Theme: BIG SIS
13.02.2021
Not Big Brother is watching you, but Big Sis is watching over you.
Like the sun.
It’s time.
I’ve always been less of a mother but more of a big sister to my daughter.
I miss her but big sisters have to make their own way.
To blaze the trail for their little sister.
To go through all the struggles first so she can have less.
They can give the best advice.
Because they are the same.
But different.
Only slightly ahead of time.
Not much.
They can still remember how it was to be where little sis is.
And there is trust.
They are a team.
Them vs parents.
They can be absolutely honest with each other.
Don’t have to pretend anything.
I don’t have to be the big sister to anybody else but my little sister.
But I can be if I want to.
I never really opened up to Lolly.
It was the same with my mum.
Everything was honky dory.
And it mostly was.
I always thought that talking about personal stuff was so cringy.
I remember watching The Cosby Show, and one of the kids would have a melt down and stomp off to their room. And one of the Huxtable parents would follow them and knock on their door, enter and sit on the side of the bed and talk.
It out.
Watching this I remember thinking that I’m glad that my mum doesn’t do that.
Talk about feelings.
I would’ve died.
Of embarrassment.
So I wanted to spare my daughter the same.
Embarrassment.
We are close but we never talked things out.
Always only skimming along the surface.
Because I guess in the end nothing is really ever a problem.
Having been brought up in Christian Science, I was taught that everything we perceive as negative, like sickness, sin (I loathe this word) etc. is conceived in the mind first.
And then manifested on the body.
A manifestation which needs to be addressed foremost in the mind.
So no real reality, really.
No problem.
I thought.
But I guess that even when it is not a problem, the challenge remains.
Because the mind is still involved, so maybe talking it out would’ve been good.
But we never did.
And when I start ‘uncomfortable conversations’ I always had the feeling that L would start feeling uncomfortable. And deflect.
And I would retract.
Maybe it was her feeling my discomfort and that’s why she deflected because she wanted to spare me.
My embarassment.
Not hers.
Wow.
Fuck me.
I can totally see that.
We are so close.
She learns parallel to me.
I mentioned it to my date the other day.
I said that rats are so intelligent they teach each other, simultaneously.
One learn something and the others know.
Weird, why do we perceive rats 🐀 as the lowest of the lowest creatures when they are obviously so much more advanced than us?
Why does the rat represent evil, dirt and pestilence?
Why are we so afraid of them.
They are just bigger mice.
And we think mice are cute.
At least in the meadows.
Not in our houses.
Rats are associated with invasion.
Infinite intelligent numbers.
Clever invasions.
Outsmarting us.
Is that our primal fear?
Being outnumbered and outsmarted?
The human race being overrun by bigger brains?
Mars Attacks?
That would be terrifying.
I agree.
But funny too.
Because it will show us how pathetic we actually are.
How ridiculous.
It would be like someone suddenly saying that the earth is orbiting the sun.
And round.
Preposterous.
One with better vision.
Better knowledge.
A Preposterer.
If it’s only one person, we can persecute them.
Or maybe crucify.
Or throw them into prison and away the key.
But what to do with many?
We will feel helpless.
Because we perceive that someone with better knowledge, a rat, would come to take us down.
But why?
Wouldn’t they be aware of our challenges and go
“This is how we do it … South Central does it like nobody does …”
Like a big Sis.
They would sometimes be annoyed with us. For being annoying.
For taking their favourite pair of shoes.
And forgetting them at a party.
For entering before knocking.
For being whiny.
For being spoilt.
For going through her records without asking.
For being lazy around the house.
For cheating at games.
For getting more pocket money than we had at their age.
For being preferred by our parents.
For having more freedom than we had at their age.
For having the better room.
OMG, our mother could never have sex unless we were in school, because her room was the same room as my brother’s but behind a wall of cupboards …
I just realised.
No privacy.
Is that what I’ve been chasing by always living with other people?
I’ve never lived with complete privacy. However, I am also a very private person. I rarely open up to people.
Irony.
I probably opened up to Jones the most in my life.
I wasn’t embarrassed.
It was completely fine.
Because he said so.
He actually didn’t give me any advice or such.
But said that things will be ok.
That’s all it takes.
Sometimes.
But it needs it.
The challenge when discussed openly as not a problem but a challenge still needs a treatment.
You the treatment is acknowledgement.
That it exists.
That it is.
Not something but also not nothing.
It should not be ignored.
But looked at.
As nothing.
Not acknowledging something as nothing makes it something.
Nothing becoming something.
By leaving it in the dark.
Not shining a light on it.
And that’s all it takes.
It’s not a hairy and wild and fierce thing which is lurking in the dark.
Something which we will have to drag out and fight.
Potentially losing the fight because it’s bigger and hairier and scarier than we expected.
It’s not like that.
Never.
But what it always is, it’s our fear of it. Because we don’t know what it looks like.
Ingrained primal fear of the dark.
The unknown.
Classic Grimm’s.
But they gave it identities.
Our feary minds makes it our worse case scenario.
And that’s what it becomes.
The shape of.
Look around you sometime at all of your fears manifested to the extreme in the people closest to you.
They are mirroring it back to you.
Pay close attention and you recognise it.
Jones is the manifestation of my addiction to need. By being ridiculously needy.
My fear of letting go.
L is the manifestation of fear of letting go too. By being ridiculously grounded. With weight.
That’s the Boggard spell: Ridiculus!
To turn your fear into something funny.
The big hairy smelly beast into …
you fill in the dots yourself.
But you have to face the Boggard (no problem) and see it.
For what it is.
No problem.
Fear makes it into something.
So make it into something else you are the opposite of afraid of.
And have fun.
With it.
Maybe it will let you come into the room without knocking and listen to some records.
Together.
Cuddling.
It might itch a bit ‘cos she got hairy armpits.
But you are starting too.
Fuck.
Maybe I should go to California.
There is sun.
And better internet.
I wonder how I can do that?
Rachel?
Any ideas?
OMG, Fuck!
Maybe Miami!
I have a friend there …
Rachel, is who were famous writers living in Miami Beach?
What do we fear more:
The big hairy monster in the dark or being seen finding out that what we were mortally afraid of was actually a ladybird.
This is one of our biggest fears.
Embarrassment.
But why?
What is it about it?
One of my early childhood memories is standing up in class and being told that my answer I was 100% convinced was right, was wrong.
I still feel the feeling.
And my resolve then to never stand up like this again.
I must’ve been 5.
What is it about being laughed at by a group of peers?
Feeling embarrassed.
Size does matter.
I wonder if women are obsessed with the size of a man’s cock in order to be able to regress/live out the moment of loosing their virginity? Before you had sex for the first time, any cock was considered big. Because you entrance was small.
And for most women, being ‘deflowered’ is painful.
And bloody.
Something that is supposed to be pleasure is pain.
And ugly.
Big realisation.
And the even biggest confusion sets in.
I wonder if women subconsciously want to go there, to that moment, to relive it, in order to make sense of the confusion?
A confusion which has been with them all their lives?
That’s where sexual abuse of children plays in.
I remember being playfully forced into sex when I was maybe 6 or 7 years old.
By a teenage boy.
On a family holiday.
Go figure.
I don’t even know why he was there.
It was the only time we went on holiday outside of Austria.
Italy is was in fact.
The German speaking part.
I actually mentioned it yesterday.
It was exactly what I wanted.
Ironic.
I remember thinking that his balls were funny.
So wrinkly.
And I remember afterwards that I always had to go and pee.
I thought that was curious.
I don’t remember feeling any pain though.
Maybe there was a reason for that.
Interesting.
I didn’t feel pain so I guess I wasn’t confused in that way.
But for women it must be a traumatic experience. All these expectations, hopes and dreams and then pain.
You thought you had the right answer.
But you were wrong.
Now you’re exposed.
Naked and vulnerable.
Embarrassed.
And you wish you could go back and do it right this time.
Do women want to go back to the moment before?
In order to feel secure again?
In-vulnerable?
Do women go as far as to sacrifice their pleasure for security?
For suffering pleasureless sex in order to have a man around to make them feel safe?
A security guard?
A big brother?
A father figure?
Take your pick.
You probably already made your choice.
Live your choice.
Mine is lack of father figure.
Because the moment he was gone, things happened.
I was exposed.
Sexual abuse not only happened once.
But the brain has a clever way to dealing with it.
Mine said that everything was ok.
A big Sis.
But even those can only help up to a certain point.
After that they go off with their boyfriend.
And you’re in your own.
I wonder how losing the virginity is experienced with guys?
We always presume that for them it’s a piece of cake?
What about the part of possible underperformance?
Or causing someone discomfort when they should feel pleasure?
Men must be as traumatised and confused as women concerning this.
We just want a big brother or sister to say “don’t worry it’s not as bad as you think. I’ve been there.”
But we are confused and want to hear “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!”
The need for someone else to take over.
Which doesn’t work.
Because the other has the same need.
Both needing the same thing and looking for the other to fulfil that need.
Same.
But different.
So what to do?
Recognise that both have the same needs.
Only slightly different.
Presume that your need is basically also their need.
Realise that by meeting their need which also is your need you’ll have your needs met.
Your needs meet.
In the middle.
Plim plim plim.
“You have a Match!”
Why do I feel that Boxer in White Lines is the perfect lover besides insanely good looks and locks?
He is like a big brother.
And at the same time he knows that Zoe is good by herself.
And respects her for it.
That is the key.
Mutual respect for being able to handle things. But having the other one’s trust you’d be there in case they feel there are unable for some reason.
When to leave them and when to help them.
But when is the right moment to not help them?
When you cannot be bothered.
Like a true big brother or sister.
When they have something better to do.
It can feel harsh but it the right thing to do.
For them.
And therefore for you.
Same.
But different.
Where does the sun go to have some fun?
I wonder.
MARKETING
I wonder if it is time to make things less sleek.
Everything is too polished.
Without a message.
Duds.
In a box.
Empties.
Fake messages.
Maybe it’s time for the unpolished with a message?
Start with the message.
In a transparent box.
“That’s why they pay me the big (box) bucks!”
A big box to stand on?
The Graham Norton Show?
Making Oprah cry?
I’d totally love that.
Where would the sun go?
Ghana?
California?
She is already there …
So where is she not?
Nowhere.
Therefore everywhere.
I adore double negation.
Because it clarified things.
Double positive is always positive.
And only a single negative is negative.
So why not push the negative.
Double it up?
Face our fear by being cocky?
Realising that exactly that can be positive too.
And therefore fear is unnecessary.
Ever.
Even if I only see negative.
I know I can always double it up.
Or not.
Choice.
I have the urge to go where the sun is.
But the sun is everywhere.
Where I am.
Where does the sun go for a bit of sunshine?
You want to ask your big sister:
“Why do I feel like this?
Is it ok to feel like this?”
And her answer being: “it’s completely normal”
I wonder if the shame is transferred.
When we lose our virginity.
We lose something.
Both the man and the woman.
What do we loose?
Is shame the actual thing or just the mode of transport?
What is transported?
I can imagine that it is each other’s femininity and masculinity.
The guy being exposed (naked) and feeling shameful about his masculinity, his erection.
And the woman being exposed (naked) and feeling shameful about her femininity, her vagina (and blood?).
I wonder if women have periods. To remind them ….
I can imagine that during first sexual encounter both shame is transferred.
So they transfer their shame because they don’t want to feel it.
However, shame is only the vehicle, transporting something else.
What is transported is this:
The man’s masculinity to the woman.
The woman’s femininity to the man.
However, we feel we lost what we had.
And throughout our whole life we are searching for it.
In everything.
Best illustrated in our sexual habits.
Women want to get their femininity back.
And men want their masculinity back.
But they go about it in the wrong way.
Instead of search, needing they should appreciate the gift they got.
Instead of lost.
So women should appreciate the taste of masculinity and everything that does with it. While being women.
And men should appreciate the taste of femininity and everything that goes with it. While being men.
All we need is there already.
No need to search for completion in the other.
Nothing to do.
Other than to appreciate ourselves.
And each other.
Nothing lost.
Only gained.
The imbalance comes when there has been sexual abuse.
Taking without giving.
Without permission.
One sided action.
No transaction.
Then it feels like a loss even more.
And it is so much harder to see any gain.
That’s not entirely true.
There was a mutual transaction.
Shame.
The vehicle without the gift.
An empty cart.
I haven’t hear anything back from Ghana.
Maybe it’s not the right time.
I am aware that I do that.
When things get uncomfortable, tight, I tend to make a runner.
Germany to UK
UK to Netherlands
Always a welcome distraction.
Always a super smooth transition.
And now The Netherlands to Ghana?
I feel in a tight spot because Jones is not letting op. He keeps on pestering me. Being ridiculous.
Annoying.
Ugly.
Do I have to face him?
Or is running away the better option?
I don’t want to see his ugly incoherent self.
His swaying.
His mumbling.
I heard he is worse than before.
But then why not see him?
I could see him and be free because I see how right I am in leaving.
So what am I afraid of?
To make a mistake?
That my need of being needed will get the better of me?
What am I more afraid of?
Being proven right?
Or being proven wrong?
Good question.
At the moment I am afraid to have made a mistake.
Because it will mean I’d go back to him.
Join him in his shitty prison.
Imprisoning myself with him.
That is my bigger fear.
That my addiction of being needed is stronger than my desire for freedom.
However, I will never truly conquer my fear (loss of freedom) unless I face it.
Embrace it.
Embrace Jones?
In the same way an alcoholic will never truly be free while afraid to even drink a drop.
Lifetime imprisonment.
My fear of lack of safety is disguised in need for freedom.
So I choose safety in my own prison.
Instead of freedom.
That fear might be the same with Jones.
Lack of safety. So he seeks safety in his prison.
Addiction.
So we are the same.
Looking to be free as well as supported.
In being free.
While both being imprisoned.
By ourselves.
Separately.
So why would you possibly seek freedom from a fellow inmate?
No point.
That’s why I want to walk away.
To where?
Someone who is free?
Someone to bust me out of prison?
What if it wasn’t really a prison?
What if the prison door is always open?
Always has been?
What if I just have to walk out?
What if I was staying in prison forever waiting for someone to break down my walls?
Why would someone bother when the door is already open?
Waste of energy and resources.
And not necessary.
So what if what I believe, namely that being with Jones is prison, is not prison?
But an open door?
The door to freedom?
It feels like prison though because all he talks about is sex.
Being rude.
Being a dick.
So if sex is just the mode of transfer, what will be transferred?
What is the value?
Up to now I believed that the transfer of value was coming only from my side.
So I feel raped.
But maybe it’s not the truth?
There was value transferred.
I was not embarrassed with him.
My shame was gone.
I gained the freedom to be shameless.
To not be afraid anymore of it.
Is that what we should see the transfer of femininity and masculinity between men and woman as?
The loss of shame?
By being naked and without shame.
Together.
Adam and Eve being shameless before God?
They probably had his blessing, otherwise he wouldn’t have invented pussies and dicks.
For fuck sakes.
Jones always made me feel beautiful. Despite my flaws.
He was the only one I could walk freely and naked with.
Because he only appreciated.
Wow.
At the moment, all he shows me with his sending me inappropriate sexual messages and asking my two closest girlfriends to date him is his shamelessness.
He is being utterly shameless.
Is that his message to me?
His gift to me?
Without transfer from my side?
Because I believe I have given enough.
But failed to truly recognised his part of the transfer.
Until now.
Is this why it (he) is constantly in my face?
For me to recognise it?
But wouldn’t it be totally embarrassing for me to go back to him?
After all this shit he pulled?
Being an idiot?
Is it possible that I made a mistake and I am the idiot?
Is that what I am most afraid of?
Who gives a fuck.
It’s my decision.
Shit.
Today might be the day he is moving.
Fuck.
Am I just jumping into my next prison?
I believe Ghana will be my freedom, but is it?
There are a lot of restrictions on women.
It’s still a patriarchal society.
And my dad is there.
I would be living under his roof.
I probably will get hassled for being single.
By all men.
No freedom at all.
So where is the most free and liberal place in the world?
Amsterdam.
And I am the sun.
So no need to go anywhere else.
I was tempted to leave to get away from Jones.
I am not anymore.
I’m staying right here.
No flight.
But f(l)ight.
Bring it on, bitch!
Let’s do this!
I’m not afraid of you.
Or anyone else.
Jones is shameless.
An I am disgusted by it.
It’s embarassing.
So I want to do a runner.
He is shamelessness.
And that’s what I have to embrace.
My own shamelessness.
Being shameless is actually fun.
It’s comedy.
I shall watch the British comedy show
Shameless
To laugh at it.
In order to lose my shame, I have to be without shame.
Be with Shamelessness.
And be committed.
Because it is my freedom.
Embrace Jones and be shameless?
Maybe.
It’s definitely his strength.
Is that the 🎁 he is so desperate to transfer?
I like presents.
Especially when they are a surprise.
This would definitely be surprising.
And exactly what I need.
The perfect gift.
Someone without the fear of shame to explore shamelessness with.
Fuck.
El just sent me this song
It’s also a present.
SHAMELESS
Hahah, fuck, I can recognise everyone of the characters.
In my own family.
My friends and ex-relationships.
I am Frank.
“We know how to fucking party!”
This is hilarious.
My stepfather’s name was Frank.
I wonder.
Ok.
I’m ready.
To have some real fun.
