A said: you deserve better than a job at a nursery
D said: you deserve a better man and better friends in your life
J said: if you worked on your poetry it would be even better
A said: do you really need your blog and the people reading it? Sick way of getting attention and approval.
To A I say: I love my job at the nursery. It is important, and half the people belittling my job wouldn’t last a week. It is more than watching kids with a cup of coffee in my hand. It is supporting them in their development (physical and mental). It is working with the parents to make sure the kids are comfortable with us. It is worrying about the little ones when something is not right; when they are sick, or their development is too slow. It is offering security when they feel lost or hurt. It is entertaining them when they are bored. It is teaching them new things all the time. It is listening and understanding their way of communication. Working at a nursery is exhausting and the most beautiful job there is. If my shoulder were not such a killjoy, I wouldn’t be looking for an other job. Being told that I deserve better left a foul taste in my mouth. It is the job I chose, being told that I deserve better feels as if I am too lazy to go big. I am not, but there is nothing better than the proud and happy smile on a child’s face. And I am.making sure that there are many reasons to smile.
To D I say: maybe. But friendships are built over time, and I did (and am doing) my best to keep everyone as far away from me as I possibly can. In my experience, people who know every facet of me use my flaws and weaknesses to stab me in the back. It happens again and again. Maybe, I don’t need better friends at all. I love the handful of close friends I have. Maybe I am sending mixed signals, and I do complain about loneliness a lot (or I did, it is not as bad anymore), but I am content.
To J I say: I am not ambitious enough to want more from my poetry. I like the raw and impulsive way my poetry tumbles out of my fingers. I know I have a certain way with words, I am talented maybe too. But I am shy about it because I am not writing in my mother tongue. And if I were, there would be even fewer readers. Did you know: I have no regular readers in my home country. Once in a while, there is a visitor, but that’s it. And that’s okay. I feel somewhat pretentious that I publish my own poetry and my own writing. But I don’t want to wait for anyone to discover me. And truth be told, if I were rejected too many times, I would probably break from the disappointment. And the other part of my poetry is this: I never revisit it. Sure, if I see a typo, I correct it. But no poem is ever rewritten a day later. Most of my poems are written in under ten minutes. If I don’t edit it in the following thirty minutes (typos excluded), my poem is done. It is that easy, and it is the reason why I write such short pieces.
To A I say: I need this blog. It is my place to vent and rant, be sad, be happy. Most of the readers here are not vocal, and none of them, not one, ever made me feel judged when I shared my personal baggage. Not one ever made fun of me and my typos. Not one ever belittled me for my nerdiness. Not one ever said I should grow up and stop sharing music no one will listen to. Not one made me feel bad about being who I am.
These are things I thought about quite a bit these last few days. Am I settling for less, and could I do more? Is there more in me, and I am just afraid to show it? The truth is, I am not a Russian doll. This version of me – the one you are reading daily, is the only version there is. What you see is what you get. Flaws and all. Qualities too. Sure, I don’t always show all of myself, but let’s be honest, who does? But it doesn’t change that one important fact. I am me. And no one is allowed to tell me how to live my life – even less when I didn’t ask for an opinion or advice.