Now her pants
Oh no. Oh lord. What’s this now, in the bottom drawer. In Pants. …
No pants. Just papers.
Here we go again. But what now…
Ah,Tub. Remember Tub? Those whimsical drawings we found in a bin one day, like this one?
Well.
Turns out, that little book wasn’t so little. Wasn’t just those drawings and captions. Because here, I guess we have the rest of it; the illustrations, it seems, were just a supplement to a longer text, still with some edit marks here, found in the bottom drawer.
What is it exactly? I flip through. I see it’s kind of a manifesto to any woman dealing with a broken heart.
A broken heart, like any other problem, could be solved by analysis, logic and a touch of divine creativity. …
Mom speaks to her reader here as if she’s reading this in the bathtub. She speaks to men sometimes also, because they’re “allowed to peek” and can learn a thing or two if they do (and I am).
When will this end, Mom. When will we actually finish your apartment and be out of here?
My brother comes in now, all sweaty. Dumps more papers and folders from the other room, the other closet, other bins. He finds me already surrounded by this, these papers here. “Don’t get caught in the vortex,” he says. He’s not an art guy. A poem guy. A sign guy. He prefers tasks and goals and efficiency and work. He’s unlike me or Mom in these ways. He’s business. He’s movement.
“OH I’M IN THE VORTEX!” I tell him, in capital letters. He sighs, leaves the room, keeps moving.
I sit back and sigh also. Different reason. I hate this, but love this. It’s exhausting, but I do actually want to be in here. Stay here. In Mom’s world. In these surprises. As tiring as it’s becoming — to keep finding these things yet feel the regret of not having known, not having been able to talk to her more about them…
Well of course I’ll still take this. This instead of the other; instead of finding pants in the pants drawer. Instead of a straightforward clean-up and move. Instead of a straightforward Mom.
Yes of course I’m glad to stay in the vortex, in her world. First of all it keeps her close. Secondly, this place is… Well this place is fun. I mean look.
The process of making a woman out of myself took all my life, I recognized certain patterns. I survived. I had to, and without men. I survived using my own skills, my sense of humor, my passionate hobbies. Men most of the time seemed to be a “setback” for me. But I knew them. I observed my men, other men, more men. … I will share my own life with you, in almost every chapter. Just look and learn from all my glorious mistakes. And learn how to be creative. It is a necessary remedy for renewing your mind and for recognizing who you are. …
~
Mom’s world? In Mom’s world, heartbreak is a chance. Just another chance to make something…
So, let me tell you some more about that broken heart I had over that boy-man of mine, who wanted me to make myself a dress. As I carried my broken, bleeding heart, I wrote these short, simple poems. I was channeling my emotions into art, and that’s a good thing, because once your heart is healed — the art remains. It’s like covering a trashcan with pearls, and then — just taking the pearls and cleaning up the trash can. …
… Rearrange your beautiful mind. Produce your own pearls. These poems could be about anything — a crack in a mirror, lipstick smeared, etc. Look for textures, images that can be compared in some way. After you make a poem or two, go ahead and clean up your closet. Remember, you may work on your “pearls” while cleaning up your garbage. Make room for beautiful things to come. …
Basic Study of What Love Is:
Love is Truth. Someone who is deceiving you is most often deceiving himself. Liars lie to themselves first, that’s why they are so convincing.
Love is Patience. If someone loves you — he will wait for you, he will give you time. He will understand that love is the mystery to be unfolded and this takes time.
Love is Kindness. If he loves you, he will not be too rough or insensitive. He will listen.
Love is Art. Love is something to create. Love is a beautiful phenomenon. Once it happens, it should not be taken for granted, or be easily replaced. It is a mystery to unveil.
~
Also in Mom’s world, replies to ex-boyfriends are, if I may say so, pretty great:
“I’ve been working all my life on improving myself. I am a woman, who is real and honest, not spoiled, not corrupted, not a phony, not a player. I have experience of dealing with wrong men, so now I have full capacity of appreciating the right man and giving such man my full respect and happiness. You could have had that respect and you could have had my fine heart and devotion, but you blew that chance, Mister.
I just had a strange dream. In this dream I was surprised that my painting wouldn’t dry. Then, I realized that by mistake I used whipping cream instead of white paint. This dream could have been a symbol of our love. Your words were nothing but a whipping cream, so now it’s just a big mess. I should have checked before what you were made of. This messy part is over, now I am just having a small case of indigestion. It will pass.”
(Reader, remember this? …)
~
In Mom’s world, Mom’s life — I’m reading this only now — it seems she fell in love once more after Jerzy. With a man I could probably go out and meet right now, if I were to walk out from Mom’s patio and make a right towards the street where I walked the day after she died — in that rain, that earthquake.
Because remember this guy?
Well, it turns out he must be this guy…
Imagine a scenario like this: a woman who doesn’t want to get involved anymore (in relationships) is devoting herself to her art. Her true everyday pleasure is taking her dog for a walk, in a residential area behind the condo where she lives. She enjoys walking, it makes the dog happy, and it clears her mind. Every time she has to pass by this big house where a man is standing, training his dogs. He tells her not to let her dog be an “alpha dog” and walk in front of her. She thinks he is crazy, but they are having these chitchats more and more. He makes attempts to take her out unsuccessfully for the whole year. Finally it happens. She trusts him because he seems to be a family man, whose children come every weekend, because he says all the right things. His house is a half-rundown. …
They fall in love madly. He wants to marry her, provide for her, turn his rundown part of the house into her studio, build a swimming pool because she loves to swim. He invites her over every time when he talks to an architect. She hesitates to come, after all — they are not officially engaged. One day the dream is over. …
Suddenly he is angry and cuts her short for no apparent reason. It happens during the summer when she makes less money, has problems paying her bills, so maybe because of the stress she isn’t as “fun” as she was before. She just had a small car accident, not her fault, and she engages her friend who is a lawyer in the process of trying to get money from the insurance. She feels that her boyfriend is using him — a friend who is visiting her — as an excuse to break up. He turns into a different person, is abusive verbally, breaks her heart. It’s over.
She still walks with her dog, almost every day, by that house, which is now under construction. Takes her dog now to different places, but for lack of time she can’t do it always. She walks by this house trying not to look, trying mantras and everything in this book. No matter what, it is hard to pass by this house, all lit up now, all finished.
She knows that he was not the right man, but she feels lonely. After all, she heard “I love you” at least three times a day for the last eight months. Her pain, she feels — is the energy. So she imagines that she is a magic lantern, all lit up with this light that her pain produces.
“The more pain,” she thinks, “the more light.” No one can prove it isn’t true.
That pain is now the light burning inside of you, turning you into a magic lantern. The thought liberates all her feelings as she walks now with her dog, without stones in her heart.
She invited good spirits into her broken heart. Yes, my friend, that’s exactly what happened to me. You too invite good spirits into your heart, turning it into a glorious lamp glowing in the darkness.
There is mystery behind Light itself. No one knows what it is and where it comes from. No one knows how it travels. “Imagination is more important than knowledge,” said Albert Einstein, the greatest mind of our times. Use it, girl. Make your heart divine.
After six months she still walks by this house, now feeling nothing at all. The truth sank into her heart. The truth was that he, along with this house, was built on a wrong foundation.
P.S. When you take a bath, contemplating your man, have your bubble kit by your side. Remember all those empty words he said to you. If he was really full of those empty words and promises, imagine that those bubbles are his words, or that he himself is sitting in one of them. Imagine him inside of one of those full of air bubbles, relax, take a deep breath and — blow. Suddenly you feel cleaner, lighter. Use as much soap as it takes and think about tomorrow. It’s out there for you. The next man that you will love will be better than the one you loved before.
There are other pages, other messages within Tub. And other papers, other poems, other surprises within Mom’s Pants drawer. Maybe one day I’ll share them all.
But for now, I’ll leave the reader with just these pages here, which today and tonight have made me smile.
Her underlying theme seems to be this: when there is hurt, play. When something breaks, create. See if you can make a pearl.
She tells her reader to always make space for him or herself. And to think — about patterns, about what was, what always has been, and now what will be.
She tells the reader to travel.
Tells the reader to make those pearls while still remembering to clear the closets, the trash.
She tells the reader pain is energy, and the more pain, the more light. …
Become a magic lantern.
No one can prove it isn’t true.
Alright, Mom.
Trying.
Also found in the drawer…
A card.
Pages and drawings (and card) by Anna Gajewska
