Author: munsbunny

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the disappointing daughter

The truth is, when I started this blog I named it ‘The good Indian Girl’ sarcastically.

I’m a good person, I do unto others, as I would have them do unto me, I treat people with respect and try to act in a manner as to be the change I want to see. It’s exhausting, to be honest.

But by Indian standards, I’m not a ‘good’ girl. I never have been.

I was raised in a Punjabi Sikh home, with two practising parents. I cut my hair when I was 16 years old into a bob, just to piss off my parents, I smoked a cigarette, right in front of my Dad, specifically to hurt him.

Most of my teen years were spent defying my parents and cultural norms, in true rebellious fashion. And as such, most of them were also spent looking for a place to live when I rendered myself homeless for said behaviour.

Needless to say, I have come to see the error in my ways.

Now at the ripe age of 43 (soon to be 44), I see the damage I’ve done, to those same two people. The two people I struggled to be respectful to growing up and coming into my own. I see them aging and vulnerable. And I can’t help but feel the pain I caused them each time I broke their hearts, deliberately.

When I think about it, I hate myself. I hate that little girl I was. I hate that I didn’t understand that they loved me. Not in the conventional way, but in the only way they knew how.

As a parent of three now, I can understand their struggle. The financial burdens, the emotional highs and lows of marriage, the extended family and of course, the relentless inlaws. Couple that with moving, as very visible immigrants, to a new country and trying to raise three children while making a living in a small German town.

So they didn’t coddle me, they didn’t tell me they loved me. I felt unloved, alone and isolated most of my childhood and into my teens. I looked for love in all the wrong places, and I found it, BOY DID I FIND IT!

I wound up in a severely abusive relationship, pregnant at 19, out of the house and nowhere to live.

All through it, those same two people stood by me. Supported me as best they could. As the best they knew how. And now weary from life and the struggles they fought so hard against, they’re alone. Moved 100 kms away from everyone to enable their retirement.

I can’t help but feel responsible for them. For aging them, in my opinion, prematurely. My heart breaks every time I see them and then leave to return to my home. It wrenches now as I write this post through tearful eyes.

I wish I could’ve been more. I wish I could’ve done what I needed to do, for them. I wish I could show them how much I love them and how sorry I am that I’ve hurt them. That I would do anything to have a ‘do over’.

But alas, life’s not like that. It doesn’t allow for second chances, what’s done is done. So as I watch them, quietly without notice, I will try to forgive, myself.

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Do you miss me?

Over a year ago I lost my temper with someone I loved dearly, my best friend.

After a few months of dealing with this persons selfish actions, I had lost my cool. I lashed out. The ramifications for my actions?

I was disowned. This person was a member of my immediate family and I was no longer welcome. I listened to countless people in my family tell me that I was wrong to have lost my temper and acted in the manner in which I did.

I was not invited to his wedding, he didn’t invite my son, his nephew. He tried to get my parents to stop talking to me. It was a whole ordeal.

Now it’s 18 months later. I am still not welcome to attend certain family events if he and his wife are present. I’m not invited to attend any party’s that are held by people I deemed mutual friends. I have been advised by some that all have been told to cut off contact with me if they want to remain friends with him.

I have endured.

I have cherished the friendships that I have, those that are real and true friends. The ones that have supported me through this entire situation. I have connected with new people. People that will not treat me as a second class citizen if I’m not quick to jump at their every whim.

I have learnt to respect myself, to say no when I’m feeling overwhelmed or taken advantage of. I have not overextended myself in situations to make everyone else happy.

I have done the work.

But I miss him. I miss my family. I miss laughing and getting on with everyone that I once held so dearly.

But the stark reality is, they don’t miss me. They don’t miss me enough to make it right, to reach out, to communicate. I refuse to defame him, I refuse to stoop to that level of immaturity. The truth is that I have come to accept the death of this friendship and many friendships in the past 3 years of my life. I miss them all. And I am deeply yearning to ask them…

Do you miss me?

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put your pants on

put your pants on.

This was advice given by a parent to a man, about his relationship with his wife.

Why? Why do some people find the need to advise their children how to behave in relationships? Why do they belittle their children and their actions when their own marriages are full blown disasters?

This father constantly speaks about his unhappiness in his marriage, all the failed attempts to leave his wife and his ultimate decision to stay as he was the breadwinner and the only one that financially supported the household.

Before we criticize other peoples relationships, maybe it’s time to realize that if it bothers you so much, it’s something that is being mirrored about your own relationship. Take a step back and fix what’s wrong. Don’t project your disappointment in yourself onto another person because you haven’t done the work.

Keep your opinions to yourself, unless you’re asked to contribute them. And even then do so with tact and grace not in an accusatory or defaming manor.

Be a guiding light, not a shooting star.

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Break ups and let downs

Someone very close to me is going through a break up. As I try to help them deal with it, I’m confronted by my own hang ups regarding two people going their separate ways.

We always tend to remember the good times. The times that made us continue with a relationship that had thoroughly expired, even though we knew it was time to move on. Why is that?

There is this thing in our brain that doesn’t allow us to remember the times we cried so much our eyes hurt, or felt the physical pain of betrayal deep within our bodies. The pain that hurls you out of bed at 3am gasping for air.

Why the good times. In most relationships they were so few and far between, but we hang on to them and remember them so vividly, like they were yesterday. The way he held my hand, when he whispered ‘I’ll be with you forever’ and I could see it in his eyes.

Maybe they meant it, maybe those times were true and authentic. Maybe what we had become at the closing of this relationship is not who we truly are but rather the intermingling of two souls in clash with each other forming a pragmatic union that is bound for failure.

Maybe I want to remember you, how I first knew you, how you first reached out and touched my heart. Maybe I still love that version of you. Maybe I always will.

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me

So this is me. After years of talking about writing, I’m finally committing to it.

I’m a mom of 3. A 3 year old, a 7 month old and a 23 year old. My parents immigrated to Canada in 1973 from India. I was born in Peterborough Ontario and moved around constantly while growing up.

This blog is about me, my life, my thoughts and beliefs. They’re not meant to offend anyone but more as an outlet for my inner most thoughts.