Dear Nobody, Letter #2

"It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.."-Leonard Cohen,Hallelujah

8 January 2010

Dear Nobody,

I have neglected you for quite some time  now. Not for lack of anything to say,but rather not knowing which snippet of information would interest you most. I am afraid the subject of this letter is rather melancholy. I am writing to you about tears,a kiss,a Bible verse and a very significant cup of tea.

My day yesterday started much like any other. The sun did indeed rise and the dew was chased away as it's golden fingers brushed the grass. This I did not witness my own eye,as that eye,and,incidentally,the other,were both very firmly shut when the sun made its glorious appearance. Several hours later,I graced the world with my own presence. I spent a few meaningless hours on the world wide web. I conversed quite pleasantly to a very dear uncle of mine who shares my,and indeed first ignited,my passion for photography and blogging. I enjoyed some Belgium chocolate and more than one mug of coffee. I swept the floor quite vigorously and had a cup of tea with an old friend. To me the day seemed rather pleasant. And yet,somewhere quite far away,two very close friends of mine were tearing out one another hearts. At least,this is what my brain immediately thought when I received a text message on my cellular mobile phone from The Girl,saying she had shared a kiss with The Guy.

Why,you might wonder,is this such a tragedy? My dearest Nobody,if you are indeed out there,they do not love one another. The Guy claims to love The Girl,but The Girl feels quite the opposite. She was,in fact,in his presence to tell him exactly why she did nit share his his overly stated sentiments when he decided to take upon himself the privilege of bestowing on her he first ever contact of this nature. She was distraught;he was ecstatic. He appears to share the opinion of Mr.Collins of old who stated upon the rejection his unwelcome offer of marriage to Elizabeth Bennet,``I am not now to learn that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.''

After several phone calls to both parties during which I both raged and cried,I finally departed to my bed. I was filled with such negativity against The Guy that I shook with what I thought was righteous anger. I couldn't believe he had acted so thoughtlessly and was able to retell the tale with not a hint of regret. I opened my Bible to page where the frayed red ribbon rested against the worn pages. The very first line stopped me cold and doused out the fires of anger in an instant.

"Do not judge" the pages told me,"or you too will be judged." "You hypocrite!"my Bible told me. That I am. How often do we tear one another apart,accusing others of the very thing we ourselves are guilty of? Mere minutes earlier I had accused a very dear friend of not thinking before he acted and completely disregarded the feelings of another. Yet I myself do this several times a week,no,even several times a day,and still I enter a peaceful sleep each night with no feelings of regret or discomfort. Oh we are so disgustingly human. More than a few salty drops escaped from my eyes. There are times when I so badly wish I was not a part of this world. How pleasant and sweet I'd be if I lived alone on some mountaintop and never came into contact with another human being. In case you may have missed it,this,oh nobody,is what made my day taste of cold melancholia.

After my tears I made a cup of tea. This was no ordinary cup of tea. This was a cup of tea that could be served to the Queen of England,Tim Burton,my mother and other such exalted individuals. For this cup of tea,unlike the thousands before,was not made by a girl who would go about life just as before. No,this cup of tea was made by a girl who was moving on from her shame. As I drank that very cup of tea,I thought to myself,hallelujah. Not a loud,joyful hallelujah that would be found in a movie like The Apostle. Not the soulful hallelujah that worship leaders make into a ten syllable word. It was,as Leonard Cohen says,a cold and broken hallelujah. It was a hallelujah thanking my Dad in heaven,not for something wonderful that had occurred,but for something wonderful I know He will make occur in me.

So here we are. A girl filled with confused emotion,mourning the loss of something she can never get back. A boy in denial of the tragic reality of unrequited love. And yours truly,humbled by the realization of my own frailties,comforted by the knowledge that I will not face them alone. Where are you,dear Nobody? Because we are here. Hallelujah.

Micky G

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”-Piglet,Winnie-the-Pooh

A Somewhat Blurry Photo

Some people become your friend by default. Some people become your friend by chance. Then there are some who bash their way into your life,invade your personal space and declare their undying friendship whether you want it or not. Michaela Gonneau is one such friend.

Upon meeting her,I decided within moments to never be her friend. I later found out that she felt the exact same way. Yet somehow,something in both of us changed and she became annoyingly persistent,asking me all manner of questions with no reserve.

"I'm sexy and I know it.."

During the past six months,Micky G has become one of my very best friends. We have laughed together,cried together,fought over stupid little things and had some of the best times ever.
While I never really thanked her for all she did for me,I will forever be grateful for the role she played in my life during 2011.

Mics and Her Brother

Dearest Mics,I love you so darn much!! Thank you for the late night chats at Pav over KFC milkshakes. Thank you for listening to my stupid complaints and letting me in to a little piece of your heart. Thank you for being my home group buddy (who else would change in the car on Florida Road?). Thank you for sharing all those silly little moments at Wakaberry,the beach,squished in a corner at Jurie's house and sitting on your massive beds. Every moment was special and I'll never forget them. You are a beautiful,brave,amazing and so so special to me. Love you forever,even though you made leaving so hard.

One of My Favourite Faces :)

My Mojo

"She lived her life with exclamation marks."-JJ,Close Your Eyes and Laugh

Chilling in the Garden

While many may argue that I my opinion is biased,I am absolutely certain that I have the very best little sister in the entire world. It is a fact. Born on the 16th of May 1999, Zoe Jennifer Dean has filled the past 12 years of my life with inexplicable joy and laughter. Even though there are days I would gladly lock her out the house,I love her intensely. She has,in my year-long absence,grown into a young woman,but she will always be my baby sister.

Blowing Bubbles

Zoe's favourite colour is blue,she plays the piano and she doesn't eat left-overs. She is madly in love with Elvis and sings along with Taylor Swift. Zoe's favourite place to go with me is an old,rundown,trash filled park up the road from our house. She paints her toenails blue and reads books that I struggle to understand. My lovely sister dances like a star in Ballet,Hip-hop and Indian dancing. Even though it takes some convincing,she makes me at least four cups of tea in a day.

At the Park

For reasons beyond my comprehension,Zoe claims that I am her role model and always joins me in journalling,Bible reading and,recently,blogging. She likes blowing bubbles nearly as much as she loves her cat,Bubbles. While the name Zoe,which means life,fits her perfectly,she more often  goes by nicknames like Zonie,Mojo Zozo,Zobot,Zwitchie and many more.

Darling sister,beautiful girl,I love you with my whole entire heart. My world will be so lifeless when you leave me in four week's time to brave the Canadian winter. Here's to staying up till 4am,reading and journalling,dancing in the kitchen,secrets on the swing,Owl City,photoshoots at the park and endless cups of tea. 1-4-3 Zobie-wan-kenobie,forever and always.

Beautiful Girl

Stretch Them Cheeks!

"If it's cold outside,show the world the warmth of your smile"-Rascal Flatts

Smiling takes 17 muscles. While many people these days seem opposed to working those muscles,I have managed to capture a few faces that have mastered this form of exercise. Give your face a workout and stretch them cheeks!

Cathryn Moodley

Hayden Brown

Roanne Moodley

Matthew Palath

Benaiah King

Baby Ben

"Nephews are the children that we borrow"-Unknown

My first nephew (who doesn't like me much). :) Words cannot describe him;he is simply breath taking. Boodie,you have produced a little miracle. This is baby Ben,three months old.

Dear Nobody,Letter #1

"Even Nobody is Somebody"~Anne Castle

The one thing I miss the most about living at home is being able to come back at the end of a day and report everything to my mother and sister. So I started a silly habit where I can use the most ridiculous English and sound all deep and mystical. I'm not,really,I just enjoy using the language in odd ways. Here is one of many Letters to Nobody. Because telling nobody is somebody. And if you read it,you can be my nobody.

24 October 2011

Dear  Nobody,

My day today was rather dull. If it had been a colour,it would have been puce. Puce looks alright but the sound of it is rather horrid. I slept until ten,not because I was tired and not because I had nothing else to do. Just because I could. When I finally woke up,it was to find a dozen pairs of eyes staring down at me from my cream coloured wall. That is not their fault. I stuck those photographs up there. After stumbling down my step ladder,I stared at a rather bleak face in the mirror for a few moments. The me of the night takes little care of her appearance. I washed my face and changed my clothes and examined my fingernails until I felt a little more awake.  The sound of the kettle woke the cats and I fought them off my milo-soaked rusk and scratched their little velvet ears for about thirteen and a half minutes.

After opening my blinds and considering making my bed,I typed away on my little laptop and uploaded some photographs that will be forgotten in a few weeks time. I spent a few moments on facebook,but there were very few faces and neither pages nor chapters.  My camera got my attention for the next half-hour. Though no images were captured,the weight and feel of it made me smile. Lunch consisted of a chicken wrap and a mug of milo. I turned on the TV,not because anything interested me,but because it’s what one ought to do on one’s day off.

I entered a brief moment of panic when I realized how far behind I was in my journaling. Days had slipped past without being immortalized on the pages of a well-worn notebook. I was forgetting to remember. Armed with several pens and yet another mug of milo,I ventured out to the tiny tree-house in the back yard. I spent the next few hours flat on my back,staring at the roof while my cell phone sang sad tunes that made me remember not so much the actual events of the past year,but rather the feel and smell of them. Not one day was recorded,but myriads were relived.

When my family of sorts returned in a flurry of bags and wet swimsuits and requests for snacks,I found myself back in the kitchen.  We,the “adults”,had coffee and a chat. I am not big yet,I thought to myself,I’m still just one of the children. I confirmed that within myself by playing tag with the little girls. When the mother went shopping,I helped the boy with his homework,feeling very mature and smart. He wanted to run around too,so we did until I lost my breath. The house was silent again;the children had rediscovered the joys of the trampoline. Flying through the air gives one a fresh perspective on life. Time passed once more and I helped bath the little girls and learned that fairness is based on the order in which hair is washed. Dinner followed ablutions and I chose water over juice for no particular reason. Juice is a silly sounding word when repeated.

Now,after tinned apples and chocolate mousse,I am back in my little piece of the house,typing away so that you might know what I did today. It’s raining a little and the glorious smell of wet earth drifts through the window on my left. If I part the blinds slightly,as they do in movies,I can see the rain drops splashing down into a puddle lit up by the outside light. If the reflection of the sun is sunbeams,the reflection of the bulb on water must be liquid light. It’s a lovely thought,even if it isn’t true.

So now I sit here on my wooden chair,sipping my decaf coffee (a pointless drink indeed,what is coffee if not caffeine?) and ponder your existence. You are no one,but I am glad I could share my day with you. Mondays are indeed like the colour puce;the sound of them is horrid but the reality is indeed quite bearable,if rather dull.

Poetry,Pintrest and All Things Purple

"The more His we become,the more ourselves we become;more our true selves."~Stasie Elderedge,Captivating

Because I no longer live at home,I feel as though I have taken the first small step into adulthood. This,along with a series of not so unfortunate events,has made me ponder the subject of growing up. It is my unprofessional opinion that there is no such thing. I don't think we grow up,I think we grow into ourselves. The closer we grow to Jesus,the more we realize who our true selves are. I have,over the past few weeks,begun to see the fine line between the me people see and the me I really am.

I don't actually drink sugar in my coffee. I think twirling skirts and tea cups make the world a better place. I hate potatoes. I love winter. I don't like coke and I think Nicknacks are the vilest chips ever created. The first thing I do in the morning is check if I still have all my teeth. When I try clothes on at Mr Price,I dance around in the change room. I have never been kissed. I read at least a book a week.Car engines fascinate me. I believe that real men cry. When I'm nervous I bite my nails. I write letters to my future husband. I am a Twilight fan,and yes,I am Team Jacob. I put raisins in my tea. I actually don't like chocolate. I can stay up till two in the morning looking up things like "window seats" and "porch swings" on Pintrest.

I like the rain,blogging and weird earrings. I think Winnie the Pooh is the most quotable book ever. I take photos and journal every single day because I am horrified at the thought of forgetting even one day of my life. My hair is long because I like it long and I have no desire to cut it. I like hippies and peace signs and 1974 VW vans. I want seven children one day,five of my own and two adopted. I like dandelions,cats and the colour purple. I think daisies are the most beautiful flowers ever and that orchids are extremely overrated. I like all kinds of music,except for heavy metal. I don't care about politics and I think graffiti is an amazing art form. I love drawing,dancing and odd nicknames. I don't know how to swim. I know that my friends are the best in the world. I miss my mom more than I have ever missed anyone or anything. I'm scared of geese and crossing roads.

I love Jason Miraz,John Mayer and Taylor Swift. I think hand-written letters are the most thoughtful things on earth. I believe that you are never too old to enjoy swinging. I think poetry that makes little sense is the most enjoyable. I am utterly in love with Jesus my King and the future He has planned for me. I might never grow up,but I will keep growing into myself. Unashamedly and openly ME.