TODAY, I’m not in the best of moods. I’ve allowed other people’s criticisms of me to get me down. That both upsets me and pisses me off. Especially when the criticisms are from other women with their own issues who would be better off taking a long hard look in the mirror before passing judgement.
Why do people have to be so hurtful? As a blonde with Middle Eastern roots I’ve been ostracised my whole life. Funnily enough, the fair hair is actually thanks to my Lebanese grandmother as opposed to my English mother.
Anyway you’d have thought that having grown up in a country with a small town mentality I’d be immune to it. Unfortunately, over and above my colouring and genealogy I was also born with a sensitive nature and am an easy mark for bullies and bitches.
The reason I’m upset this time is unrelated to my looks, my clothes or the fact that some insecure freak has thrown a total fit because she mistakenly thought I fancied her nauseating, lecherous husband. This time I’m upset because of these emails I keep getting. Emails I’ve since discovered are from women who certainly have no reason to take the moral high ground when it comes to men and sex.
The problem this time is apparently my ramblings. Certain individuals seem to have taken offence with some of the issues I address. They don’t think the ‘smut’ I write should be in a family newspaper. The thing is, I don’t believe what I write is ‘smut’. In fact, I only write about what most 30-something-year-old women talk about. My ramblings are an amalgamation of my experiences and those of my friends, colleagues and, believe it or not, mere acquaintances.
I am sick and tired of women here taking the moral high ground. It is an absolute joke. The amount of married women who have conveniently forgotten their marriage vows and are having affairs or have had affairs is nothing short of alarming.
I am neither married nor have children, so what I do really is my own business. In fact I don’t even do anything, because if you’ll recall I keep allowing myself to get dumped on lately. But even if I was doing something, would that be so wrong? Or let me guess, it’s okay to be doing it, but let’s not talk about it. It’s okay to cheat on your husband and think about leaving your two underage children for this other Romeo that has stolen your heart, but it’s not okay to say that when you have sex you’d like to be able to feel it? What is that about? At least I’m honest and upfront about things. If I don’t like something I say it. If I do, I shout it from the rooftops.
People here have such complexes. They don’t like to stand out or be themselves. When someone does, particularly a woman, she is instantly branded an attention seeker or a slag. Have you ever stopped to consider how that attention seeker or slag might feel to be called those names? Probably not. Will me writing this make you stop and think that you are obviously an insecure, miserable person in serious need of years of psychoanalysis? Probably not. Do you even know that you are guilty of projecting your own insecurities onto other women who are or are trying to be comfortable in their own skin? Probably not. Will any of what I’m saying change the world and the way people think? Again probably not. What it will do, however, is make me feel a whole lot better and quite possibly give other women, who have been subjected to similar ostracism, some comfort.
I admire confident, strong women who speak their mind. Women who cut through the bullshit and say it how it is. I aspire to be that kind of woman. The type of person who isn’t afraid to express an opinion and stands up against the crowd.
The problem is Cypriot society sometimes feels like an angry rabble and can be rather frightening to stand up to. It takes nerves of steel to be able to hold your head up high and tell people to just fuck off and to really mean it. I can say it, but deep down, in the pit of my tummy, I just feel sick and hurt. I lose sleep over what people say and think of me. It’s as if I’m desperate to fit in and I often berate myself for rocking the boat when going with the flow would make my life so much simpler.
I know that when you do what is expected of you, you don’t get criticised. You might end up with an ulcer or even cancer because of living a repressed life, but at least you know your funeral will be a full house. But who wants that when you have failed to savour every single moment of this life? And by savouring I don’t mean leading a life of debauchery (if anyone thinks that is what I encourage, then you have absolutely no grasp of reality and I urge you to stop reading these columns right now), but truly enjoying life and being happy. Happy in your own skin, with who you are and what you stand for. Learning to accept your good points and your difficult points.
Above all learning to love you. Because at the end of the day isn’t that what life is all about? Learning to love and be loved? Isn’t that what makes this roller coaster of an experience we call living and growing so much more worthwhile? Who the heck wants to fit in if it means living amongst hypocrites and denying being true to you? Certainly not me.
It’s hard to be different and to accept that not everyone is going to like you just because they don’t. I’m also starting to realise that as painful as it may be, I wasn’t born to be a follower.
So as much as I know I want to fit in; as much as I know that speaking out will get me into trouble; as much as I know I’m going to carry on getting hurt and crying myself to sleep; I know that I will carry on trying to change the way people think and to try and help them open their minds and hearts because that is how I am. And do you know what? That’s okay. Or at least that’s what I’m slowly trying to teach myself every time I try and digest and process one those nasty emails.
