Dear future historian,
I wrote about Gaslighting last time.
Very difficult matter to comment on.
I’m still struggling to put order into the Chaos of the so called ‘female hero myth,’ as Jordan Peterson puts it. The frog/Prince. The brainwashing of narratives that you can transform a narcissist if you love him enough. (Tried that. Not working.)
Deal? What deal? Oh! That deal. I think you’re missing the point of ‘the deal.’ The deal was I manage the rules. And you just apologise for existing. Apologise for trying. Feel sorry for kissing the frog and expecting a Prince. You want a gentleman? That's discrimination to monsters. Sleep alone today and reflect on your unreasonable expectations of respect for yourself.
05 December 2021, UK
Dear future historian,
What was I thinking??
How on Earth did I expect to write another book by February.
Dear Future Historian,
I haven’t managed to keep my latest goal of two posts per
week, to have enough material for ‘Dear Future Historian, Winter 2022’ but I
won’t be too harsh on myself because, among other reasons, it really doesn’t
help.
Next assignment at uni is on Philosophy of Religion. We need to talk about David Hume’s objections on ‘the argument from design.’
09 November 2021, around 10:30pm
Dear Future Historian,
I’ve been silent too long. I missed you. I missed me.
It’s like I meet myself when I’m talking/writing to you.
I’ve been lost in the surrealistic realm or what people call reality.
Do you wish you could touch it? Hold it like a teddy bear? Put it under your pillow? Offer it as a precious gift to your loved ones?
Do you get tired of reading from a screen, and wished you could have it on paper?
(MOQ) Metaphysics of Quality/Value: pp. 32, 68 (Cultural), 74-79 (not specific/nothing vague), 81- (84 Value = experience) 85 (primary reality), 95-(99 laws to define quality)101, 104, 118- (119 Quality = Morality) 121, 127, 130, 183, 185-188, 259, 289, 294, 309, 323, 328-329, 348-378, 424-426, 440 (arete), 442 (Rta-Sanskrit for ‘cosmic order of things.’)
Blessed be those who read to listen and not to judge.
Blessed be those who keep their eyes open not only to look at the form, but to see the context, for they will be the first to hear the new narratives.
As I am preparing my rope with reverence, I am wondering what Odin was thinking during the nine days that he was hanging from the tree of life, how he filled his mind with pride of his humbleness.
What a jerk! That is what all gods have in common, I suppose.
‘Happy 100th birthday sweetie. How do you feel to be joining us in the middle-aged community?’
‘Hey Sis. Thank you...? OK, I guess.’
‘Do you accept guest?’
‘Did you pay your privacy-tax today?’
(I wrote that story about 20 years ago. Soon I am turning 40 and I thought it's a good time to return to my-ancient-history, so I translated it from the original Greek to share it with you, my only-English-speaking dear future historian and contemporary reader.)
Let me tell you
the story of how a mouse can make you homeless.
Back in 2015 I was living in Thanet with my 14-month-old baby and my 6-year-old daughter. I was also hosting my mother and my sister with her son. So, my kids and I were sleeping in the living room on a mattress on the floor. One night, while I was breastfeeding, I heard a squeaky noise and I saw it staring at me. I jumped up, with the baby still hanging from my breasts, and started googling ‘how to get rid of a mouse.’ Apparently, the options are quite limited and ineffective, with a crawling baby who puts everything in his mouth.
Some of you know that I moved to the UK with my daughter from Greece back in 2014 and my son was born here in Kent the same year. I think the journey of an immigrant really starts in a way after arriving to a new country. I love the UK. I love the rich culture and history. I love the nature and the people. Yet sometimes I feel like an outsider and it's hard to know if I'm being discriminated because I'm an immigrant or because I'm autistic. I am wearing a sunflower lanyard because I stutter when I talk with strangers and at the supermarket tills, I felt people were looking at me wondering if I can even speak English.
I come from a mixed generations family. My brother is 16 years older; my sister is 14 years older, other sister 8 years older. I am from a second marriage of my mother. My father was 20 when I was born and my mother 40. My children’s father is 7 years younger than me and my partner 17 years older than me. I was 27 and 33 when I had my children. Living in such a mixed environment I never realised the generational gap issue before. For me it was mostly about an unspecified lack of communication. To be honest that is exactly why I had the need to become a writer. I felt no one was listening. But now I think that for my daughter it is a real thing.
Dear Future Historian,
I was about six or seven, I think. It was Christmas. I was backstage, in the amphitheatre of the church I was ‘going to’ (or was dragged to) back then. I was wearing a costume, but I’m not sure if I was an angel or a sheep. I guess I was a sheep because I remember that it was making me very itchy.
Dear Future Historian,
Today I was informed indirectly, by her psychologist, that I don't exist cause she's not crazy enough! I believe the way it was phrased was: It’s time you admit the fact that even you know that she does not exist… because you aren’t schizophrenic; you're just autistic with big imagination.
Before my late diagnosis in the autism spectrum, I had no idea about my sensory issues. And no amount of observational skills could help me realise my sensory sensitivity with only myself as a reference.
Maybe I'm just too cynical for rhyme.
It's a cynical aeon anyway.
So, I am not
even special that way.
Oh, look at that, a random rhyme. You see?
And now, I must rely on this questionable literal-abilities student, in just 2200 words... but so be it. I know that Story is risking a lot by helping me. Let's see if that will work. I've been trying to speak for centuries, but it's our fate for my kind -as the Moires wanted it- to need a host, even though we are not a Parasite. What an I rony!
