I just want you to know that I miss following all of your blogs and keeping up to date with your lives and your words and I miss interacting with all of you.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Where I'm at these days.
Hi guys,
I just wanted to let you know that if any of you use Tumblr, my url is jasabela.tumblr.com
Hopefully I'll be changing that URL soon, but that's it for now. I have unfortunately subscribed to the more instantly gratifying blogging (if you can call it that) of Tumblr, but perhaps over the holidays I may post again. You never know.
P.S. You can find me on Good Reads at goodreads.com/laryissa
Monday, November 15, 2010
Fistula...
I know I never post anymore, but if you happen to see this, please read it. It's such a horrible thing to imagine and if you can help, at least in spreading the word, repost this. There's a link to donate at the end of the post.
"A fistula happens during birth when a baby’s head puts too much pressure on a mother’s maternal tissues. With the blood supply cut off, the tissue dies and a hole forms – a fistula. The fistula causes urine and faeces to leak uncontrollably.
And in the poorest places, a lack of medical services and maternal health care mean that more than 2 million young women and girls go untreated.
Without treatment, these women are often left isolated, rejected and ashamed.
You can bring comfort and care to some of the world’s most vulnerable women and stop the horror of fistula.
Every minute, 30 women are injured or disabled by birthing injuries. And nearly 100,000 women every year suffer from the horror of fistula.
But what should have been the happiest time in Dorotea’s life suddenly became a nightmare.
After a four-day unassisted labour on the floor of her hut in Tanzania, Dorotea finally gave birth to a girl. But she wasn’t breathing.
Just two days later, still grieving the loss of her child, Dorotea began leaking urine and faeces uncontrollably.
Complications during birth had caused massive tearing, and without help,
Dorotea had developed a fistula.
Dorotea was abandoned by her husband because of the smell and rejected by her community.
As you can imagine, she was too frightened to leave her hut during the day.
Confused and all alone, she fled her home under the veil of darkness in search of help. But sadly, there was none to be found and she returned home a broken woman.
For a staggering 19 years, Dorotea suffered with the shame and isolation of fistula before she was found by CBM’s field workers and taken to hospital. Doctors performed a delicate surgery, repairing the hole and restoring Dorotea’s fullness of life.
And in the poorest places, a lack of medical services and maternal health care mean that more than 2 million young women and girls go untreated.
Without treatment, these women are often left isolated, rejected and ashamed.
You can bring comfort and care to some of the world’s most vulnerable women and stop the horror of fistula.
Every minute, 30 women are injured or disabled by birthing injuries. And nearly 100,000 women every year suffer from the horror of fistula.
Dorotea's Story
Dorotea was about to become a Mum.
But what should have been the happiest time in Dorotea’s life suddenly became a nightmare.
After a four-day unassisted labour on the floor of her hut in Tanzania, Dorotea finally gave birth to a girl. But she wasn’t breathing.
Just two days later, still grieving the loss of her child, Dorotea began leaking urine and faeces uncontrollably.
Complications during birth had caused massive tearing, and without help,
Dorotea had developed a fistula.
Dorotea was abandoned by her husband because of the smell and rejected by her community. As you can imagine, she was too frightened to leave her hut during the day.
Confused and all alone, she fled her home under the veil of darkness in search of help. But sadly, there was none to be found and she returned home a broken woman.
For a staggering 19 years, Dorotea suffered with the shame and isolation of fistula before she was found by CBM’s field workers and taken to hospital. Doctors performed a delicate surgery, repairing the hole and restoring Dorotea’s fullness of life.
But there are thousands of women just like Dorotea who really need your help."
The organisation are openly Christian but regardless of your belief I just don't think this has anything to do with supporting a religion, it's about helping these women and I feel like this is such a worthy cause to help out, irrespective of the organisation's origins.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Well, that one step last night back into blogging has me all fired up, ready to write stories and further posts as fast as I can. Unfortunately I have a lot to do, so this will be quick. Just quickly scanning others' blogs, just the accomplishment of a finished post, having sat down to write something... I had forgotten what it feels like. Honestly? I feel alive. I'm so energised to write, it's amazing. Apart from looking after Lingu and trying to keep us afloat, there hasn't been much I have been deeply involved in. But writing was my first love and I feel so right returning. I cannot wait for this. Thanks so much to all of you who do read this blog and especially those of you who leave comments. It means a lot. I may be a bit rusty with words but I'm willing to work on it, as much as possible. Please keep coming back.
Lots of love,
Toivoa.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
'But still we'll say, "remember when"...'
That said, here's a real post, not another one of those "I'm planning to post regularly again, really" pieces I've been throwing out for the past few months. Feel free to unfollow me.
The ex ex best friend, as I so imaginatively dubbed her earlier. Remember her?
Well, there is so much I have to tell you, as I have mentioned in earlier posts, only about a hundred times, and this is not at all what I was planning to start with. There is so much to tell you about - the Psycho, my best friend Jamie, the ex best friend JRLB and how things are with him now... and other people I haven't made up poorly thought out nicknames or fake names for yet. I have to tell you about my boyfriend Chip/Lingu and how things are with his heart, as well as some of his unfortunate, awkward, but extremely entertaining encounters. Then there's the end of school, formal, my final score and my plans for this year. I want to hear more from you about my relationship with Lingu and therefore, I want you to know more about it... if you can take the reading.
But no, none of that. Let's begin with 'Cynta'. It is important, after all. And for those of you who know us personally, perhaps surprising, or shocking, even.
I'll spill my heart for you,
Until the day I die
I'll spill my heart for you
Cynta, as you may recall, was my closest friend for over two years, a while back. This transcends 'best friends', it was on a far deeper, inexplicable level. We had a connection and an understanding of each other that I could never recreate with another. Lingu and I are so increcible close, and no, no one has ever known me so well,but he is far more than a friend, and so it is different. Cynta and I were young, a little too inflexible at times to quite understand the perspective of one another, even if we knew what it was. She, the logical, factual one, and I, the erratic, emotional one. She loved maths, I, writing. Our decisions followed this pattern. It was that sort of thing. She was the first friend to know and have to deal with my self harm.
I race the clock with you
But if you died right now
You know that I'd die to
I'd die too
We shared a lot. I could spend forever attempting to explain it, but we found something in our friendship that we had never experienced before, and it sustained us and actually taught s a new meaning and possibility in friendship. Too much? It may sound ridiculous and overstated, but it was all that. More. If you've had a friendship of a similar nature, you will understand what I mean.
When I knew who I was
But still the second hand will catch us
Like it always does.
Well, this was intended to be a brief summary... I need to work on 'concise'. Bear with me.
So anyway, I thought I had outgrown her, that I was bored with her and I didn't even need her anymore. There were a series of things that led to this, but a lot of the reason why is a mystery to me. So what began is something I am not proud of. I turned on her, the dearest person in my life, and betrayed her with a cruelty that I can scarcely believe I am capable of... and that I was and probably still I am is scary and horrifying. I hurt her like only someone that close to you can, as an unjustified hatred toward her formed and I grew ever more angry at her... I found her pathetic, using everything I could to try to destroy her further... It makes me sick to remember all that I said to her. And yet, if I was completely honest, underneath all the irrational anger was a horror at what she was going through... because of me... And sometimes that broke me. Considering all that happened in those few months after the worst of my attacks were over, I was trying to convince myself that I was okay without her, realising that I had severed myself from something precious. And what followed in those months is something I have never told anyone. Sure, it is partly embarrassment, but partly an inability to even correctly recall those events. My mind blocks such things, and I have never told anyone about it, ever. I broke down like after the loss of my friendships with Little Miss Sunshine and Rainbow Brite... and I am only realising this in that sense as I type this...
I'll take the fall for you
I hope you need this now
'cause I know I still do.
That I reacted that way, not perhaps just because of what happened but because, although I had many good, close, best friends left, I had left a friendship that, after all, did still mean a lot... And I caused it, awfully. I cringe at what I did. It was horrible and inhumane and I know what I did and saying "I'm not proud of it" does not cover my regret. Yet I cannot bring myself to say I wish it did not happen. We are what we are because of it, and although I wish I was not so cruel, so... sadistic, even, it is in the past. There is no point, nor logic, in "should have"s, or "could have"s, and she knows what I mean. We are very different people now...
Should I bite my tongue
Until blood soaks my shirt?
We'll never fall apart
so Tell me why this hurts so much
But that connection between has never been completely cut. Something I could not admit for a very long time, even once my anger had cooled and we were in the ignoring stage, is that I still love her... Not something I feel with intensity as with most friends, or much emotion. But it is something I know and refuse to ignore any more. We were that kind of friends. And that doesn't die easily.
My hands are at your throat
And I think I hate you
But still we'll say, "remember when"
Just like we always do, just like we always do
After a couple of years, we slowly began to talk again. And we would still spend hours on the phone and tell each other things we would not share easily with others, closer friends. It shocked me, how we still had that. How we somehow still had retained trust in each other. I did not deserve it. I had brutally betrayed that trust. But we could not help ourselves. And slowly, slowly, we have begun to talk more. We laugh together. We have helped each other. I have talked to her when I was in a lot of trouble and desperately in need of help, and she was the only one I could see being able. And we talk, now.
I think we might even, almost, call ourselves friends...
Until the day I die
I'll spill my heart for you
Until the day I die
I'll spill my heart for you.
A bit of repetition never hurt
I managed to let us slip into the New Year before my promised regular postings. So here's hoping this is the first of those. Oh, and Happy New Year. :)
To tell the truth, so much has happened that I do not even know where to start. And not having written in months, every time I sit down to put pen to paper, it all seems too difficult and I quickly give up after one terrible sentence or so. A full sentence may even be giving myself too much credit, unfortunately...
Halfway through last year I began to actually write out my blog posts to later type up. It's just nicer seeing my thoughts in ink, before visible electronically. I'm one of those romantic, somewhat old fashioned people who long for the yesteryear and cleave to the idea that a letter is far better than an email, a book preferable to a PDF file or "e-book" in any form, a purchased CD far more enjoyable than download tracks, legally acquired or otherwise. Considering CDs as clinging to the old may seem laughable, but with MP3 players and the like, it's not really cutting edge technology anymore, and I was sadly not around for records. Although I'd love to buy an old gramophone and begin a collection. But that could not be more irrelevant.
I delight in old, heritage buildings and the smell of quiet, almost forgotten library rooms with book lined walls and wooden furniture. And I'm the kind of person who wants to remember everything. My room and cupboard are filled with so many different, useless objects that I have gained and kept over the years. I still have notes that my friends and I exchanged in primary school, and other prior mementos. I have kept a diary, rather sporadically at times, for a large portion of my life, and with the creation of a Live Journal account, moved onto that as a replacement. I later discovered Blogger, thanks to a friend, and I love it.
No, it's not as great as a personal journal, since there are some aspects of my life and those who are a part of it that I cannot reveal on this public forum. But while blogging requires the recording of my thoughts in a more structured form, the comments have been great; the friends I have made, and seeing the interest others have in my writing and even my thoughts have all been very encouraging and supportive. It's been good practice at writing and I don't plan on giving it up anytime soon. I'm hoping to begin writing creatively again on "Head in the Clouds".
Cinderella may have lost her shoe, but there is so much more to the story.
Monday, December 7, 2009
I have been terribly remiss. I have not posted in ages. It's been harder than I had expected to forge a return to any kind of writing at this time. Even email conversations with friends that grow lengthy can be a difficulty to reply o. Not to mention, I'm always so tired. But now I must come back.
I miss blogging and all the wonderful people I communicate with through it. I love writing regularly, even if in a personal way. And writing has always been a comfort to me. So, especially in this echausting time, although events would conspire to drain my time, I must find a few minutes to write it out.
I have a lot to tell you. Final exams are done, gradation gone, and formal over. Significant developments in friendships have occurred, and tragedy seems all around. I don't believe that to be an over dramatising of what has happened. We shall see.
So expect proper posts soon. :)
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