Who are you? - #1

I suppose I should introduce myself.
Okay, let's start with the basics. I'm an over-twenty-year old woman (don't question me!) who has been an art loving, creative junkie, since birth. In fact, let's start there.
let's take my birth for starters: there be no other greater lie or creative untruth than the time of my birth. According to my mother- whom I seriously suspect of being heavily under the influence (if she knew what was good for her) of a massive dose of an epidural- I arrived precisely on time- as the clock in the town square struck noon on a Monday afternoon in Kingston, Jamaica.
And, for anyone who knows me: I am early for nothing.
To be fair, I was supposed to arrive on the previous Friday- but that's a blog for another time.
So, apparently, my first act as an artist, and deeply, creative individual, was to manufacture my birth-of sort- as a piece of performance art.
Well, we all had to start somewhere, why not the beginning?

As I've mentioned, I have a mother, I also have a father, and a brother, who's a good twelve years older than me. I know, twelve years! I shudder to think what kind of child he could have been to warrant such a long wait for the next one, namely, me, to arrive. She didn't have me until she was well into her mid-thirties, which made growing up a unique experience. There were more than one occasions where the phrase 'no, she's not my Grandmother', became permanently fused into my daily lexicon. It put me on the defensive for most of my young years.Very exhaustive upbringing.

I also have an aunt, my mother's sister, and her husband (sadly, he recently passed away).
My mother and her sister are polar opposites, verily, the very picture of oil and water.
My mother is the more gregarious of the two, whereas my aunt is more the quiet one. My mom, more losey-goosey with her things (placement of furniture and such- to a certain extent), my aunt, more neat and tidy.

My brother and I are a bit of a conundrum, of sorts, as well.
Growing up we had very little to talk about. The twelve-year age gap made that a little hard. But, that's not to say that we didn't have any fun. Some of the best times I remember between us are when he would smile at me.
My brother has the best smile. It's wide and, glorious and, shines through both ends of his jaw. It's a multitude of big, bright and, very white teeth, just enough so as not to overtake his mouth. Everything is proportional, everything is perfect, in fact.
When my brother smiles, the world comes into order. It's a happy smile.
So, when it goes away from time to time, I have to force myself to remember that no matter what, my brother loves me.


Growing up, our connection may have been askew, from time to time but, it was always there.

As for my father, he was missing in action. Plain and simple. there is no use in me gussying it up with platitudes of father worshiping ideals and or ideas. He wasn't there. Whether or not he wanted to be there is something, another query, some deep part of my soul still has to reckon with.
I usually saw him on holidays in the summer in Jamaica. For most of my childhood I would fool myself into thinking I was daddy's little girl but, the truth was that he was barely a daddy of a little girl. I had a father in name only, I felt sometimes. Yet, I still loved him and, on our many visits, I could feel that he loved me, too.
MAybe, there are different ways that a father can love his child, maybe he doesn't always have to be there, maybe it's possible to feel his love from far, far, away and still know that that is your family?
Life is complicated. I suspect that I didn't get the full meaning of family and how we love each other when I was growing up. I feel that in this, my answer to this question, I'm simplifying things too much to fit my childhood addled mind of what actually happened back then.
Maybe he really loved me enough to stay back there, maybe he couldn't afford to come with us, maybe he just couldn't stand the cold of a strong Montreal winter and just the thought of it did something awful to his knees and respiratory system.
Maybe, it's more than he just didn't want to be with us.
Next question, please.

Do You Want To Be Famous?

I'm not quite sure what being famous is but, I'm sure everyone out there has their own opinion about what it means to them. To me, it means a plentitude of flashbulbs (do we still use flashbulbs) exploding in your face, never having any real privacy or a moment's peace to yourself, thereby forcing you to hire private security to shelter you from one place to another just so you can shop for groceries or try on a pair of shoes.
That is not the kind of fame that I want.
My kind of fame is a little more subtle. The kind that the people of the MTV show Teen Wolf have (except at ComiCon and other such expos- man those fans go crazy!), the kind that makes it easy for the likes of Blair Underwood and Matt Damon to walk their kids to school. The kind that allows me to get through my day trying to have a life and still do the things that make me happy. I want to have people know who I am but not at the expense of limiting my mobility in this world.
Selfish? Maybe.
Listen, I understand that with being in the public eye there comes some compromises but at which state do you draw the line.
For me, I would like that line drawn right there, in the sand where my freedom exist and the darker side looks on from the other side. So, to answer the question, yes, I would like to be famous- but, within reason.
If there is such a thing...

Welcome!

Hi! Welcome to my blog of questions, arbitrary questions, at that, about just about anything that comes up in my mind. They will run the gamut from 'what is my favourite color?' to 'what would I like to eat as my last meal?'. These are basically questions that I think I would be asked if I was famous or on The Actor's Studio. Things I hope will happen but, if they don't then, that would be okay, too but, in the meantime, a girl can dream can't she? (The answer to this to be posted later). So, shall we get started?