Tag Archives: writing

Caught Between Two Worlds

I have long been an admirer of Frida Kahlo. I am of the opinion that certain artists speak to you on a level that goes beyond simply “liking” or “appreciating” their work. Kahlo speaks to me. One painting in particular that I always reflect on is, The Two Fridas, 1939. It was painted after her divorce from Diego Rivera. The two Fridas are sitting, holding hands with their hearts interlinked. One enrobed in traditional Tehuana dress and the other in westernised clothing.

To me, they represent different facets of her. We are all gems, with different facets making up the whole. I feel it shows her caught between her worlds; who she is, where she has been, where she is going and what she wants to be. This is something that I fully understand; I feel caught between my two worlds.

In catching up with some blog reading this week, I read a post on Chocolate and Zucchini. Clotilde wrote about witnessing a friend’s thesis defence, on the experience of refugee chefs in Paris. She opened with a poem by Nigerian writer Ijeoma Umebinyuo, called Diaspora Blues:

“So, here you are
too foreign for home
too foreign for here.
never enough for both.”

The lines Umebinyuo wrote spoke to me. I’m not entirely where I want to be right now. I’m striving to keep to the motto “bloom where you’re planted”. But I feel caught between my two worlds. England is becoming a place that I don’t recognise. It’s political agendas are disturbing. It appears that there is no room for growth. The people are becoming even less friendly than they already were.

We are running down a path and every time we come to a cross in the road and make a decision about our direction, it turns out that we keep coming back to the same path. Timing is everything and maybe this is where we are meant to be right now. Even if I don’t fully see or understand it. My Grandpa always said, you never see the whole puzzle at once. There is a reason for everything and I truly believe in that.

But, I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to see what comes next. I took a leap a little while ago and it turned into a dead end. So, I’m backing up and going down the next road. I hope it brings me closer to my dream. And I hope the path we’re on, brings us closer to our dreams.

Come on in…

THE ESTHER WILLIAMS AQUA SPECTACLE — Pictured: Actress/swimmer Esther Williams — Photo by: Herb Ball/NBC/NBCU Photo Bank

Come on in, the water is just fine! I’ve taken a leap today. I have a project that for many, many moons has been so near to my heart. I have held it and nurtured it and built upon it. I just kept dipping my toes in the water, I don’t know why?

I suppose that when it’s just yours, you can continue to dream about all the things it will become. But, this is a dream that I want to share and fingers crossed, I’ll get lucky.

So, I’ve jumped in with both feet and you know what? The water’s just fine. It’s a start, no matter what happens.

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The Written Word Endures #1

Emma Stone Reading

I recently read a post on Cup of Jo, the focus of which was a discussion on the most beautiful sentence or paragraph that you’ve ever read. That drew my attention, as I’m often marking sections of a book I’m reading or making a mental note of page numbers, to be able to go back to a favourite sentence or paragraph and write it down.

I have the great fortune of getting to read a lot while I’m traveling around London and my choice of genres is always varying. I thought I would begin a new series on this blog as a journal of sorts to record lines and words and paragraphs that have stayed with me. I’m entitling it: The Written Word Endures, which is taken from a Neil Postman quote.

Travels with Charley Cover

 

I went to the small restaurant run in conjunction. It was all plastic too — the table linen, the butter dish. The sugar and crackers were wrapped in cellophane, the jelly in a small plastic coffin sealed with cellophane. It was early evening and I was the only customer. Even the waitress wore a sponge-off apron. She wasn’t happy, but then she wasn’t unhappy. She wasn’t anything. But I don’t believe anyone is a nothing. There has to be something inside, if only to keep the skin from collapsing. This vacant eye, listless hand, this damask cheek dusted like a doughnut with plastic powder, had to have a memory or a dream.

-John Steinbeck, Travels With Charley