Day of Rest

5+ decades.

4 continents.

1000's of miles, smiles, laughter and tears.

Life's a journey!

What a ride...

Star date: 17 May 2024.

Personal Log...

I stand alone in the bedroom thick with the lingering scent of love and passion spent; newly showered and barely awake, the full length mirror's offering me a hazy view and I am struck by an open, unapologetic gaze:

Pale eyes nonetheless ... partnered with bright red lips to draw eyes down, away from the windows to my soul.

Phew!

Saved.

Safe.

Truth, brutal and unbending is revealed in a glimpse, seeking me out where I am standing in 6 inch heels in my birthday suit.

Soft lights are deliberately dimmed, barely there to mute the outline, casting me in shadows.

  

My back arched.

My shoulders squared.

My hips curved.

I take me in. Rotate to get the full 360 view.

Curious eyes are looking over shoulders that have borne burdens too many to mention. My gaze falls on the squiggles lining hips and thighs, marks born in a time of frivolity, harking back to a period of abundance and thoughtlessness. To a time when green and carefree, I ran over train track and over rocks and sand in wild abandonment laughing out loud at the craziness of life.

Young-Nariman loved the ocean. She dive-bombed and jumped in deep emerald waters splashing at others too lazy to brave the slippery edges of the ocean pools at Dalebrook. In those cold waters she found herself and build the strength to shoulder her challenges with incomprehensible ease.

Mirrors don't scare me anymore.

Eyes meet kind reflection and my gaze holds firm.

So this is what 58 looks like?

This is what it feels like?

I'm made curious by aging, it's so obviously telling on the outside yet leaving the soul unmarked and pure.

Time to suit up.

War paint on.

The mascara brush hovers over sparkling eyes.

I hold my gaze, see Me, and I keep looking, deciding to discard the black on the dressing room table to land among the colourful pots and tubes left in disarray by hurried hands.

No masks for me today.

I stretch like a cat.

My body longs for a treat: 4 hours of solitude and pampering lie ahead.

"Still got it, angel!" I say, hugging myself tightly, happy to see the fighting spirit flickering within.

Life tests and prods; ruins and strips you bare; then molds you into the best version of you.

At 58, I am flawed.

But I've earned my wrinkles, scars and stripes. 

I am marked by life, time clinging to eyes, on hips, and heart...

I'm rooted here as I came into this world.

I roar loudly: “I am woman!”

I am never quiet yes, but always with grace.

I am always too much, too loud, too me...

But I was gilded by the hands of the creator.

I am Eve, no longer free of sin, but rooted in forgiveness.

I asked, I begged and was granted release.

And with determination steeled and an unwavering courage, and with a resolve hardened by time, I am ready to venture into the closing chapters of my life.

60 looms ever larger.

"Bring it!" I say out loud to Karma, relying on her to set records straight.

My slate is blank; cleared of smudgy characters and misdeeds paid for in blood and tears, my story revealed in a voice of truth.

"Come at me hard, I am no longer afraid!" I scream at life, “I can go all day, and all night.”

Warrior mode engaged:

My fists are clenched, knuckles showing white, lips tight and pursed.

Fear has been tamed and my fighting spirit has been restored.

Women on foreign soil will take care of me today, women I hardly know, and I will smile at them in gratitude as they envelop me in kindness.

I thank God for women! For this sisterhood, this sainthood, this motherhood, this band of woman of which I am a part.

It is time we are heard.

The world is waiting...