You can't unsee it

I don't recall who helped me see a moment of truth this week but I think it's stuck now.
Here, there is obviously and obvious poverty all around.
But the comfort I have found in the UK from thinking I'm making a difference can't obliterate that where ever I am on the planet, they will still be poor.
So what do I do?
I keep on speaking.
I communicate.
I give when I can and to people who need it.
I will

While I'm swimming he's drowning.

I feel a lazy sort of guilt right now. I'm sat reading, g&t in hand and looking over the lake. Like I've run away. Which I think I have. My mum and sister, meanwhile are at my dad's side, battling again with the fact that he's in hospital, again. Am I allowed to do this?

I am anyway.

Bad daughter.

This time I found out via WhatsApp. My preferred way of knowing he's ill again.

I tell myself, I wouldn't be there. I'd be in London. Only leave if he looked like it was the end. The real end.

I secretly said to myself today. Hold on until July dad. Let me see you one more time. I didn't take you seriously when you said it would probably be the last time we saw each other.

And what would I want from my child?

Honestly, not for her to fuck off half way round the world. But I know too, I don't want her to be trapped like my mum and sister.

And the inevitable fear and hope that if he wants to, then times up. I wonder how and if he does want it to end. I recall him acknowledging the wishes of his father. He didn't want a slow undignified drowning into mental oblivion with dribble on his chin. Heart attack. I think he got his wish. Too late for a fast exit for my dad. I wonder too if he keeps agreeing to operations so that one, finally completes the cycle. Put to sleep gently. Like so many of our dogs.

I wish I knew.

I can't ask.

When I do, I don't think he tells me the truth. And that might be because he doesn't know himself, or he doesn't like his truth.

I don't think I'll ever know.

Start of the half term

Which means I'm half way through my first year here and it's gone so quickly. It feels very normal too.
I've had a few things to worry me but not many and so far so good.
So I feel blessed and positive.
Worth noting.
Worth saying it.
Worth this short post.

Who can you trust.

Messages from home. Fear and distress and the wolf in sheep's clothing is being seen for what she is.
And yet I can still sense that some good people are duped by the smile and mutual loathing for another. And in some cases a drive for self preservation.
I want to be liked and respected.
I want more than anything for both to be given freely by myself to myself.
I'm predisposed to pity those I believe to be hurting. I'm built to try and protect them. And so that wolf I can see needs care, needs to be helped to see their own faults.
I couldn't be the one to do it.

The importance of sleep

I'm sipping tea, listening to one of my favourite podcasts and thinking.
And despite the ever present undertones of anxiety and self loathing I'm happy and rested.
When I get back home, if I still feel I need it I'll tackle those two but I'm hoping my time here will continue to lessen them.
I've slept well.
I'm aware of the balance of life being so much better here. And I genuinely feel sorry for my colleagues left in the UK who are not enjoying this life style.
I've always been of the opinion that sleep is very important. The podcast just mentioned an article about it. Science has confirmed my instincts.
Sleep is easier here. Easier now.
I'm happy.
I know the ups and downs of happiness and so I'm going to do my best to endulge myself in this current batch of it.