A rose without thorns.

I would like to apologise for not keeping this blog updated as much as I should have, and to thank those who actually keep on turning up for a peak to see whether yours crazy truly had anything to share with the world. I haven't really been inspired in the past two weeks; it seems that I might perhaps have temporarily run out of my sarcastic stream, and have turned, inexplicably, human. I'm not too pleased about that, and discussions with inner-self are ongoing to try and regain the sharp corners that seem to have been knocked off from me by circumstances beyond my control.

Today's post will in fact not be of the usual kind of piss-take, and for once this blog will not be a Chronicle of Nothing, but of Something, Someone in fact who is really Everything, and who in my eyes, will always remain so.

It's my mother's birthday today, and she would, or actually SHOULD, have been 59 had the world been an ideal place where good people live to a ripe old age in happiness and not lose battles against an arbitrary, engulfing evil that destroys everything in its wake. However, as we all know, the world is not ideal, and for the past nine years, it has been rendered even more flawed by the loss of an amazing mother and a truly beautiful human being. On a personal level, her loss for me meant that she did not see me graduate, she did not share the excitement of my first job interviews and my first day at work. She could not react to all my impulsive decisions, like leaving for Brussels, changing profession, buying a flat (collective face-palm in the HSBC home-loan department is still ongoing, four years on), going to Africa... and could not witness the changes that each decision brought to my life and personality and my ensuring stubborn, head-first reaction to the consequences. She missed the joy and laughter brought about by new friends and loved ones, and the tears, so so many of them, brought by those whose sole aim in my life was to wreak havoc and leave behind shattered pieces. She missed my spiritual moments, and my continuously resurfacing atheist ones.

I miss all the things I had with her, and things I could have had, but was denied. I miss the drives and the singing in the car (a habit which I sub-consciously kept, as a solo act, to the dismay of fellow drivers stuck parallel to me at traffic lights), the morning hugs, listening to the stories she used to bring from the the kindergarten she worked in, the long blond hair, the blue eyes that mirror my own, and the nose which I so would have liked to have, but which I unfortunately did not inherit. Most of all I miss the opportunity to be able to learn more from her and to become the woman, that for a period that was unfairly too short, she was.

Happy Birthday Mum, I miss you and love you. Today. Everyday and Always. And since my atheist moments are still of a sporadic nature, I pray that one day I will also be blessed with a daughter to name after you, to love and cherish her, and who will perhaps one day love me as much I love you.