Archive for the Family Category

The Time Thief

Posted in Family, Life, Relationships with tags , , , , , on 03/03/2012 by Bitsofki

Most of us are familiar with the saying that “Procrastination is the thief of time” and have probably seen it in practice as we have other things to do when we should study or write essays. What we don’t really mention, maybe even realise, is that there is a much friendlier, more effective, living breathing talking time thief (cue drumroll): The Mother.

Yes, that’s right: The Mother is the smartest, most organised time thief you will ever come across. With her cookies or trips to the mall and other (sometimes less enticing) tactics, The Mother will steal your time without you even realising it. How many times has your mother taken you to the mall when you were supposed to be writing an essay? Or gotten you to wake up early to go somewhere, only for her to take forever getting ready? Never mind the tasks/chores that popped up when you had other stuff to do.

The Mother calls you, to blind you with her love and affection, so that when she strikes: you are defenceless. Do not underestimate The Mother: she is highly trained and skilled at what she does. All those cookies, ice-cream, chats and countless wonderful things, are her weapons.

The Mother probably created that procrastination saying to draw attention away from herself. Do not be fooled! The Mother is the Ultimate Time Thief!

*No mothers were hurt in the typing of this post and it is not to be taken too seriously or too lightly. And Remember: The Mother is watching.

Father Issues

Posted in Family on 02/07/2010 by Bitsofki

Looking at the title of this post, one would think that I meant to call it “Daddy Issues”, right? I think I would, if this was someone else’s post. Yes, the term is “daddy issues” but I personally feel that I don’t have daddy issues: I have father issues. Why? Well, I make a distinction between father and daddy: A father is a father due to the facts of Biology that led to your existence (he helped make you) and a daddy is a daddy because he takes care of you. My daddy is a stellar guy and that’s why I don’t have daddy issues.

When I was a little girl, my father cheated on my Maman. My beautiful, smart, funny Maman. I adored my mother, I still do. And to this day, I haven’t spoken to her about those days. I know more than one would think..

My father (who used to be known as Daddy) broke up with my Maman (she was just Mummy back then) and that sent us into a different world altogether. My father took my sisters and went off with the new lady in his life (she’s since made the move from being his mistress to his wife) while I stayed with my mother. My father and I weren’t close to begin with and this didn’t make matters better, Long story short, I came to truly hate and resent my father.

I blamed my father for my mother’s illness, the hard times that followed. There was an attempt at some point to separate me from my mother and it did not work out. I’ll admit that I’ve often questioned WHY my mum got to keep ME? I still do.  Was it because I looked like her? Or maybe because it was cheaper for her to have me (School was close to home for me, a walk away, while my older sister had to commute. The little one was barely a person at this point. Just a baby)?  Or was it because my father didn’t want me? Since I was me, my father and I had issues. Either way, I got to stay with my mum: who became the human love of my life (I loved reading). 

As time passed and my mum and I had hard times, I’d occasionally visit my father, I was very vocal about how this DID NOT please me. To my mum anyway. I really hated my father, I blamed him for ruining my mother and my life. It was his fault that we were struggling and that I was unhappy. I had no choice, I had to grow up. And grow up quickly. I also happened to be two years ahead in school: growing up was the only way to keep my head above water.

Of course, eventually my mum got her stuff together and we hit La Dolce Vita. I was doing well at school and my mum always pitched at prize-giving and the various events (She kept this up for most of my schooling career), I was practically the only child. I had the monopoly over my mum’s attention. I wasn’t particularly fond of attention anyway so that was OK. I was still hating my father somewhere in my heart. I was still being forced to visit him and my mum wouldn’t let me get dreadlocks because “Your father doesn’t like dreadlocks”. The man was no longer married to my mum, I barely saw him and he STILL managed to ruin my life.

I eventually hit High School. And got my dreadlocks. At this point I’d technically ruled my father’s existence out of my life: the man wouldn’t call me on my birthday without my mum reminding him (he’d forgotten my 12th) and he didn’t even know how old I was. By the end of Grade 8, I started making peace with my father.

I was starting to learn and know myself and how I saw the world. I realised that my father probably didn’t hate me: he had a life. We all want to be happy and he did what he had to. It just so happened that he wasn’t happy with my mother. How could I fault a man for staying true to himself? He’d followed his heart and decided that he wanted to be happy. Even though I still felt that he went about it the wrong way: I started hating him less. I was seeing things from his point of view.

I finally made my entire peace in Grade 10: I realised that hating my father served me no purpose. I decided to let go: I forgave him. It was eating away at ME, not him. It harmed ME to carry such negativity so I saw no reason to hold on that rubbish. I like to travel light.

I won’t say I like my father: I don’t. He did some horrible things and he has made choices that I feel are foolish, even reckless. Somewhere, I think I pity him. I do however respect that he chose to follow his heart and did what he had to be happy: it’s unfortunate that he had to hurt us in the process. Time and forgiveness healed the wounds though. We don’t have much of a relationship and I don’t mind. I’ve forgiven him. All I hope is that he loves his children enough not to do to their mother, what he did to my Maman.

Sisterly Love

Posted in Family with tags on 26/06/2010 by Bitsofki

My sister is beautiful and mischievous. She’s short and cute and older than me. A good 4 years too. And yet I feel like I’m older than her, that I have to protect her, watch out for her.

She’s smaller than me and I guess that this contributes to my desire to protect her. I always laugh at how cute her shoes are: her shoe size is half of mine.  We live together, laugh together and share. We didn’t grow up together but that doesn’t dampen the love I have for her. Actually, as I ‘ve grown older, I’ve come to really and truly love her. Not because she is my sister but because of who she is.

We are taught as children that we must love our parents and siblings because we are family. I do not feel that that love is adequate.  Bloodties mean nothing to me really. I don’t think my ancestors would appreciate this assertion: in my culture, we are (theoretically) raised to appreciate family and view it as all we have. Particularly the families that we are born into. It would be frowned upon to turn your back on you great-uncle, three times removed. The way we describe family members is also different from Western culture: we don’t even distinguish between great-uncles and aunts. Nonetheless,  I do not truly respect the bond formed by Biology: I respect the bond forged by us, in our interaction. That is the true bond that I respect.

The bond I share with my sister is one of the bonds that I respect: we’ve worked to strengthen it. I’ll admit that it’s not as strong as it could be but we’re still growing, getting to know each other. She’s a sweet, little thing. Being smaller than me, she can wear my clothes but I can’t wear hers: she takes advantage of this repeatedly. She wakes up when I can’t sleep and doesn’t sleep well if she doesn’t know where I am. She checks up on me and takes care of me as best she can. She’s strong and fragile. She cries with people who are suffering, even in the movies. She asks annoying questions when we watch tv, even if we’re both watching the show for the first time. She loves Ferrero Rocher chocolate and doesn’t really drink coffee. She adores her reflection and I don’t blame her. She loves House music and poetry. She’s passionate about IT, clothes and love. She loves love and affection.

And I love her