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Posted by brandilindandilin on June 28, 2019
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Sometimes I read stories about long lost loves or people that played together as children who find each other and end up together. That is not how my long lost story unfolded. I am embarrassed to this day, I am ashamed of this thing that happened to me. I never speak of it and I have never written about it because I believe he still comes here to read my writing, I believe he thinks I write about him when I am really writing about people I have really loved. I worry that whatever I write will anger him and he will kill me. I worry he will kill himself and try to make me watch it. I don’t know exactly what his mind would do in response to my writing but I expect it would be terrible. He found me after 20+ years of not seeing each other, not knowing one single thing about each other… He found me just to hurt me. For no other reason than I popped into his mind one day, the 14 year old girl he’d meet one summer. I had lied and told him I was older, he broke up with me when he found out and said he could never be with a liar… the irony is stifling since not one word he ever said to me was true after that. It’s easy to believe in someone pining for you for so many years, it makes it easy to overlook all the red flags and the obvious dangers. Looking back, that is what embarrasses me, the oversight, but not the fairytale, that part was so inherent to me, to see the good in others, to want to feel that connection. That part will never embarrass me, though I’m sure he desperately wants it to. Making me look stupid was his driving force, the dance of deception made him so happy, feel so powerful. 

But. 

I am powerful too.

I believe I saved other women from his ire while he was so focused on me. I believe he was at a breaking point, a desperate state when I took him in and cared for him so instantly. I don’t think he expected it. I think while he tried to use it and manipulate it and find every weakness I ever had, I don’t think he expected me too keep caring for him ass long as I did. And I believe he was on the cusp of doing something terrible to anyone because he was rejected and lonely and unlovable. 

I loved the monster. 

I know he was never loved that way before and he will never be loved that way again. I gave him mercy and compassion. While it was all a rouse on his part, I was genuine and warm and exceptional in my care for him. He would laugh and say I was a sucker, the best kind, because I was so naive, but I am a good person, the kind who would show mercy and compassion again and he can never take that from me. My life will be amazing and I will have all the things he will never have, except for that brief moment in time when he tricked a kind woman into caring for him. I’ll be that person all day. The trick is, I meant it, I gave freely of myself. And still do. He will think that is hilarious, that I’m a fool. But I gave him his one time in life when someone didn’t know how truly horrible he was inside. I am proud of being that person. He can also, never take that from me. 

I remember the police officer who helped me first to file the report… He stopped and put down his papers and said… this is going to be incredibly hard now and I’m sorry for that, but you are very brave to be here and I can tell you don’t deserve any of this. 
I was brave. 

And I didn’t deserve any of it. 

And to be honest, that was all I needed to hear to get through it. And it was hard. And there are no laws that protect us from this but my kind police officer found one that would help. And he went in front of a judge over and over so I wouldn’t have to. And he called me and told me everything that happened, even though he didn’t have to. And he changed my life, restored my faith. I focused on that when I was scared. I remembered that when I was unsure. 

I also remember the 16 year old boy I knew who must have gone through some terrible things, whose mind is clearly not his own, who once I dug around…I found that he was not only alone but hated, and feared. I gave you one last moment of light. I don’t regret that. But my kindness does not extend to you anymore and it never will. 

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Not all who wander…

Posted by brandilindandilin on July 15, 2016
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Let’s get something straight – I will take your labels spit at me with teeth clenched – slut, whore, bitch, tease. I will take them because they don’t hurt me the way you intend them to. You want to shame me – for being a woman, for being sexual, for being just fine on my own. I understand that you don’t understand. So let me enlighten you…

I like sex. I really, really do. Intimacy is a whole other matter. But it’s MY matter. It’s my experiences and preferences and mostly my nemesis. Sex without intimacy is easy for me. It softens my edges, gives me release. I find my body can experience the pleasure if my mind is not distracted with what will happen after. You call it slutty. I call it freedom. 

I’ve tried so hard all these years to be a good girl. To be monogamous. To take the lead of the men in my life. To be virtuous. I have struggled with this all my life…not just after the men who disappointed me or abused me or simply stopped touching me. Even before that, I knew I was more fluid in how I wanted to manage relationships. Men have always, always tried to covet me. I think because I have always, always exuded a strong sense of my sexuality. I have always felt “sexy” even amongst my own body insecurities and self doubt, the voice in my head has never failed to remind me of this. And it has not made me popular, with men and women alike. It genuinely pisses people off when you feel good and work hard to just be yourself. 

If myself is slutty, should I be ashamed? Even more than that, are men allowed to shame me into relationships? Because they think they can “save” me or hold me in their space. No matter how many times I preface a meeting with “I’m not interested in a relationship”…they will press on, tell me I’ll get over it, that they’ll teach me how to love again. Sorry gentlemen, I already know how to love. I am not broken or disgusting or weak because I don’t want to enter into a black and white “you own me” relationship. When I say I just want to be friends, you try to kiss me when I leave anyways. And say, “sorry, I hope that was ok”. When I say that the sex is just sex to me and you corner me asking “why the intimacy is missing”. When I tell you I don’t love you and you insist that I will learn if I just try.

There’s a saying…when people show you who they are, believe them. 

This has always come across as a negative saying that we apply to the people who hurt us, as in, there were signs they were bad people and we didn’t heed them. It’s a saying that is often used to warn against the terrible people who are out to get you. 

I am, by this definition, a terrible person. 

I will not love you, simply because you demand it. This isn’t a Hollywood movie where if you just persist enough, we will be soul mates. Where I will realize, if you tell me enough times, that I want to live in the confines of your white picket fence. Where you can tell everyone…I tamed her. And people can feel better that there isn’t a wild woman on the loose anymore. 

I have loved. Good god, I have loved. I intend to do it again. I know, immediately my ilk…my equals. The ones who don’t want to lasso me. To define me. The best relationship I had was the one where I didn’t have to lie and neither did he. We tried to pass it off to everyone else as normal, we did. We tried not to let our blurry boundaries be apparent but eventually they were. And I scrambled to right myself into a monogamous marriage and so did he. To be acceptable and stable. And it almost killed me. Because there are far worse things lurking in the shadows of people trying to parade as normal. Give me messy and audacious any day. Give me your carnal truth and I’ll give you mine. 

I’m am not suggesting an anarchist orgy of worldwide proportions here.  I understand the need for order and partnership and stability. I desire these things too. To know who I can rest on. To be able to shelter another person. I desire that very much. Even wild women need a soft place to land. But you do not get to appoint yourself my savior because I am a woman who will not settle. 

I’ve had enough. 

Don’t tell me my words are venom because they aren’t the words you want to hear. Don’t tell me I’ve betrayed you because I did exactly what I said I would. Don’t tell me I deserve to be alone because I don’t want to be with you. I try to be kind. There are so many of you I love spending time with. I love talking to you and hearing your stories. I really do. I find myself thinking of you and trying to find a place for you.  Because I know it’s coming soon, the need to be defined. Or ultimately the need to force your definition on me. 

No. I’ve had enough. 

“Women are not machines that you put kindness coins into and sex falls out” -Sylvia Plath

You can’t sugar coat me into sex or otherwise. I give what I want to give. I’m honest and up front and I am simply done with selling myself as a used bill of goods. I am a woman who loves sex but may not love you. That does not make me broken. I may stroke your hair and your face, trace invisible letters on your back and summarize the highlights of our evening together. I want you to be happy while we’re together. I want you to feel content and joyful. Most of all, I want you to feel free. Something brought us together and I am always grateful for these connections. Sometimes they are physical. Sometimes they are not. I’m getting better at knowing who can handle crossing that line and being able to make it back on their own. But I make mistakes in these assessments sometimes. These are often the ones followed by cries of “whore” or “bitch”. I accept these labels because I know they don’t hurt me, they come as a result of your hurt, intended or not. 

When people show you who they are, believe them. 

Believe me when I say  I won’t love you. Believe me when I say that sex won’t eventually lead to a relationship or that I am truly happy on my own. Believe me. I haven’t hidden who I am for a long time now. I know it will take some people time to get used to and others who never will but I am at last, comfortable enough in this skin to feel worthy of it. 

Perhaps there is one great love out there for me. Perhaps I have already cashed in my great love ticket in this lifetime. I’ve known great love. I consider myself so lucky in that. And maybe no one else will ever compare and maybe somebody even better will come along. But just know that I know. That when I tell you, that you are not the one, that it’s not personal, that it’s not meant to hurt you. That we were meant to meet for something, however temporary, and that I am open to that, if you are. Because anything else will hurt you. And despite the many times I have been told I am a terror of hearts, I know I have only been anointed as a keeper of moments. I will not be shamed or forced into a place I don’t belong anymore. 

So, stop it. When someone loves you, you’ll know. When someone wants to be with you, you’ll know. 

Nothing else is worth our time. 

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Arugula 

Posted by brandilindandilin on July 14, 2016
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

When I tell people I’m not ready to date yet….what I’m really saying is I’m not ready to stop missing you. That they will never compare. That they could have my body but they’ll never have my heart. 

I remember like it was yesterday the way you laughed while we ate Pho and had thumb wars in between, how you always cheated and said you forgot what you were doing when I looked at you with my pretty eyes. Remember that day? Remember when we had a picnic in your work van because you got called in and we couldn’t go on our hike so you came and met me in the parking lot and we ate sandwiches while you played with my hair. Remember when we ate soup in the back of my car and you fell asleep on my lap while I played with your hair…always stealing moments…always knowing the clock was ticking, that time was never on our side. 

I think too about how you hurt me, whispered in my ear that you loved me even if it made me squirm and protest. Even when I begged you to stop saying it, so you would say “arugula” instead because you said you loved saying the word as much as you loved me and that you had never loved anyone that way and knew it was poisonous for two people who didn’t know how to love to want each other so much. I tried to excuse your terrible behavior, the way you would just not show up sometimes or say the most condescending things without apology. I could see that everything that came out of you was tainted by a past without love and consideration for your needs as a boy, for the insanity of your teenage years trying to be tough, trying to control the savage part of you that seemed to win out everytime. The part that still does. The part that does not hesitate to hurt me. Even when I came to see you, so sick, and you told me to marry you and I could see the sincerity and the almost joyful look on your face that you were making me uncomfortable and weak. You looked me up and down and waited for me to break. But I waited. Until I got in the car. And I cried so long I thought I might die. And I only saw you one more time, at our favorite place, where we both knew I had hardened myself to you, that I would only ever feel in the past for you again. And when you asked me what I wanted, I said “to never see you again”. And you stood up and walked out. Yes you did. And not one man has stood in your place since that I didn’t hate for taking up that space. 

I am a terrible judge of character. That has proved itself time and time again. This last man so ridiculous that I laugh out loud at how long it took me to see it. But I always think of you, of your filthy heart and how long I had to hold it to see how lovely you were underneath. Even though I knew you would do everything in your power to destroy me, because it’s all you know and all you have ever been able to love about yourself…your power. The sheer size of you that dwarfed even me, that helped you intimidate and overshadow even the bravest of souls. Your barrel chest…oh how I miss that. Running my fingers down every rib. I loved you. You are the only man I have ever really loved. And I can’t make sense of these mere mortals who try to claim me now. And they never hear me when I say I will never love them. They won’t believe me, tell me I will love again. I can almost hearing you laughing. At me. At them. You own me. And everyone else will just slide off the slippery wet of your lips on mine…the way you would hover over my mouth and just breathe with me. Wait until I had calmed and met you in your energy. How long has it been now? But I still feel it. I still feel you. But feeling all of that means I feel all of your ugly, awful, haneous parts too. I creeped your boards…ripe with carnal and wanton images. You’ve become human again. Sinner. Lost. Beast. I wipe away my tears and thank God you are gone. Whoever is in your life now is paying for your agony. I can feel that too. And I simply send you love and love and love.

It’s all I ever do. 

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Bad words

Posted by brandilindandilin on February 20, 2016
Posted in: chuckles. Tagged: bad words. Leave a comment

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Sometimes. Ok…all the time.

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Why I never change my Facebook profile picture to support mode….

Posted by brandilindandilin on November 14, 2015
Posted in: keeping it real. Tagged: Equality, fear, humanity, Lebanon, Paris, terrorism. Leave a comment

When gay marriage was legalized in America, I was thrilled. I truly thought it was one of the most progressive and needed changes in this part of our world. It was a monumental day to be celebrated and so when FB came out with the idea to offer support by being able to change your FB pic to a rainbow overlay…I did not change my pic. I think a lot of my friends were confused by this because I have always been a staunch supporter of gay marriage. I even wrote a piece on it way back in 2002 when Germany first approved gay marriage. And I think I’m coming to my point here…I have ALWAYS supported gay marriage. Anyone who knows me could tell you that. Anyone who has met me for 5 minutes could tell you that. I have stood by it long before it was cool and trendy and as easy as changing my FB pic to say so. I worry that if we wait until something trends to speak up and be counted, that it negates the years of pain and suffering it took to get there. It seems somewhat trite to me. It feels too easy. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t think anyone has done anything wrong by changing their profile picture to rainbow, I just wanted to tell you why I didn’t change mine.

And today we are faced with yet another tragic event in Paris. The tri colored FB has come up to support everyone in France. And I find myself wanting to proclaim, I have ALWAYS been against terrorism, in any form, in any country. Even the kind that doesn’t make the news, like the one that happened only a day ago in Lebanon. I want to be so clear here….what happened in Paris is awful and had me hunched over my computer in tears asking the same thing everyone else is asking….why? I noticed something else though as my friends and FB followers started to change their pic over to the French colors. People were starting to get mad. Of course. Questioning turned to accusations. Accusations of politicians for not doing enough to prevent this. Accusations of not doing enough to revenge this. Accusations of who might be next to be targeted and who might be the instigator of this hellfire and brimstone. Neighbors start to become suspicious of neighbors. I start to worry about the muslim family in my parenting group that already seems to struggle to “fit in”. I worry about how their neighbors will feel about them now. The tri-colored FB becomes more and more prevalent until I receive a message from a friend who says, “why haven’t you changed your pic yet??” and it feels like less of a question and more like a demand.

A mob is brewing. And it takes no more than a few seconds to join it . People banding together for a cause when they are desperate, scared and emotional is truly as terrifying as acts of terrorism. They become the very thing they are banding against. They are willing to impulsively commit violent and heinous acts to stop what has made them feel so out of control, so helpless. It is a basic human instinct – to survive. The hate filled FB feed I keep reading is an act of survival. And I get it. I understand when someone has been mean to my child in the past, the emotion it stirs in me and the how hard it is not to fight back. I also understand the idea that if we let this instinct take over, then we will indeed find ourselves in a war. I for one am not old enough to have my own memories of what it feels like to be in a war. I can only recall black and white film towering down on us in the gym every Remembrance day when my privilege was too entrenched for it to mean very much to me. When I was too young to understand anything but the idea of being infallible. When I attributed war to something that happened in my grandparent’s generation.

We don’t really have a fair concept of war here in North America anymore. We don’t. We wear poppies and have bumper stickers on our cars that say “Support the Troops” but if we look at it, really look at it, we have done a dismal job of supporting our troops. You are more likely to be homeless or suicidal then supported if you are a military person coming back from war in this day and age. There are significant statistics of addictions, domestic violence, PTSD and disabilities. I spoke with a soldier who told me once that he signed up for another tour as soon as he got home because he felt different, out of step with his family now. He said he didn’t know how to do anything else but be a soldier and he accepted the risk of doing what he had become very. very good at doing. The cost of war. The disconnect of our soldiers. The risk of their lives. Apparently, this is the risk we’re willing to take….over there. Our concept of war is a far away one. We are demanding it without really understanding what that means.

I don’t change my FB pic because it does not clearly reflect what I am supporting. It does not include the colors of the Lebanese flag or the Kenyan flag (remember the 147 lives lost in a terrorist attack on a University back in April?). It does not reflect the soldiers that will take on the risk for us when we decide as a nation that we want “war”. It does not include every child I have encountered in my work who has lived in a refugee camp and seen the horrors of war first hand who now sits in the principal’s office every week because violence is their go to and because no one’s parents will let them come over to play. Here’s the thing, I support humans. I support the loss and the devastation that happens on both sides of the border – the mother who has no idea her child has made his way into an extremist group, the family who cries for the suicide bomber and the millions of people who live in fear of the person beside you who could be a terrorist. I grieve THAT. The suspicion and isolation we feel even as we “band together”. There are people who will hate me because I won’t hate the people they choose to hate. There are people who will hate me because I live in Canada. Period. I have neighbors who hate me because I’m divorced (yes that still happens). There are people who hate me because I’m tall.

Let’s be clear when we throw our support on a side. It is dangerous to be singularly focused on an issue – consider Nazi Germany – people changed their allegiance and their beliefs because it was the popular thing to do in that moment (I think we call that trending now) and because they felt thy had to and because eventually it meant you would be killed if you didn’t. I only ask you to consider how far are we from that right now? How close are we from condemning an entire nation, religion, culture because we are afraid? How far are we from imprisoning innocent people and indeed killing them because we are afraid? When people are in a mob mentality, it takes only a mere suggestion for people to get behind it to feel more in control, to feel like they can survive. We simply want to survive. All of us.

I haven’t change my FB pic because I don’t support Paris – I do support Paris. But you should know I support every person on this planet who is a victim of terrorism and I will not be selective in that support. I will grieve as equally for Lebanon as I do for Paris. And I will actively advocate for our leaders to do the same. I will prompt them not to be influenced by selective support and make decisions that are instead influenced by our foundation of democracy and freedom. This is not a sentiment. Should we actually and truly go to war, it would become a commodity that we cannot possibly understand the lack of right now. If we selectively decide who deserves these commodities then we put ourselves at risk for having it taken from us for “the greater good”. Indeed it would appear that this is the hallmark of terrorism – selective support. I’m just wondering where is the line for us?

humanity

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Hot Mess

Posted by brandilindandilin on July 27, 2015
Posted in: keeping it real. Tagged: dating, hot mess, shattered, strong women. Leave a comment

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Someone told me recently that I seemed like a “hot mess” and it made me feel bad for a second. I kept searching my mind for this quote but I couldn’t quite remember it…then I found it and realized I want to be with someone who describes me like the above. Because calling me a hot mess is a shallow observation that anyone can make – and on many a day, I can see how that would probably seem true. But if you have the capacity to see through that, to see the beauty of that mosaic, then I would gratefully share with you all the benefits of loving a strong woman. Because anyone who can get through a mess and still be standing will probably still be there when you have your own mess. And you will.
Life is messy and I love mine. I did appreciate the “hot” reference though so I’m gonna keep that 😉

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Plan

Posted by brandilindandilin on April 27, 2015
Posted in: keeping it real. Leave a comment

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I love how changing one word can change everything ♡

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Work it out

Posted by brandilindandilin on March 31, 2015
Posted in: keeping it real. Leave a comment

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This is part of my new routine. They are about 15 minutes each. You sweat. It’s a lovely way to start every day. Sometimes I run too. Sometimes I meditate on all the ways it is so darn hard to take care of myself. I’m not a self disciplined person by nature…I’m a consummate Daisy sniffer, easily distracted by something shiny. In fact, I’m writing this blog on my way out the door for a run. I will hold out as long as I can because I know it’s going to be hard. Then I get home and wonder how I have not taken over the world yet. Exercise is a game changer. If I could give everybody one thing, it is the belief that you can do it too. Even if you’re a Daisy sniffer…

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Real you

Posted by brandilindandilin on March 31, 2015
Posted in: good grief!, keeping it real. Leave a comment

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There is a misconception that if you are honest, if you share who you really are – people might not like you. The misconception is that you should care…honesty is the best way to find the people who will love you and weed out the people who will require you to lie about yourself in order for them to pretend to love you.
Be who you are. It attracts the kind of people who will really love you.

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Beautiful

Posted by brandilindandilin on March 26, 2015
Posted in: keeping it real. Tagged: beautiful, good people, simple. Leave a comment

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Simple reality. ♡

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