The Red Light

So what if I get hit by a bus? I mused to myself, crossing my way to the gas station store. the neighborhood remained unruffled. no vehicles nearby. I didn’t anticipate any. It is, after all, Friday evening in the notorious country Israel.

The teller at the shop didn’t notice my appearance. I attempted to evade his eyes as I stroll in. if there is anything I despise is pity looks. similar to the one a co-worker gave me last year when she discovered that the quiet aspiring special education teacher actually has an autistic sibling. ‘oh she must be so fucked up in the head’ she probably though. but that was alright since I am seemingly am- that fucked up.

When I arrived at the counter, with overpriced beer and every junk I could find, I was very startled to see that the cashier was occupied with his phone and didn’t even notice me. not my hair, not my red face or my closed-off expression. nothing.

Another dark thought passed through my mind ‘I am not the center of the world, I am a tiny star so remote that no one can see me’.

I am not usually this melancholic. sincerely. at the moment I just feel so so sad. and apart. like no one will ever comprehend it.

I constantly tell myself that I should write my memoirs. the capable teacher scribbling about what it is like to work with amazing children that have autism. whatever it is like to be a sister to an adult with autism. a daughter to a very sick man and a psychologically unstable mother.

the thing is- I keep waiting to acknowledge the conclusion. anticipating that moment when I will think- ‘well, I really did it’. but what if this time was never meant to appear. what if I am continuing to fell repeatedly. what if I will never reach the “future me”. the one I aspire to be. the one with all the answers? how can I reach her?

I am a fucking amazing teacher. I grasp that. but, what if it’s not enough?

 

The golden bracelet

The first time my eyes notice it was when they opened her will. It was so beautiful. my uncle opened an envelope with my sister, brother and mine name writing on it. I bet it was written in the old typewriter machine. I didn’t notice. my eyes where locked on the gold bracelet.

And when I claimed it as my own, when I grabbed it from his hand- I just knew I will never part from it. I vagualy remembered the bracelet on her hand, the last time I saw her.

But I was a terrible granddaughter. never called, never visited. when people asked me if we were close- I never knew what to say. because she was my roll model. the woman I so admired, even if it was from a far far away. and what’s kills me is- She will never know. A writer, a single mother and a holocaust survivor. she was superwoman to me. we look a lot alike, but I will never be as free-spirited, level headed like her. I will probably never have the briliant adventures she had. an our last conversation, she told us a story, always laughing and smiling. my dad finished up with his crazy rules-breaking stories. and then she asked me- do you have a funny adventure to share?

And I had non.

Well, not a sober one anyway.

And it made me feel like a complete let-down. boring. a anti-social nerd. and most of the time that is really who I am. I am super shy, nobody notice me when there are other people around. I like to read, I can’t act for shit. and I always always follow the rules.

I am boring as hell.

So when I picked out that golden bracelet – I promised myself that I am going to make some drastic changes, I don’t really want to be myself anymore.

For the past year – I was moody and nervous. I barely went out. I was so self absurbed that I missed out on two (!) briliant man that were so nice and handsome.

I was a such a mess.

And I always always had my bracelet on.

A few weeks ago, someone told me that it was O.K to be the quiet one. I do not have to apologies for being so.. so.. me. I will probably never be an actor, or locally semi-famus like her. I will probably never be the loud one. or maybe I will be in certain situations. the thing is- I don’t need to be like her- for her to be proud of me. there I said it.
I need to be myself. with all the downsides I sometimes find. because lets face it- I am awsome. just the way I am. and someday the perfect man will notice this. someday.

I learned a lot about myself, this past year. I will take my adventures and break a few rules. but I will do it – on my terms, being completely and fully – myself.

So this is me. laying her bracelet in the drawer. no more guilt, no more self-doubt, no more diminishing myself.

I love you grandma.

Now it’s my turn.