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Posts archive for: 11 May, 2008
  • two sad, true stories about young love and war

    I guess, for a guy, I cry easy, but let me try these on you. 

    (1) I read this in a review of a book today about what it was like to be young in previous centuries. The story is drawn from the diary of the author's grandmother:

    She fell in love with a young man when she was very young.  It was awkward, because none of her elder sisters had boyfriends, so they met in secret - often at railway stations - and never touched - until, two years afer they met they kissed in the biiliard room.  They agreed it should never happen again until it was appropriate for them to get married.

    At last,  in 1915 three and a half years after they met, they did marry - and made love for the firat time.  Almost exactly nine moths later, their child was born.  But the new husband had immedtiately returned to the trenches of the First World War, where he died before he ever saw his bride again.

    (2) Also, in the paper today, a man in Basra admitted that he had killed his 17 year old daughter for falling in love with a British soldier.  The father has no regrets.  In fact he claimed that if he had known it was going to happen, he would have killed his daughter the moment she was born.

  • my mother, again, again, again

    I can't shake off my mood of desperation.  Not Sunday blues, but because of what happened yesterday with my mother, some of which I described here.

    Every week I get sucked into her world again.  Each time I vow to lighten up, and for a while it works - but then she says or does something which is so bigoted, selfish or narcissistic it brings back the past and pain.

    There's no point in confronting her - she either doesn't hear/listen.  Or she goes into ubervictim mode and sulks.

    I feel pathetic, even ashamed to write about it here.  No one of my age should be so affected!  Evert week she infantalises me.

    I spent almost twenty of my middle years not speaking to her, and often I regret becoming involved again.  It was my sister who pressured and pressured me to re-establish contact and if I walked away now she would never speak to me again.  And of course I would feel guilty as hell.

    Guilty, too, I can't find a way to be with her and still be myself.  Guilty I long to grieve her death.

    Anyone feel like playing the Agony Aunt?

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