A Piñata Story, Sort Of

In between reading about writing, writing about the supernatural and playing “Dragon Age 2” for the third time (because I kept dying on my previous attempts, if you care enough to know), sometimes I pause long enough to entertain questions and issues that are pooling inside my head. And those thoughts are not something so mundane that it only warrants a yes, no, maybe, and the hell I care in order for me to stop thinking about them. They are more like those people who show up on your front door without warning. People you don’t even like. You’d rather spend an eternity chopping onions and crying rather than spend more than five minutes with them. Because beyond those five minutes? Well, who’s to say what you’re NOT going to say or do to them?

Mortality, fate, the fear of a loved one dying, losing your job, getting into an accident, the ongoing wars, the things they do to their hostages,  the recent Fallen 44… The list goes on and on. And the longer I think about these things, the more I feel like throwing up.

My memory can be fuzzy half the time but I do remember one portion of my fourth birthday party. There was a game where we kids had to hit the piñata so it would crack and split open. Then a shower of candies would rush down and rain on us. I was the celebrant but I refused to join. As the game started, I ran to my dad, sat on his lap, turned my back on the game, and then covered my ears. For some weird reason, I had the impression that they were hurting that piece of clay pot, that piñata, and I didn’t want to witness it, let alone be a part of it.

Eventually, I got over that sentiment and the unusual fear of hurting that piñata. However, as I grew up, that same sense of foreboding fear and worry shifted from piñatas and plants to people. That, in turn, made me more fragile and sensitive than most. I tend to avoid conflicts as much as I can. I tolerate mean people, cruel people, as much as I can. Most times, I bite my tongue and move along, too worried to upset the state of things. And I wish I could say that’s a good thing but it’s not. Before I end this post and start saving as much piñatas as I can, let me leave you with something from Paulo Coelho:

In solitude, they will learn that saying no does not always show lack of generosity, and that saying yes is not always a virtue.


Yes, you can speak up.

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