The London Olympics is in full swing. The determination to win is evident in every creased brow and pursed lips of the athletes. They want to be the best at their selected sport. They want to get the gold. Expectations are high and the excitement can be unbearable. That intensity takes its toll and cameras seem to have an uncanny way of baring souls for the world to see.
I understand such passion. I live my life with an exuberance that sometimes unsettles those around me. I am now a grandmother of three boys. There is an expectation that I should act and think a certain way, more matronly. I rebel at such proscriptions. There is still that hunger, that sense of purpose that drives me.
I am a nurse by profession but have since reinvented myself. I have decided to become a writer.Several of my poems have been included in anthologies. There are several manuscripts in different stages of re-writes. One of these days I will be a published author.
This decision has changed me and the way I look at the world. There is an openness to new exploits that exhilarates me. Each day is a gift that I am impatient to unwrap. It brings with it adventures I’m impatient to experience. Even sadness is bearable because it teaches me lessons in fortitude and patience.I am like a kid let loose inside a chocolate shop with coins in every pocket.
Life is a bowl of whatever fruit you crave. Cherries are passé. And if the harvest is a poor one, learn to bide your time. Or better yet, dig deep inside that cornucopia and reach for the delicacies of your choice.
If the world is a stage, I’m well prepared for that too.I was six years old when I watched my first movie, Ang Bakya Mo Neneng . My young mind rejected the concept of a make-believe life. I was certain I was watching other people’s actualmiseries and felt uneasy, like a peeping Tom. Likewise, I want it all and maybe someday I will have it all.
When I Grow Old
When I get there, I will tell you.
But these things I know parI will eat all those chocolates.
I will be the same fool
who will not have learned the mystery of life.
And petals will not be sacrificed just
because I wondered if he loved or loved me not.
I will get rid of all the looking glass.
Accept that wrong reasons are wrong turns,
but they are adventures and will right themselves.
Expect to remain complicated
and not understood.
I will have conquered words
and connected dots
and broken through walls, or scaled them
whichever was faster.
But explain myself? Why? Will it make
what I did with my life rewind itself?
Regrets are for the really ancient.
And when you get there before me
I’m in no hurry.
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