Cool Dads

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Image Courtesy: Shutterstock

Nostalgia always creeps up on me whenever I see my husband and our daughters watching movies.  I think about the times I used to sit on the sofa with my Dad, eating popcorn.  The really neat thing about him is he didn’t mind watching kid movies with lots of singing with me.  We used to sing and dance to Hakuna Matata every time we watched The Lion King.

Those were great times.  Sometimes when I spoke Dad, we would reminisce and have a good laugh about it.  My girls are lucky because they have a cool Dad too.

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Image Courtesy: Masterfile

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompts for today’s word, Nostalgia.  If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.

Waiting/Yearning #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

I drift from memory to another, yearning for you.  Why did it have to end?  I thought we were so happy.

You said that you loved being with me.  Being in my arms was where you longed to be.  You said it made you feel safe.  My kisses warmed your heart.

My love was like a thick blanket you wrapped yourself in.  I thought we had something really special.  Why did it have to end?

You and me, it was sheer magic.  We were two souls knit together.  I thought we would last forever.  Why did it have to end?

The darkest day of my life was when you told me that it was over.  I felt as if my heart had been ripped out.  There were tears in your eyes as you explained that you wanted to give your marriage another chance.  I watched you walk out of my life.

I hate that you’re back with your husband.  What kind of man is he?  Is he anything like me?  Does he bring you breakfast in bed?  Does he dry your hair after you shower?  Does he cover you with kisses or buy you gifts?  Does he hang upon your every word?  Does he know your dreams, the desires of your heart?  Does he really know you?  Does he even love you?

I think about you everyday, hoping that you would leave him and come back to me.  I’m waiting for you to walk through that door.  I’m a patient man.  I will wait forever if I have to.

 

This was written for two prompts, the first is the #writephoto Prompt – Yearning at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.  The second is the Ragtag Daily Prompt for today’s prompt, Drift.  If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.

Come Clean

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Photo by Vitória Santos from Pexels

How long will you continue to live in denial?

How long will you pretend that you love your husband when you can’t even stand to have him touch you?

How long will you be able to hide your dislike and disgust for him?

How long will you tell your lover that you will leave your husband for him?

How long much longer can you live like this?

Don’t you think it’s time for you to come clean?

77 Words

 

This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click Here.

Two Reasons to Celebrate

Young and sassy are the words my husband use to describe me.  We are opposites.  He’s an introvert and I’m an extrovert.  He’s in his mid-fifties with grey sideburns but he still has the body and libido of a much younger man.  I’m in my late twenties and I’m trying to keep up with him.

We met last year when a mutual friend invited a group of people to Maui for a week of sun and fun.  Lorenzo didn’t go with anyone and nor did I.  We were immediately attracted to each other and for the rest of the vacation, we were inseparable.

A year and four months later, we are newlyweds.  For our honeymoon we went on a 12-day Mediterranean cruise which ended in Venice, the city of love.  After we spent two days there, we headed to Milan to visit his family.  We figured we might as well since we were in Italy.

I must say that although I half-expected it, it still came as a bitter disappointment when his parents made it painfully obvious that they didn’t approve of me.  No doubt my color had more to do with it than my age.  His teenage children from his previous marriage were polite but I could tell that they didn’t approve either.  Being married to me meant that their father wasn’t going to return to Milan or reconcile with their mother.

I feel sorry for them.  When my parents divorced and my father remarried, I was upset.  I wasn’t nice to my step-mother, Violet because she ruined all chances of my parents getting back together.  It took years for me to get over that disappointment and be civil to Violet.  Now, she and I are friends.  And I can see how happy she makes my father.  I hope that one of these days, Lorenzo’s children will come around too.  He’s the love of my life and his happiness means the world to me.

Lorenzo and I ended up spending only two days in Milan and then we were off to Rome.  I loved Rome–the people, the food and the piazzas.  On our last night, we visited Piazza Navona and enjoyed a couple of gelato as we admired Bernini’s perfectly lit Fountain of the Four Rivers.

Lorenzo and I were sorry to leave Italy but we were excited about beginning our life as a married couple and moving into our new home overlooking Central Park.  It took a while for me to get back into a routine because of jet-lag.

Ten weeks have passed since our honeymoon and I’m standing in front of my enormous closet, looking at the designer clothes, bags and shoes I brought back from Milan and Rome.  As I look through the outfits a smile tugs at my lips.   I can’t wait to see Lorenzo’s face when I tell him the good news tonight over a home cooked dinner.  We have two wonderful reasons to celebrate.

That’s right.  We’re going to have twins.  Whether they are boys or girls or one of each, we won’t know for some time or maybe, we’ll decide to wait to find out.  Already, I’m making plans to turn the extra bedroom into a nursery and I’m just dying to go shopping for the babies.

The chiming of the clock reminds me that I have to get dinner ready.  I close the closet doors and leave the bedroom.  I’m going to make sure that tonight is a very special night for Lorenzo.

I’ve been learning to cook Italian dishes thanks to Jamie Oliver.  I’m going to make tasty tuna meatballs with pasta and Caesar salad.  And for desert, what else but his favorite–pistachio gelato from our favorite neighborhood gelato place.

After dinner and when we’re relaxing in the living-room, then I will tell him that we’re going to have twins.  And then, we celebrate with a bottle of Martinelli’s Gold Medal non-alcoholic Sparkling Cider.

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Sunday’s word: closet and Monday’s word:  jet. If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.

The Dasara Festival

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The atmosphere is festive as tourists and locals celebrate Dasara, the autumnal equinox festival and public holiday.  It’s the day in the Hindu legends when the goddess Chamundeshwari killed the demon Mahishasura and good triumphed over evil.  Dasara is observed through special prayer meetings and food offerings to the gods at home or in temples, outdoor fairs, large parades and bonfires in the evening.

I watch my husband and our children as they celebrate.  One day, I will have victory over him too.

 

83 Words

 

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Photo by Sylvester Dsouza

This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click HERE.

Sources: Wikipedia ;Time and Date; Your Dictionary

Choosing Love Over Fear

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He sat at the piano, running his fingers over the keys.  His heart was heavy and his mind muddled.  Music was elusive.  He couldn’t concentrate.  All he could think about was her and how much he missed her.  What a fool he had been to let her walk out of his life.  He had allowed fear to get the better of him.

What was he so afraid of?  Of falling in love?  Too late.  He was already madly in love with her.  It wasn’t lack of trust.  He trusted Odeta implicitly which was more than he could say about other women he had been involved with.  Did it have to do with her last relationship?  After they had been together for two years, the guy suddenly decided that he didn’t want to be tied down to one woman.  She later told him that it hurt like hell and it took a while for her to get over it.  And it was when she was starting to pick up the pieces that he came into her life.

They met at a trendy restaurant in Soho.  The usual piano player couldn’t make it because he was sick so as a favor to his friend, the club’s manager, he filled in.   He would never forget the first time he saw her.  She walked in alone, tall and beautiful, her hair cut short like a boy’s, wearing a red, off the shoulder dress which flattered her slender figure.  No jewelry.  Only a touch of red lipstick.  Her dark skin was flawless.  She looked like a model.  Their eyes met.  He wanted to stop playing and walk over to her but he stayed put.  Besides, she was meeting someone.  She walked past him and to a table where an African man was sitting.

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He kept an eye on her all evening as he played.  Was the man her boyfriend or husband?  Or were they meeting for the first time?  Was this their first date?  He shook his head.  Forget about it, Man.  You’re out of her league.  She looks like she’s used to being with men like the one she was with now–elegantly dressed, used to dining in expensive establishments like this, drove fancy cars and wealthy.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.  She intrigued him.  And when he took a break and went to the bar to have a drink, he passed by her table.  She looked at him.  He smiled and left the room.

As he sat down at the bar and ordered his drink, he saw the man she was with leave.  He didn’t look upset or anything.  A few minutes later, she came out of the dining-room.  When she saw him, she walked over to the empty stool beside him and sat down.  She ordered a virgin cocktail.  Turning to him, she said, “You play the piano very well.”

This close, she was even more stunning.  “Thank you,” he replied.  “Didn’t your date enjoy my playing?  Is that why he left?”

She smiled.  “He left because he flying back to Cape Town tonight.  And he wasn’t my date.  He’s my brother.”

He couldn’t hide the relief on his face.  “Your brother.  I thought he was your boyfriend or husband.”

“I’m single.  And you?”

“Single.  Are you a model?”

She laughed.  “No.  I’m a Marketing Director.”

“When I saw you, I thought you were a model.  I’m sure I’m not the first man to think that.”

“You’re right.  I have been approached by people in the modelling industry and they always are surprised when I tell them that I’m not interested and that I’m perfectly happy with being in the Marketing business.”

“It’s easy to see why they approach you.  You’re a very stunning woman.”

She smiled.  “Thank you…I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Ian.”

“Nice to meet you, Ian,” she said holding out her hand.  “Odetta.”

“Likewise, Odetta.  My break will be over in ten minutes.  Would you be able to stick around for half hour?”

She nodded.  “Sure.  I’ll just sit here at the bar until you’re done.”

“Good.  We can go somewhere else and talk.”

“So, what do you do when you’re not playing the piano?”

“Structural Engineering.”

“Sounds interesting.  Tell me about it.”

The ten minutes went quickly and he reluctantly left her at the bar to finish his session.  Half hour later, they were sitting at a cafe, continuing their conversation.  It was after mid-night when he finally gave her a ride home.  They saw each other the following night.  They began dating and things were going well until he got cold feet and told her that he they should take a break because things were moving too fast.  Hurt and angry, she walked out of the apartment.

That was a month ago.  Many times he wanted to go over to her place and apologize.  His life was empty without her.  What a fool he was to ruin a good thing because he was afraid.  And now, here he was alone and miserable, tinkering with the piano and missing her like crazy.

Finally, he got up from the piano and went over to the window.  He stood there for several minutes and then he quickly left the room.  He went into his study, sat down behind the desk and taking out stationary and a pen, he wrote her a letter, pouring out his heart.  By the time he was done, the letter was three pages long.  He folded them and stuffed into an envelope.   After sealing it and adding postage, he got up and left the house.  He walked to the mailbox and after a slight hesitation, he pushed the letter through the slot.

A week later, he was sitting at the piano again trying to play something–anything when the doorbell rang.  Thankful for the interruption, he got up and went to answer the door.  His heart lurched when he saw Odeta standing there.  She must have gotten his letter.  “Hello,” he said when he opened the door.  His eyes eagerly ran over her.  She looked beautiful in the denim dress.

“Hello, Ian.”

“Please come in.”

She went in and he closed the door.  “I got your letter.”

“I figured that’s why you’re here.”

“Thank you for writing it,” she said quietly.  “It explained a lot.”

“Let’s go into the living-room and talk.”

“I was so hurt and angry when you said that you wanted us to take a break from each other.” she said when they were sitting on the sofa.  “You said that things were moving too fast.”

“I’m sorry, Odeta.  The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you but I was scared.  I was falling fast and hard for you.  I’ve been hurt before and I was afraid of getting hurt again.  And as I mentioned in my letter, I was afraid that you were on the rebound.”

“I can’t blame you for thinking that since we met just a few months after the breakup.  I wasn’t looking for anything.  Believe me, having another relationship was the last thing on my mind but that night when I walked into the restaurant and saw you I was immediately attracted to you.  That’s why I came over to the bar soon after my brother left.”

“I was immediately attracted to you to and was thrilled when you joined me at the bar.”

“Ian, I know you’re afraid of getting hurt.  So am I.”

“I’m still afraid but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness I feel inside without you in my life.”

“Do you want to give us another chance?”

“Yes, Odeta, I do.”

She touched his face.  “I was hoping that you would say that.”

This time I chose love over fear,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers and what he saw in them made his heart sing.  He had nothing to fear now.

Source:  Paired Life

One of These Days…

I am sitting in front of the mirror.  A bruised face with haunted eyes are looking back at me.  The cut on my temple needed stitches.  I used to be a nurse before I got married.  I pick up the threaded needle and proceed to sew the cut.  I bite down on my lip at the pain but I won’t stop until it’s done.

I examine my handiwork.  It looks a bit crude but it will do.  I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I would have to explain the bruises on my face and hands.  No, it was better to do this myself.

I sit there staring at myself for a while longer, watching the tears, silent and unabated run down my cheeks.  What have I done to make him hate me so?  It has to be hate.  No man would hit a woman he loves.  I have been a good wife to him.  When he wanted me to give up my job at the hospital, I did so without any argument.  I take care of him, our home, do the laundry, cook the meals and everything else.  I don’t complain even though I am bone tired by the end of the day.  I make sure that his food is piping hot and ready when he comes home.  I don’t resist when he wants us to make love even though I’m not in the mood.

Yes, I have been a good wife to him.  Why then, does he hate me?  Why does he get angry for no reason and hit me?  In the past, when he hit me, he used to be sorry right after and beg me to forgive him.  Then, the beatings became more frequent and the apologies were less until they were no longer expressed.

Once he threatened to kill me if I left him.  So, I stay not out of love but out of fear.  How much longer could I live this nightmare?  How many more blows and insults can I take before I decide that leaving him is worth the risk?

I place my finger on my lips to silence the voice screaming inside me.  I am afraid of what would happen if I were to unleash it.  I have been living with an abusive husband and suffering in silence for six years.  I was beaten during pregnancy and suffered a miscarriage as a result.  I can’t have children because of the damage that was done.  My mother knew about it but still she insisted that I stay with Anil.  “A woman’s place is with her husband.  It’s against our religion for you to leave Anil and you will only bring shame to our family.”  She even made me think that it was my fault that Anil was beating me.  “He’s a good man.  You must be doing something to make him so angry that he beats you.”

So, I listened to her and I stayed.  I didn’t want to bring shame to our family.  That was two years ago.  One of these days, though, I am going to leave Anil and I don’t care if that brings shame to my family.  I don’t owe them anything.  They don’t care about me so why should I care about them?

I make a solemn promise to myself now on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, that one of these days, I will walk out of here and never look back.

Leaving an abusive marriage/relationship isn’t as cut and dry as many of us believe.  Women remain in these situations for various reasons–self-blame; damaged self-worth; fear; the desire to change the abuser; the children’s safety; family expectations and experiences; financial limitations and isolation.  Some women eventually leave while, sadly, others don’t.

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Monday which is Needle. For more information, click HERE.

 

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Source:  Institute for Family Studies