a moment

She had closed her eyes for just a moment and it seemed that now everything had changed for her. Had she really just done that, had she really told him how she felt?

 Despite the fear, she had managed to contain her trembling hands and she had kissed him, showing him with actions what her words had not been able to fully explain.

But could he understand her? Had he fully comprehended just how important he was for her? Had he realized that she could not leave without him?

A few moments of blissful happiness was all she got before he left her, once again empty. He had not understood and he would never understand.

She was lonely without him but his presence did not guarantee her happiness, he could not understand her, he could not truly see her. He was not right for her and she knew that.

But she did not know how to extract herself in the same way as she did not know how to tell him how she felt. And moments like this were lost. He’d continue living life in its daily beauties and she would continue to love and dream of a more beautiful tomorrow.

when she left him

Did it ever occur to you that maybe this is the real me? You don´t even look at me, do you? And when you do decide to glance my way, what you see is a bizarre version of me. Someone I´m not, someone I don´t want to be.

Why are you still with me? You don´t love me? You don´t understand me? You don´t even want me….

Yet, you won´t set me free. So the only way I can be free of you, is if I leave.

Good Bye Jonathan, I am gone now, for good.

 Don´t look for me. I don´t need you and you don´t need me.

Once upon a time, with love

And just like that, she had left him. Now he was all alone in the world. Did she really think he had never loved her? He would have moved mountains for her, he would sing her favorite songs, just because he asked her too… Now how did she believe he could live without her?

Maybe he had, in fact, been blind. He should have paid more attention, listened more. But he always thought that she knew he was a bit oblivious to everything around him.

Jonathan left the open letter over the kitchen table. Then now empty house felt cold, the kitchen had lost its liveliness, its color. The sound of the television seemed to usurp the silence. She had taken her favorite flower with her, it made sense for she could not live without pink roses.

One by one, he closed the windows, the lights on the street seemed to hunt him. “Could she be hiding there - somewhere in the shadows? No, she´d be long gone, by now”. The last stream of light coming from outside was now gone, television off, lights down, he was surrounded by darkness.

What had made her leave? He wondered… What had he done? What had they done? He wished there had been warning,… But there had been, so many warnings, he was the one that had been blind, blind to all, blind to her, blind to the sadness that filled their hearts. He needs her, he had always needed her, but he had never shown her just how much, he had never been there when she needed him. So perhaps it had been his fault, perhaps it had been their fault.

Seating on her favorite spot, by the sofa, he noticed the emptied bookshelves, no more woman authors organized by last name, no more pink markers or flowery arrangements. He had complained about them, now they were so normal to him, he missed them dearly. For she was him, and he was her, and everything he like she liked, even if she didn´t; and he liked everything she like, even if he didn´t. This is how they were.

But now she was gone, and he could not understand why… and he had to let her go.

just something I came up with today...

While I wait for sleep

As I lay in bed, half closed eyes, hoping sleep would arrive soon, I remembered that I no longer had something to look forward to in the morning.

The children had all left (they were no longer children) and the house felt empty, no noises into the night, no crying baby I had to run to. The comfort of the frequent presence of steps running around no longer exists.

What could I do now but read a novel with a cup of tea in my hands and hope for a phone call. Maybe soon I´d have grand-children, maybe they would visit in the summer and I would have once again the beautiful sound of children playing in the yards. But no, I did not hope for such. Even if my children were to have children, would I still be here to meet them? Or would the emptiness fill me so that by then I would no longer be myself?

Sleep is finally arriving, and my eyelids are finally surrendering to the darkness of the night. Good night, I whisper to the silence.

Another day, filled with nothingness. No news today. My reading progressed as time seemed to stand by. Is this all I can offer the world now? No, I know it is not? Perhaps I could write? Put into words the thoughts my mind never stops to make and follow the advice of Virginia Woolf, did she not encourage woman to write? So I will follow the grand writer, and I shall do as she said… I shall write…

Another day, another night. I tried to follow my determination of writing today. Easier said than done, I believe. At least I tried. The emptiness still surrounds me, but writing makes me feel better, perhaps it is the solution, perhaps it is not.

A full day of writing. Jane Austen would be proud for I do not have to hide what I write, as she did. No news from the children. Loneliness attacks at night, once again. Why is the silence of the night so silent? Where are the fairies that should be dancing away in the garden? The ones we used to see as children? The ones we dream of and create tales about? Where is the Fairy Godmother that will save us all and take us to our beloved prince?

“Good night, Fairy Godmother, I know you hide in the shadows, and look after the young children with special ardor, I only ask that you don´t forget the old, as we too need magic, and light, and hope”.

Have they forgotten, as I have forgotten myself? Another long day and no news of my children. The house feels even emptier as I walk their rooms. I wonder where they are, if they are happy.  As I put my beloved cup of tea down (the one I got for mother´s day, so many years past), a tear rolls from my face. I am tired of this lowliness. My family is no longer mine, they have their own family. I am now a distant relation to go visit and call during festive days. I have no more purpose, no more reason. I must sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.

Another day, no news, I keep writing, keep living… News will come, I am sure.

“Fairy Godmother, where are you? There, there you are!”.

Mary Bennet Drabbles

of course, I am no Jane Austen, so this is merely fanfiction.

Mary Bennet reflects

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Mary Bennet watched from afar as her family danced. Lizzie seemed far off in a world of her own today. Even as she danced, she didn´t seem to focus as much on everyone around her as she usually did.

Like Mary, Lizzie was an observer. She watched all around her. But today something seemed to trouble her. Mary Bennet wondered if her sister’s sudden lack of interest on the exercise of dancing had any relation to the recent visit to Kent.

Jane’s sadness was easily explained. When Charles Bingley left Netherfield he had taken her sister’s heart with him. Their mother’s constant reminders were of no help, off course. But Lizzie had no reason to be so thoughtful, or so Mary imagined.

Resolved to observe her older sister on every possible occasion and understand her almost forlorn appearance, Mary resumed her reading and forgot the loud sounds that circled her.

---------------------------<3 ---------------------------------

Kitty and Lydia were laughing again. ‘They never go to sleep at a decent hour!’ thought Mary.  And even if Mary had given up sleep all together, and found a book to read, still she could not concentrate on the wise words of the written kind, as her sisters constant giggles would not allow her.

Mary wished she could share a room with Lizzie and Jane. She was certain their conversations would be much more interesting.

---------------------------<3 ---------------------------------

The wedding was beautiful. Enjoying once again the moment of silence the end of the ceremony had brought the middle Bennet sister could reflect a little.  Mary had walked in with her sisters and had been able to participate on the celebration as a witness. She was very glad both her older sisters had given her that honor. Of course, Kitty had not been forgotten either. Now, the fun part (in Mary´s opinion, that is) was over and they would go to the wedding breakfast.

 Her mother had been full of the preparations for some time. Nothing could be wrong for the double wedding. The middle sister – now the official Miss Bennet – wondered if her mother would worry as much if she ever came to wed.

Lizzie had promised to take Mary to Pemberley and the young girl could not wait. She had heard much of the state’s library and she wished she could partake in it. “Would Mr. Darcy own a fine edition of Fordyce´s Sermons?” Surely Pemberley possessed not only that but many other great books for her to read.

Her mother interrupted her thoughts reminding her that Mary had to enter the carriage, and once again the noise of the Bennet family engulfed her and she could no longer concentrate on her own thoughts.

Short Story : Amidst war

As I’ve spent a whole afternoon on the contemplation of what’s to come, the day is lost and nothing got done.  It´s time to pick up the baby from the day-care. I wonder if at least little Lilly had a good day- full with joy and play.

Her days at the daycare are a complete contrast to my everyday’s sufferings. She knows not that her father is missing- somewhere lost in the middle of a long lasting and unreasonable war. She misses him; I can feel it in her cries. But she is too little to understand the implications of his long disappearance.

After spending my day trying to hear from him, from his officers, from the government, from the news, I once again lose hope that I shall see him return to his daughter in one peace. Why did he have to go and prove himself and participate on this War. Did he realize that Wars are not for men and women but for monsters of power who only desire for more? No, he did not. He was never a man to rationalize his own actions. He would never question what was said from above. But sometimes we must, because just like us, those above are just people, with hopes and desires. And power do not make this desires be the right ones, it simply makes them victorious.

It was the desire of (some) men that created this gender inequality, racism, prejudice of class and all its other forms. It was desire of some men that made this war - this third war- that will not only take my daughter´s father but probably decimate us all.

As my mind once again turns to the War that has left me in my sudden empty and sorrow state, I reach my destination. My daughter finds my arms. Children laugh all around me. Parents mirror my thoughts, but they also mirror the smile they can see in their children’s eyes.

 They are not safe from War, as we are not, and they are too young to live without us. Yet, it still in my daughter’s eyes that I find my own redemption. It is through her giggles that I can imagine an ending to the dark sky that surrounds me.

Constancy

All through life he had been a constant. Always present in my most inner thoughts. Why couldn’t I just forget all about him? Now, when I had finally lost him, when there would be no more chances of him knocking on my door with some chocking news or friendly advice, I still could not let go of him.

My love for him had been a secret obsession for many years. I was able to understand that even though he was gone I would still think of him. But I always believed finality could free me. It did not. Not even his death had been able to free me.

Constancy in love was supposed to be a good thing. Jane Austen thought it so, she wrote a whole book about it. But I disagree. If constancy in love had been a good thing, I wouldn’t still be morning a love that never happened, a love that only made me sad, a love that is not a love in the likes of “Persuasion” or any other Austen masterpiece.

Looking at the old photo album that set on the table for all guests to see I remembered brighter days, when hope was still high. I also remember the day hope was taken from me in the form of a beautiful and intelligent blond girl with sparkling eyes.

How did I not see it coming? I had always known everything about him, his deepest desires. It was no stretch that she would charm him.

I should have known better than to befriend her. His loss was much worse when I knew that she had also lost him. 

My tears had to be contained; she would not understand that my love ran deeper, that my pain was larger and longer lasting.

I could not wear the black clothing she had on so gracefully. All eyes followed her: the widow. Did she not even realize that her individuality had been lost and she was now reduced to a title - a relation to a man that wasn’t even there anymore?

At least I could keep my own self. I was not one in relation to another.

 Yes, I had loved him but I wished I had not. It had only brought me pain. It had only brought him pain. For I knew he knew, I could not keep my devotion off my eyes just as he could not keep indifference off his.

So amidst family and friends I still kept my secret. I still kept my heart quiet. I hoped perhaps now, that not even a single glimpse of hope could be had, I could move on.

How wrong had I been! It seems I am to be in eternal waiting, and not for happiness. I’d be content with the ability to forget, to move on, to go to bigger and better things. But his image is still locked in my heart and it seems constancy is both my error and my blessing.

Equals

Today, International Women´s Day, the video bellow appeared on the 8 pm portuguese news.
It reminded me that some people still believe that there is no more need for feminist studies, women rights,  etc. With such evidence as this video gives us, we can see that is not true!

I feel it must be shared.
Dame Judi Dench and Daniel Quaid(007) unite to show us that Women and Men are NOT treated as equals in our society!

A chance to observe

Unreal as it was, this was not uncommon in her life. The moment she realized she was once again in this position: trapped in a broken body, no movement in any of her members.

What sort of twisted accident had once again reduced her to this vegetative state? Flora watched as people walked by her, but she did not move. She was stuck in time and space, unable to move, unable to speak.

Since it was not the first time this occurred to her, she resolved to not be alarmed and started to observe the movements around her. Sight, hearing and thought were the only abilities she seemed to still contain and she wished to use them to her advantage. It was a chance to observe others as she knew others observed her. She would see the best in this situation. She would play “The Glad Game”.

To her left she could see young children. The park where her bizarre condition had appeared was frequented by many a parent with young children. She watched as two young girls dressed in matching yellow outfits shared smiles while circling the half grown jasmine tree. The flowers in full bloom and the giggles the girls could not keep inside were captivating in such a way that she wondered if she had ever felt as happy as this little girls seemed to be in that moment.

She could listen to a car in the distance, threatening the beautiful balance the silence had created around her. She disliked the disturbance, but her eyes followed the noise none the less.

Her sight was met with a young man driving a red sports car. He seemed to be showing off his youth and money. Many people seemed to pay him attention, but she did not believe it of any consequence since a much more interesting sight could be observed behind him.

Hummingbirds were following a young woman. She carried a beautifully handcrafted hummingbird feeder but the birds did not seem to understand that she was going to stop eventually, so they kept trying to reach it.

Some hummingbirds stood mid air, their wings none stop. Some hummingbirds flew with quick speed. Some rested for a while on the trees around them. But they did not rest. They followed her.

Once the young lady found the perfect spot for her little treasure, she placed the hummingbird feeder under the branches of an old willow tree. The birds seemed to rejoice in a beautiful dance in the air. They moved to all sides and suddenly stopped.

They took their turn in drinking the sugary water she had provided. The girl observed for a while and left. For a few minutes the life of those hummingbirds revolved around that expectation, and suddenly it was done and gone.

The beautiful moment was lost, no one but the girl who had experienced it and the static figure watching from a distance had noticed the dancing birds. But Flora had not missed the meaning of it all. Enjoy all moments of your life.

She had, upon this bizarre circumstance, observed two beautiful occurrences. She would not have noticed them on a regular day. Yet, her strange sickness had brought her here. And she was glad.

Like her first "episode", Flora could once again feel her hands. It was the first proof that the odd episode was coming to an end. She soon would be able to express in words her inability to move, and help would soon follow.

She was glad she had observed things around her. As a true “Pollyanna”, she had played “The Glad Game”. And she would continue to do so, she hoped, now that a long period of tests and hospital rest awaited her. 

----- <3 ---------- 

Great book "Pollyanna". It was my favorite book growing up : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pollyanna

"The Glad Game" : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dge1E8OeQRc

Hello fellow Janeites (or non-Janeites),

So I’m finally writing this blog, which I’ve been meaning to do for some time.

This is the place I intend to post short stories, some Jane Austen ramblings and papers, maybe some poems, as well as some of my opinions on all things (whatever I feel up to).  

 I might write both in English and Portuguese (I might try some French and some Spanish, but I don’t promise anything).

Hope you all like my ramblings,

Please comment,

elen