doing there. My mom ran out & told him they were with her, & he let them go by. I was in my car seat with no clothes, mucus crusted to my face & a fever of 101. My dad rushed me to the hospital. I almost died that night &, at the hands of my overprotective aunt, so did my mom. I was 2.

That should have been the straw that broke the camel's back, but my dad being as sympathetic & patient as he is, gave my mom chance after chance to settle down & turn her life. Sadly, the same scenarios kept happening, & I was reaping the benefits. At 4, the most terrible thing that could ever happen to a child happened to me, & my dad finally decided enough was enough. He got full custody of me, & I saw little of my mom after that. She came & visited when she found it convenient, which was never.

When I was about 12, things started getting rough with my dad & I. I was a pre-teen full of hormones & issues he didn't know what to do with. It was just the age I was in. I got the bright idea that I wanted to go live with my mom. My dad complied, deciding I needed a change of scenery & it might do me some good. (I maintain that he secretly wanted to show me what living with her was like so that I would learn to appreciate how good I had it with him. He was correct.) Upon my arrival to her house in West Palm Beach, she informed me that her outlook on parenting was letting me take the driver's seat & she would sit shotgun & give me pointers along the way. She was telling this to a kid that up until then, had more rules & regulations put on her than then a cadet in boot camp. Needless to say, I went nuts, we were at each other's throats incessantly, & life was unbearable. I'll elaborate more at a later date most likely.

Surprise to no one, the arrangement proved unsuccessful & she sent me back to live with my father when I was 15. I talked to her very little, & after the birth of my daughter Kylie two years later, I ceased to speak to her altogether. 

I didn't rebuild my relationship with her until I was almost 20. God worked on my heart until I was filled with compassion & forgiveness for her. In the end, I'm glad for this, but it doesn't change the way we click. Or lack of clicking for that matter.

I've always said that my mom gave me the perfect example of how I never wanted to be in life. Being with her for those 4 days leading up to my wedding forced me to remember why I had taken that stance to begin with. We bickered like the old days, she treated me like a child & I found myself on multiple occasions wanting to rip out individual hairs on my head, one by one, until I was bald.

I am not like her. I don't like to party, I'm not that fond of drinking & I absolutely abhor drugs.  I don't swear, I don't smoke, I don't put myself before anyone else, & I let God be the driver of my life. I am open minded, rule compliant, educated & although I have made plenty of mistakes, none of them could even compare to the magnitude of hers. I am my own person.

When my husband, daughter & I made the trip to pick her up at the train station for her stay with us, it was the first time my husband & my mother were to meet. We walk up to her, exchange in greetings, hugs & introductions, gather her luggage, & return to the parking lot. He opens the door for her & she sits in the car as I'm placing Kylie in her car seat. We then begin to place her bags in the trunk & as we close it, my husband utters the sentence I'd hoped I never would hear:

"You're exactly like her."

To be continued...

-A.A.

What's in a name?

No, I do not have an affinity for Scarlett Johansson movies.

Not that I don't enjoy her as an actress, that's just not the main reason behind the naming of my brand new blog.

I decided to title it "Lost in Translation" at the end of a fruitless & rather annoying venture into the world of linguistics. 

Before I get into that, I'll explain why I even created a blog & a little about myself.

I have a love affair with words. Simply put. I think that next to natural body language, words are the best way to express yourself. I secretly resent the quote "When words fail, music speaks", because in my mind, words never fail unless you're absolutely crippled with emotion that you can not physically form the necessary mouth movements to make a word. In which case, you can write about said emotions later. 

I am disgusted with the way the English language has been raped by the slang & trends of this day & age. Albeit, I am 20 & I do engage in my fair share, but when it's the time to have a mature & dignified conversation, it's plagued with words not found in dictionaries, foul language & the dreaded "like" interlaced between every word it seems. So, to take out my frustrations, when I do sit down & write, I generally do not use the vocabulary I use on a day to day basis. It's my chance to stretch my vernacular's legs, & have a blast with the things I've come to value so much: words.

I owe this passion to my equally as affluent adoration to books. As a child, my peers thought me odd. During recess, I was the one to be sitting on the corner of the basketball court with my nose so far into a book there was little light for the pages. After school, while other kids were outside riding bicycles or whatever it was they did, I was inside. Perhaps not reading, but feeling a sense of alienation to the ones my age & opting to spend my time either alone or with my beloved grandparents. I never felt I was on the same playing field as my generation. That is, until the Britney Spears phenomena thrust itself onto our impressionable little minds & then I finally had something to discuss with the crowd at my lunch table. Despite my setbacks, I was very extroverted, had a reputation for speaking out, was known for my wit (I call it wit, my teachers called it backtalk) & always had the crowd laughing. This brought me "friends", but I never felt deeply connected with anyone at school until I was well into high school.

My dad had this saying every time I finished a book & gave him a voluntary report on it. He would say, "Reading is fundamental." Books were our one thing we had in common. I remember my quality time with him was going out on a sunday to the nearest Border's & reading the day away. He always tried to instill in me that education & knowledge were the only things that could never be taken away, & that living in a country where these were easily accessible & open wide for me to dive in, I should take full advantage & acquire as much as I possibly could of both. 

That's not to say I complied with his advice, however. More on that at a later date.

So, here I am. I'm not in college, although most agree & argue that I should be. Not for lack of ambition or anything like that. I know that I'm smart beyond my years & have so much promise & blah blah blah, but I chose to put off college out of my own accord. Why? Simply put: I haven't the slightest shadow of a clue what I want to do career wise. I have a plethora of knowledge & talents but nothing to plug them into. I'm very proud of the gifts God has given me & refuse to not use them in my work. Why don't I take general classes while I wait? I don't like to labor without a goal. I know that ultimately I want to write a book, possibly a memoir, but I'm not senile to the fact that it's hit or miss, & it's not going to maintain me later in life. Until then, I will write out my sentiments to this blog. Who knows? Maybe I'll compile all the posts & when I'm finally ready to dig in my heels & write a book, it will be half written. 

Anyway, back to the naming of this blog. When it was time to give it a title, I figured I would name it something of myself, but not so plain as just "Ashley's Blog" or something. I asked my husband to describe me in one word. He responded rather quickly with "eccentric". I was silent, for a moment, pondering this, & decided that was pretty accurate, but lacked flair to be the title. I got the britght idea to translate it to greek. Why? despite it being the root of so many words in our language, it's also half my heritage. Personal enough. So, I googled an english to greek translator & came up with this:

εκκεντρικός

Yeah, not exactly something that speaks to the masses.

I began to look for pronunciation generators. Apparently such things do not exist.

I looked up the greek alphabet & tried to write out the phonics myself. I ended with ECKNITRICKSH.

Once again, not marketable & I didn't want to possibly embarrass myself with offending someone of greek tongue coming across my blog. Greek people happen to be very proud of their language & despise when it is not used correctly. As do most people of foreign language. & domestic, in my case.

Anyway, there I was, back at square one. I entered the word in other dialects, & found myself with a lot of things I couldn't even decipher much less apply to myself. In the end, I was lost.

Get it?

So there you go. The maiden post. I look forward to keeping up this blog. I will most likely base each post of a single event I wish to elaborate on rather than drone on about random musings, which tends to elude some & annoy most at times. I hope you read again, & maybe you'll be entertained, inspired, or at the very least be able to relate.

& maybe, my being lost in translation may bring me to find myself. 

-A.A.