About Nude Not Naked

It is December 22nd and I am sitting by the heater, where I am warm in three layers of clothes. A thought of whether what I am wearing is sexy but then again, I do not care much for sexy when I am freezing in the cold. It is my first Christmas in London and I am excited by the trickle of water from branches as the sun melts the ice.

It is December 22nd and I wished I knew more than I do now. I thought I knew everything at 13 but I realised that I do not know much more today than I did back then. The only difference is that I no longer stare at my parents as if I am a parentchomper monster from Roald Dahl’s BFG.

I still do not know if a man is sincere when he says what he does. Does he mean each word when he said he would save me when I drown? Will he scoop me into his arms and cuddle me tenderly when I had a terrible day? Am I truly the only one, when he said I was the only one under the red lattern? Or am I just one of the many ones he kissed goodnight?

It is December 22nd and I still do not understand what makes a woman happy. Sometimes I am happy but there are also times when I am sad. Will I feel happy if I worked everyday like there was no tomorrow? Will I feel happier if I had all the bags and shoes listed in all the branded stores? Will I feel like I have lost something if I do not lust after the car like the rest of my friends? Is doing what I am doing giving me pleasure or am I doing this because it is the only thing I know how to do well?

Am I living a fantastic life, as perceived by others? Or am I afraid of living to the fullest that I can? Am I a coward for not trying hard enough or am I being smart? Did I choose what I did because they were the best for me? Did I choose what I have because I was afraid of losing? Will I always be the winner when I wake up each day or will there come a day my tears will know no end?

Will Alex always bring me laughter and happiness? Will what I feel with him last until I cease to breathe? Am I blissful because it is his arms that I lay in each night or could I be just as blissful in another bed with another man? Will I lose Alex if I did not cling so tight? Will I ever find myself if Alex is not around? Will I giggle like a three year old or will I suddenly grow old?

It is December 22nd so why does my book remain unfinished? Is my life such a long journey that I do not know the end of my book’s character? Did I breathe so much life into Otto that Otto has become flesh and blood, a great part of me? Will the book’s ending be the same mine? Will Otto be happy or will she be lonely? Will she find the love that she craves for and will she be able to finally sleep?

When I was 12, my mother’s hair was thick, black and curly. Now she is a walking grey, like the long winter I feel today. She used to have such warm smiles but all she flashes now is anger and disappointment accumulated over thirty years. Will I be like my mother? Will I feel disappointed with what life had offered as I grow grey? Will my hair wither into shades of white like hers or will I remain as prim as a rose at 30? Will I lose myself completely and grow shabby? Or will I age gracefully?

I cried secret tears one evening when I sat and saw a few strands of white hair on my father. He was asleep so soundly, like a little baby without cares in the world. It feels strange growing up, when suddenly you feel like you are the adult in the relationship. You nag your parents for watching too much telly, the way they nagged you when you were 13, lusting after Jason Priestley on Beverly Hills 90210. You know that the dynamics of your relationship has changed when you reprimand your mother for not attending the line classes that you have arranged for her and she is behaving like the naughty child you were on first day of school.

One more week before a new year and I sit here thinking to myself, what have I achieved this year? What have I done that makes me swell up with pride? What have I not done that brings me great shame? Did I do everything that I needed to do? Could I have done more? Should I pressure myself a little more and grow? Or have I swallowed more than I could chew?

I have discovered two months shy of being 31 that I do not know any much more than I did when I am 30. I do not know if I should worry about this. If you ask me, I would say I have more happy days than sad. I am immensely thankful for this fact. I do not wish to worry and maybe I should not.

It is December 22nd and I am thankful for everything I have experienced. I am happy for every tear I have shed and every smile I have carved on my face. I would not do it any other way. I would not be me, if I did. I can only promise to walk on this earth to the best that I can. There are some things that I will never know and I guess life is rightly so.



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Merry Christmas everyone!

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