Diary of a Void

Even if it's a lie, it's a place of my own. That's why I'm going to keep it. It doesn't need to be a big lie—just big enough for one person. And if I can hold on to that lie inside my heart, if I can keep repeating it to myself, it might lead me somewhere. Somewhere else, somewhere different. If I can do that, maybe I'll change a little, and maybe the world will, too.

I'm always so alone. I guess I should be used to it by now. That's the way it is from the moment we come into this world, but I'm still not used to it - how alone we all are.

Having a baby isn't easy. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. It's been two thousand years, and it's the same old story, right?

Here I was, more than thirty years of life behind me, still completely unaware of the simplest things.

Maybe that's making a family is all about: creating an environment in which people make space for one another - maybe without even trying, just naturally, to make sure that nobody's forgotten.

I drifted there, wherever I was, in a space that was full of everything but had no sound, no time, no up, no down.

I've always thought of myself as a big music fan. When I walk to the station, or when I'm waiting for a friend or a train, I listen to music on my phone. I go to festivals and shows every summer. But listening to music alone in my room, with all the tome in the world... I wouldn't know what to do with myself. An artist, someone I couldn't see, singing, putting their heart and soul into it. Where should I look, What kind of face should I make? The more members in the band, the more awkward I feld. What did other people do - people who thought of themselves as music lovers? Did they just sit there with their eyes closed as they took it in? Did they stare off, bobbing their heads and moving along to the music?

I know women are the only ones who can give birth, but once the baby’s born, why the hell should our roles be so different? Breastfeeding, I get, but what about everything else? Don’t tell me you need more time to figure out how to be a dad. Like, what have you been doing for the last nine months? Don’t just sit there and watch. This isn’t a field trip! You say you’ve got work, but what about me? I’ve got work, too! Well, I did. I know it paid nothing compared to what you make …. Anyway, isn’t that what paternity leave is for? I’m not saying take it right now, but did it occur to you that maybe I could work and you could stay at home? Did it even occur to you? Why should I act so grateful just because you changed your daughter’s diaper one time? Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I’m worn out? Maybe it has, but, what, you think that’s just part of being a mom? Do you think he knows how it feels, Sheeba? Do you think he gets it? Even though he’s maybe eight inches away, blissfully asleep, he’s more of a stranger than some random politician I’ve never met or some stray dog somewhere in Brazil. I feel more alone with him than I do when I’m on my own.

Don’t you think it’s weird how in an age of cryptocurrency and telework, childbirth—something experienced by pretty much half the world’s population—is still so hard and so painful? Breastfeeding, giving the baby all you’ve got, never getting a half hour to just sleep . . .

Maybe that’s what making a family is all about: creating an environment in which people make space for one another—maybe without even trying, just naturally, to make sure that nobody’s forgotten.

Then again, to be eternally known as the Virgin Mother, as if that’s the only thing that gave meaning to your existence … Hey, did you have any hobbies of your own? Or maybe there was a singer you were really into? You must have gotten stressed out sometimes. I mean, being called the Virgin Mother, even after your son was all grown up … And then to have him crucified like that. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you ….

I looked up again at the stained glass window. There she was, the same smile on her lips. I'm sure you were totally freaked out when they told you that you were pregnant, but at least your baby's birth is now celebrated all around the world! And so many people have been saved by you, and by your child! Then again, to be eternally known as the Virgin Mother, as if that's the only thing that gave meaning to your existence... Hey did you have any hobbies of your own? Or maybe there was a singer you were really into? You must have gotten stressed out sometimes. I mean, being called the Virgin Mother, even after your son was all grown up... And then to have him crucified like that. I can't imagine how hard that must have been. I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you...

The evening vegetables looked so fresh and juicy, the tips of the greens bursting with life. Yeah, I’d love to have another baby. Maybe by the time I’m thirty-seven.

The internet’s a great place for finding out about stuff you’re kind of interested in, but it can’t really help with the things you really want to know. It’s even worse for things you don’t know anything about.

The real problem’s my husband.

I could think of plenty of things that I didn’t want him to be. Someone with no imagination, somebody who was arrogant, who was incompetent. Someone who didn’t listen to anybody else. Then again, if he was too sensitive, he was never going to be happy. . .

34 years on this earth but I couldn't remember anything about how I'd spent the first few days of any January. It was a blank.

People seemed to be under the impression, at least in my section, that if they made coffee for somebody else, it would signify some deep personal inadequacy.

Until they arrived, while everyone else was transitioning to winter, putting on coats and sweaters, I was going to stick with my summer dress and my usual work blazer. Dressed in the dazzling flowers of some tropical island adrift in an ocean of deep pink, there I sat, in a season and place all my own.

It's a blur, most of the characters who have appeared on my screen simply passing through me. Most found happiness, some met tragedy, and a few more went on their way with knowing looks on their faces, as if they just might have figured it all out.

It's a blur, that's why most of the characters who have appeared on my screen simply passing through me. Most found happiness, some met tragedy, and a few more went on their way with knowing looks on their faces, as if they just might have figured it all out.

Floating in their alcohol-laden breath were memories rising to the surface, snatches of gossip, grievances never to be resolved, desires openly expressed, momentary temptations.

Isn’t that what people always did? Go their own way, never even bothering to let you know? One moment they’re there, the next they’re gone. And it all happens so quietly that you don’t even realize they aren’t there anymore.

Something . . . almost imperceptibly . . . seeped out of me. Oh. That explains the weird chills I’d had all morning. I quietly congratulated myself for wearing a black skirt to work today.

The flowers were dressed up in pearls of morning dew, their ephemeral perfume tickling the inside of my brain.

I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you...

Some people seemed to think that making coffee involved meticulous event planning.

But why do I have to deal with these people who try to act like they care about me or my pregnancy while they ask the most inane, prying questions? Why is it up to me to produce answers that please them? And why is the way home so much darker and colder on nights like that?

As I listened to the others talk, I looked out at the faces in the audience: women in their early twenties, all of them in suits. How many of them were there? I could see they were driven, and passionate about their future careers, but were they considering having babies of their own, too?

There was one kid in every class who was always wearing shorts, even on the coldest day of the year. And it was always one kid, exactly one. Those kids were never put in the same class--I guess the teachers made sure of that. I wonder what happened to those kids. Are they all grown up now and wearing pants? I can't imagine how sad they must have been the first time they had to put on a pair of actual pants.