‘I love you, Mummy, more than anything in the world,’ my seven year old son says to me almost every day.
‘I love you more, sweetheart,’ I reply, each time.
‘No you don’t. I love you way more,’ he comes back.
‘Trust me, darling. I love you in a way that you will never understand. When you have your own children, one day, you will understand.’
‘Impossible, Mummy. I love you so much more than you love me,’ he says proudly, every single time.

The truth is, I felt the same way when I was his age. I could never understand why my mother ever left her parents. Why had she chosen to leave them and live with me, my siblings and our father? She was crazy, in my opinion. Why would anyone leave their parents? I distinctly remember my mum telling me that I would, one day, feel differently. She was right, of course, and here I am now, more than thirty years later, in the same position that she was.

So, how do I convince my child that I really do love him more than he loves me? (FYI, he has a three year old brother who professes his love to me daily, but he hasn’t yet arrived at that stage of arguing about who loves whom more – he’ll argue about other things, but not this). Perhaps I don’t need to convince him. He does know that I love him, that I care about him and his brother, and that I will look after him, without exceptions. These things are a given. I am their mother and I not only know that I should do these things, but I want and ‘feel’ to do these things. Somehow, our children ‘feel’ this complete protection as well. Therefore, it doesn’t matter if my son thinks he loves me more. He is totally happy with the amount of love, he believes, I have for him. In fact, it’s rather sweet that he has the need to prove to me that he loves me more.

Which brings me to how I feel about my mother now, as an adult. Do I need to prove to her the depth of my love? No. I think that my actions towards her show her my love. I think that my actions towards my children and the fact that I mimic the way she brought us up also demonstrate the depth of my love and respect for her. I am fully aware that she loves me more than I love her. She has to – I am her daughter. However, what I hope is true is that my appreciation for her supersedes hers for me, because it should.

My mother has sacrificed so much of her time for me. She has cried over me and my well-being far more than I have cried over hers. She has, since I was in utero, taken care of me, worried about me and thought about every possible outcome to every scenario of my life. She has cleaned up my mess, emotional and otherwise, countless times. She has sat for days and weeks in hospital with me, managed my medical problems and attended pretty much every one of my doctor appointments, despite the fact that I am a grown-ass forty year old woman! Yes, you read correctly: I am forty, I am an independent woman and she is still doing those things for me. In her eyes, I am still her baby and I need her. In my eyes, I still need her because she is my mother.

We have all done at least one thing that we wish we hadn’t, correct?  Perhaps we have each done more than one thing – many more, even.  Every day we are faced with choices – sometimes we know which to make, other times we don’t.  We might even ask the advice of friends and family, possibly strangers, but we do not always adhere to the advice given.  In fact, oftentimes we get advice that we don’t even ask for!

As my blog is meant to be light-hearted, I’m going to leave serious business choices and decisions out of this entry.  Let’s look at people’s personal lives, shall we?  Much more interesting, right?  Don’t get all self-righteous on me here, folks.  I’m not going to pick one particular person out of the crowd, but rather I’m going to ‘speak’ in loose terms about scenarios that we have all seen.

Let’s talk about love choices.  Surely, we can all relate.  Picture a young boy pouring his heart out to one young girl after another, only to find himself broken-hearted, over and over again.  Picture a woman in the same position.  How much more disappointment can one take, after years of this?  What could they possibly be doing wrong?  In some cases, not a thing.  So, should one simply keep one’s heart guarded by never exploring any romantic opportunities?  Perhaps.  However, if you’re going to do that, make up your mind that you will find happiness, regardless.  It comes from within, doesn’t it?

Now, what about the times when you head into something that you know is going to lead to a ‘train-wreck’?  Your friends are telling you that he’s a player (or she!).  The guy (or gal) hurt your friend years ago, so why do you think their treatment of you will be any different?  The man (or woman) is married, but somehow you either convince yourself that it’s just a fling for you (in that case, there are 7 billion people in the world and a huge number are adults and single, so what exactly is the appeal of a married person?), or you believe that he/she will leave their spouse for you, because you are oh so in love (um…..you put yourself in that position to ‘fall in love’ you doofus!  It did not just happen all by its magical self!!).  Should you tear yourself up over these situations?  That’s morally debatable, because, of course, we really should be mindful of our fellow-man/woman and their feelings.  It’s called empathy.

However, life and the actions we take are not so straight-forward for many.  The emotions that our brains deal to us are very powerful and convincing.  Yes, some of us make rash decisions, giving them little thought, while others over-analyse every detail to the point of doing nothing, almost.  Consequently, we might then, the next day or years later, wish that we had done something different.  Is this right?  Should we beat our breasts and chests over the choices we have made in the past?  Or, should we simply learn to never have any regrets in life?

Imagine arriving at Montego Bay airport, checking your bags, collecting your boarding pass and then going through security, only to be stopped and searched like a criminal because you forgot to take your water bottle out of your bag.  Snore, snore……it’s happened to most of us.  They have to make sure none of us are drug mules!

Okay, so now imagine continuing on through the airport and just before walking the gangway, where the officials check boarding passes, you are stopped again.  Your carry-on bag is too big and must be checked.  Snore, snore, again……always happens to Jamaicans, right?  We have plenty spice bun, patties and banana chips to carry to our foreign relatives!

Now imagine this game changer:  you are asked if you are a Jamaican.  You are, so you say “Yes,” but then you ask, “Why?”

Well, imagine an answer like this:  “A passenger just came to me and asked why you were stopped by the security, if you’re Muslim and if we’re going to allow you on the plane.”

Bam!

This did actually happen.  It happened to a young friend of mine who is in her twenties.  As you can well imagine, she was shocked and horrified, as am I, frankly.

Firstly, she is not Muslim, nor does she fit the profile of how someone who is Muslim looks.  That said, anyone can be Muslim – after all, it’s a religion, not a race.  What would have been the ‘safe’ way to look?  Blond haired and blue eyed?  That stinks of Nazism.

Secondly, even if she were Muslim, did the passenger who made the idiotic remark really believe that she should not be allowed on the plane?  Ergo, anyone of Muslim faith should not be allowed to fly on any aeroplane?  “Attention all potential passengers.  Unless you are blond with blue eyes, you will not be allowed to board the plane.”  Where was this idiotic passenger from, anyway?  America?  It was a flight headed for South Carolina.  And from where could this mentality stem?  Trump springs to mind.  Let’s face it, fellows, the man has a whole heap of supporters.  I don’t honestly think he will ever win the Presidential Election in November, but he still has millions of people who endorse his idiotic ideals.  This idiotic passenger must be one of them.  I know that I keep using this word – idiotic – but you find me a better description!

Imagine the man who straps a bomb to his chest, with the intention of blowing up people in an airport, a stadium or a cafe, along with himself.  He sacrifices his own life because he believes he will be rewarded in the afterlife, which will, in turn, mean that he will continue to ‘live’ in paradise.  Sounds ridiculously mad, if you ask me, but I’m going to assume that those who are willing to do this actually do believe that they are doing something worthwhile and good.  Here’s my question for these people (I’m going to assume that they possibly can read this, seeing as how they believe in the afterlife!!!): While it’s clear that you do not mind blowing yourself up, how would you feel were someone to blow up a train (or anywhere, for that matter) in which your family were sitting or standing?  Let’s say that your mother and your sister were checking in for a flight, you’d be okay if a bomb went off right next to them, therefore ending their lives?

I’m just trying to clarify the situation here.  I simply want to know if one rule applies for all, or are double-standards at play?  Not that I agree with ‘an eye for an eye’, because I don’t – this is more of a hypothetical question.  I would be appalled at anyone committing murder, no matter how they did it, why, or what medium they used.  Just to make it clear!

So what does the rest of the world think will happen to these men who commit suicidal acts of terror (or martyrdom, as they insist it is)?  Is there an afterlife?  Is there a heaven?  Is there a hell?  Is there nothing?  Some of you may be quite certain about what happens to a person once he or she dies, while others may not be as sure.  Either way, we have no way of really knowing.  It is only one’s faith that can ‘speak’ to each of us on this matter.

My sons go to a fairly religious school – Christian, to be exact.  They learn about God and Jesus Christ in this school, and I am happy with it because regardless of whether one is religious or not, there is an historical relevance to religion which transcends to being relevant today.

Within their Christian education, my kids are learning what is morally right and wrong, and these principles are practiced in our home.  They feel safe and happy with what they are learning, so I leave them to continue to believe anything that is not hurting anyone else and certainly not hurting themselves.  However, walking hand in hand with this bliss, there have been times when fear comes into play.  The fear is of ‘the devil’ and I’m afraid to say that this is where I straight out tell my children that ‘the devil’ does not exist.    ‘The devil’ did not bring drought to Jamaica, ‘the devil’ has not made me sick, ‘the devil’ did not make any woman kill her child, ‘the devil’ did not cause the start of wars.  In fact, ‘the devil’ didn’t make anyone do anything.

Now, I am fully aware that people do evil things.  I am fully aware that people act in completely selfish ways.  I do not, however, believe that there is a man with horns and a long fork, nor a snake, nor a spirit, nor any other thing, which compels someone to do something immoral.  Simply put, we each have options and each of us are capable of making a morally sound choice.  You still think the devil exists?  Perhaps when each of us do something bad or immoral, we are each ‘the devil’ in that moment.

You have to admit it, my friends, the cellulite that plagues our bodies (okay, some of you lucky ones, and younger ones, don’t have this issue) is much better looking when we have a tan.  This is only an issue for those of us who are really white, of course, which is why we spend countless hours trying to darken our skin in the sun.  Sure, we hear the warning signs about skin cancer.  Sure, we lather up our children with SPF 50.  Sure, we make them wear scratch vests/swim shirts with UV protection.  Sure, we tell them it’s time to get out of the sea and come into the shade.  Sure, we argue with said children when they fuss about having to succumb to our helicopter-parenting over this subject.  But how many of us practice what we preach?

When I was a teenager, back in the early to mid-nineties, I can tell you that there were countless times when I slapped on the baby oil and sat there soaking up the sun.  Oh how I felt that I had accomplished the world when my skin was glistening with a golden hue by sunset.  Better yet, after I had taken a shower and put on my white short shorts with a white tank top, I looked at my tanned self in the full-length mirror with such glee.  That was a perfect day.  That was a perfect holiday.

So why is it that we in the west do this to ourselves, even though we are bombarded with the facts about skin cancer?  Why is it that we find it so unattractive for our skin to be pasty white?  In fact, I go a horrid pale yellow that makes me look like I have a (non-existent) case of washed-out jaundice.  I seriously look a million times better when I have a tan.  But would the entire world agree with me?  Did you know that the Japanese and Chinese make it their mission to stay as white as possible?  My niece goes to school with many girls from those two countries, and she tells me that her peers are so careful with preserving their extraordinarily pale colour that they even wear sunscreen when it rains.

My present care of my skin falls somewhere between knowing full-well that I should be practicing what I preach to my boys and wanting that same tanned body which I had twenty-five years ago.  At my age, I need the tan because, quite simply, brown fat is nicer than white fat.

There is no doubt that life is full of a lot of angst and difficulties.  Who said it would ever be easy?  Problems come in all forms: love, health, money, friendships and so on.  Every one of us has had some issue at some point in life.  Sure, some people have faced far more hardships than others, but we have all had a taste of the bad times in life.  Right?  The real issue here is not what happens to us, but how we deal with it.  You’ve heard this a thousand times and then some, I’m sure.

I went to the memorial service of a very special person who had an illness for a number of years.  She was far from old, so her passing was far too soon.  I had known her for a few years, not particularly well, but enough to get a glimpse of the beautiful soul she truly was.  This glimpse, which she so graciously gave me in the several conversations we had during the time I knew her, widened to an enormous window between the night of her passing and her memorial service.  The absolute joy she contributed to the world was second to none.  I don’t think that I have ever heard so many people consistently saying how much light and happiness she gave to everyone around her and how much she loved life and lived life with pure joy.  Happiness and Joy – shouldn’t we live our lives this way?  Shouldn’t we simply choose to live our lives this way?  She did.  So should the rest of us.

What is your ideal fairy-tale ending to life?  Do you have one?  Did you have one when you were much younger?

Growing up in the seventies, I was more than familiar with the stories like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Rapunzel.  Maidens, with many moments of distress, who were all ‘rescued’ by princes.  Love conquered the awful situations in which these girls were put – slave to stepmother and stepsisters, 100 year curse of being asleep (coma?), poisoned by stepmother, and locked up in a tower.  The villains in these tales are women, the heroes are men (princes, no less), and everyone lives happily ever after.  Excellent, I thought when I was young, no matter how hard school days are with insecurities over who your real friends are, no matter who is mean to me, no matter how badly I do in a test, life is going to turn out so perfectly.  (WTH!)

So let’s talk about the women who are the villains in these stories, shall we?  Even in Hansel & Gretel, a cannibalistic witch wants to fatten up two children and eat them.  Not to mention the fact that a couple of the culprits in these fairy-tales are stepmothers and stepsisters.  What message have these been giving our little girls for all these years?  How dare someone remarry?  If your father remarries, you offspring are doomed?  What happens if a mother remarries?  Is that a possibility?  I am assuming that they always killed off the mothers in these stories because in those days many women died in childbirth.  But did that mean that the women who survived childbirth, but lost their men, were bitter and horrid people?  Whatever you do, do NOT let your Dad marry any of these women!

Okay, now let’s talk about being saved from these terrible women in these tales.  Along comes the handsome prince, he falls in love with the weak girl, who in turn falls for him, they marry and live in the palace forever in love and happiness.  The end.

What happens when the royal babies are born?  No sleepless nights?  No arguments about who is doing more for the baby?  No financial worries?  No health hiccups?  No domestic quarrels?  Marriage is hard.  Having children is even harder.  I’m not saying that all of this does not bring joy.  It can.  But it doesn’t come easily and there are times of real difficulty.  You have to work at making a marriage work, and if it doesn’t, it is NOT the end of happiness.

Of course, there are many authors re-writing these fairy-tales, giving them more modern and realistic endings, but these fairy-tales are still at forefront of little girls’ dreams.  Princess dolls, princess clothes, princess cakes, princess purses, princess wands and crowns.  You name it, they are all still right there in the shop, on the internet, in books and even on food.  In fact, just this weekend, I made a Sleeping Beauty cake for a friend’s daughter, who turned five.  Yes, indeed.  The year is 2016 and little girls are still ever hopeful that they will have their fairy-tale HEA.

sleeping beauty

Source: A Good Story

What makes for a good story? A hook. Stellar writing. Humour. Pain. The shock-factor. Scandal. Perhaps it is a combination of it all.

I was recently told that a short article I wrote was not captivating, interesting, nor inspirational. There was clearly a story there, but I had written it in a way that only gave the reader knowledge about the autoimmune disease that I have. This was not appealing. I was horrified at first. The editor was unmoved by what I had written? How cold and heartless, I thought. I reread the email, again and again. Then I remembered conversations I have had with a few close friends. All involved the other party encouraging me to tell my story, only to be blanked by me saying, “I don’t want to get emotional about my illness in my writing. It just seems so self-serving and ‘poor me’. I need my story to end well, so that I can write objectively about it.”

Honestly, I have felt so proud of myself feeling this way and verbalizing this. It’s called handling the situation with grace and positivity. People respect you more when you’re not a bubbling mess. I suppose that out of respect, my friends have dropped the subject. It’s my personal journey, so they probably all feel that it’s really none of their business and they can’t make me do something I’m not ready to do.

So why am I so concerned about looking like an emotional wreck? Why don’t I want people to see that I am vulnerable. I am struggling. I am in pain. I am a happy person, that’s why. I mean genuinely happy. Even if I have a horrible argument with my husband, I don’t feel the misery that one has when heartbroken. Even when I am fed up with being sick, it doesn’t take long or much to make me happy once more. This is how I am the majority of the time. Happy. So why on earth would anyone want to see the miserable side? What good does it serve them? In fact, I made a pact with myself that this blog would serve my readers, hence the name Serveyouwrite. It would be a disservice to you all if I was to write about my hardships.

Last night, I was watching the latest Scandal episode, which I had recorded. Mely Grant had dropped off the manuscript of a book she had written at Olivia Pope’s office, pleading with her to read it. Upon Mely’s return, Olivia told her that the book was basically boring. A whole load of facts, but no feelings. That would not appeal to anyone. That would not sell.

This got me thinking. (I know, seriously sad when I’m having a revelation after watching a political soap opera-esque show, but bare with me, because the creator of the show – Shonda Rhimes – she is far from being a fool). Anyway, as I as saying, it got me thinking. People do want to read the dirty, gritty, messy drama which we call life. That’s why these dramatic television shows do so well. That’s what appeals to so many people. We love drama. We love the build up to the drama, we love the moment when someone’s world is blowing up or falling apart, and we love the conclusion – whether it be a happily-ever-after or a tragic end. The story pulls us in, grips us and then gives us some kind of satisfying release. Whether it be a wonderful or devastating outcome, we are inspired in some way – in the former case, to emulate, and in the latter, to find a way for that never to happen to us.  Either way, it makes for a good story.