Hi all, it’s Farzana here, your host for Thursday Connectors. Welcome back after a long summer break. A much-needed summer break indeed!

For me, this summer was a summer of some changes as, after persistent pestering and lots of moaning and sweet coercing, my husband, who’s always been terrified of cats (I know, right!), agreed to let me adopt a fur baby.  My kitten, who I’ve named ‘Maya’ and my kids have named ‘Yoshi’, came to our house in May. Honestly, my entire life has changed; everything now revolves around this little bundle of cuteness.

With my kids all grown up and doing their own stuff, I’ve now gone back many years and am taking care of Maya Yoshi, just as I did with my own kids when they were small. I’m totally obsessed: feeding, litter cleaning, grooming, petting, chasing, playing and even taking her on walks with a harness on as I don’t want her to face the dangers of the outside world just yet.  And now, I’m freaking out and going a bit crazy thinking about this Friday, when I’ve booked her in with the vets to be spayed.

So, my house, normally spotless, and my living room, fully clear of clutter, has turned into a cardboard city because Maya Yoshi loves her boxes and, despite having a funky tree thing and a super fluffy bed, she’d rather sleep in empty Amazon and mango boxes. Sigh! Her toys are scattered everywhere.

My entire family have adapted, as well. We don’t mind the boxes or the toys or the pong of her litter, or the fishy smells of her wet food, because we  love this small creature. These changes are secondary and don’t matter. We’ve all decided, as a family, that Maya Yoshi is  Queen of the house. And we’re OK with this. So is the husband, by the way. Who, I must add, is more devoted to our new ‘kid’ than even I am!

How our life’s circumstances change is therefore both ironic and thought-provoking. And what a coincidence it is that our theme for Write On! is ‘Change.’

This month, I bring you Connectors with writing reflecting changes in life’s situations. We have some wonderful pieces which really sum up how many of these changes can be both fruitful, as in my case with Maya Yoshi, or the complete opposite: draining, stressful and full of hurt.

 

Let’s explore:

Our first connector comes from TAK, who sent in a great poem reflecting how we make ourselves adapt to change.

Hi, TAK. Let’s connect:

This Time, You Couldn’t Jar Me

Last week prejudice caught me like an insect
it found me in shop, flitting down the aisle
I thought I was camouflaged until I needed help

I flapped my mouth, open and close, open and close
but I was cornered, somewhere between curiosity and disgust
would you call me prey?

My accent was thick but my words, were clear, clear, clear
I was naïve but not helpless,
before you could completely jar me

I remembered who I was

Just like an insect
Just like an insect, adapt, adapting, adapted
I firmly held my ground, preventing predation

if not for one more day.

© TAK Erzinger, 2024

Connect with TAK on Instagram: @takerzinger

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Next, we have a poem from Silviya, which shows how change can often weigh us down and cause havoc to our mental health.

Hi, Silviya. Let’s connect:

Then And Now

Growing up with thoughts full of greatness.
Now humbly serene grateful for some stillness.
Mesmerised how memories fade as the present tenses yet brought alive by all your senses.
The smell of whiskey.
A park bench favoured.
A melody, a flavour savoured.
Echoes of the past call you to recall the confidence you once possessed.
Now a mere shadow, ashamed, in pain, depressed.
As time dissolves.
You resolve.
To leave the past unsolved.
And set in motion your devotion to a life of love and peace.
Like a leaf floating in the breeze…free to be.
Free to breathe.

© Silviya Vijeyaruban, 2024

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Finally, we connect with Elora, whose wonderful prose has definitely summed up our theme and will make many of us relate.

Hi, Elora. Let’s connect:

I Have Silver Streaks In My Hair –The World Will Adjust

Fifty-eight years ago, I had no hair, no teeth, couldn’t speak and I cried a lot. People loved me. Today, I have hair, I can speak and I cry only a little. People still love me.

My hair has silver streaks in it – and those same people still love me. My teeth are crooked and tinged with a faint acknowledgement of a coffee addiction –still, people love me.

My point is, I am a frump and I freaking love being a frump. I will not try to be anything else and people will still love me – for me. For who I really am. For my wrinkles, pink eyelids and the silver streaks in my hair. The only expectations I have are self-respect. So long as I maintain my own standards of integrity, I am brazenly me. Goddess Frump. That is who I am.

It has taken me a long time to get here, 21217 days, give or take. I have spent approximately 30552 480 minutes trying to be Goddess Replica. Why? Why, when I can be astronomically happy Goddess Frump? Why would I choose to be a bland copy of billions of Goddess Replicas when I can stand out amongst the few Goddess Frumps who really honour themselves?

I’ll tell you why. Goddess Replica needs to belong, to be accepted, to be acknowledged. So does Goddess Frump, but she belongs to herself, accepts herself, acknowledges herself. She does not need external gratification to validate her; in fact, it’s the very last thing on Earth that she does want. Goddess Frump validates herself. With respect, with integrity and with adoration.

This is the body I was born with all those years ago. Sure, I might have updated my skin cells, weight, teeth and shape, but this is my body, mine to love and cherish and adore. It was given to me as a gift, for free! I do not want to alter it or squeeze it into someone else’s idea of what my gift should look like. It’s mine! Back off.

I did scare the daylights out of my boyfriend once. OK, maybe more than once but, as he came in the front door to visit me on this memorable occasion, I greeted him with pitch black hair. He was agog. Speechless.

I laughed nervously, flicked my locks over my shoulder and asked, “Do you like it?”

My boyfriend was always BRUTALLY honest. I have grappled with this at times, because I think he is intrinsically wired towards frank honesty. Perhaps it’s a good thing; I have learnt to deal with his honesty in a healthy constructive reframe.

His answer to my question? “You look like a witch.”

Do you see what I mean about brutal? Normally my hair is brown so, from his perspective, it was an adjustment to make without prior warning.

That event was a tiny turning point for me. It didn’t last long and I had to learn to value myself many times over but, in that instance, I realised I didn’t need another persona. My persona was enough. I didn’t need to portray myself as something I wasn’t. As I discovered, it can so easily be misconstrued!

In my younger years, I was told I had a neck like a giraffe. It is very long, so this acquaintance wasn’t far off with her observation. The thing is, I freaking love giraffes as much as I love my long neck. There’s plenty of room to wrap a scarf around in freezing weather conditions, plenty of scope for dancing with expression and also for my gorgeous long locks to curl about my shoulders. I love my long neck, it gives me grace and poise I otherwise wouldn’t have with a shorter neck.

From my knock knees to my poky wing bones, there is so much I could dislike about my body, but I don’t. My knock knees give me a unique gait, my poky wing bones promise an evolutionary past or future of flying. Flying, for goodness sake! Why would I begrudge my poky wing bones?

To love myself without vanity is to fully appreciate the value of myself. Not just my body but my beingness in this world. I am worthy of being here just because I am here. I have nothing to prove. I am simply who I am. I am me. No one can take that away from me. But this is not a recounting of ‘woe is me.’ No, it’s the complete opposite, it’s  ‘yes, this is who I am.’ Deal with it. I’m not talking about letting myself go. I still have to manage my health: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

I want to walk confidently on the beach in whichever swimwear I choose. I have no need to hide the fact that I am a 58-year-old woman soldiering my way through insidious menopause. It’s a beautiful thing. There is no need to hide it. And yet so many do.

Why? Because nobody speaks about the onslaught of menopause.

It was the scariest ride my body had ever taken me on. It was also the most exhilarating. I became less fearful of doing the perceived wrong thing. I became braver in speaking out. I became bolder in displaying my validity.

Sure, it’s encrypted within us to attract a partner for life but, when you dress it up as showgirl attraction, you’re not attracting the right person for Goddess Frump beneath all the glitz and glamour. Now, I’m not suggesting you go on your first date in your smelly slippers, or any other date, for that matter. Remember to always maintain your self-respect; I’m merely suggesting you choose an outfit that depicts the essence of you.

It doesn’t matter whether you’re wearing the latest fashion trend or the most outrageous hairdo, nor whether you’re wearing elasticised comfy pants or unbrushed hair: you’re still you. You are not invisible, you are invincible!

(c) Elora Canne, 2024

Connect with Elora on Facebook and Instagram: @eloracanne and via her website: creatingsparksthatlast.blogspot.com

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What great submissions! Next month’s submissions will be equally fantastic and thought provoking so I look forward to pieces on the theme of difference.

In the meantime, embrace change and seek the positive rather than counting the drawbacks. Life is full of changes and although harder said than done, always look on the bright side…

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Issue 22 of Write On! is out now and you can read it online here. Find it in libraries and other outlets. You can find previous editions of our magazines here.

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