Serenity… refocus – seek joy – thrive

Suck it up, stiff upper lip, don’t let the bastards get you down, never let them see you cry…

Well, unless you are singing the blues – then it’s okay. It’s good, in fact, because that produces something I can use and enjoy. Otherwise, though – keep it to yourself, hide in the closet–

–  you remember those old movies? I used to watch them on the Late, Late Show. She’d recline in her peignoir, stand gazing at the train, look over the city from the penthouse suite, clutch the railings of the bridge, drop a flower onto the grave, place her hand on her child’s fevered brow –

and we felt, felt, felt (or were supposed to) her pain, her sorrow, her bravery as the clean, pure tears welled up in her beautiful eyes until there was no more room to contain them and they had no other choice but to tumble out and fill our hearts and minds with the realization that this matters. These are Very Important Tears, any place, any time.

Keep your chin up, don’t embarrass us, save it for someone who cares, take it like a man –

– or she’d be waiting nearby, stoic and silent, her child’s fevered brow a distraction, the grave forgotten until such time as it was permissible to remember, her gaze lifting above the debris to the penthouse suite, where there must be a handkerchief at the ready to wipe away the Very Important Tears – after which it’s okay to go into a corner or weep into your cookpot. Just don’t disturb anyone with your emotionalism -

– you’ve seen the newscasts? Surely. She’s fled something – chopped off hands and feet, daily rape, babies buried under mudslides, bayoneted by little boys with guns bigger than they are, forced from home – can’t stand in the way of progress or business – sometimes she’s holding a weakly crying, dying baby, stroking its fevered brow, while she sits numbed, stoic and silent, by all that’s passed, she certainly can’t care as much as we do–

We sometimes have to look away from all that emotionalism.

” Why are you focusing on hurt”

Because no one else does.

A not so simple answer to a simple question.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 10th, 2009 at 7:09 am and is filed under drama queens beloved, feminism, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.