In memoriam… the death of a single mother.

Her name was Elena, a kindly but frail older woman in the neighborhood.  She often had a small little boy with her. He was a rowdy one, a screamer, strong-willed, curiously independent and hyper-sensitive. Whenever I would see them together, I thought, what a curious pair, a sweet, kindly fragile grandmother with her rowdy rambunctious grandchild.…

Love, possession, hurt and jealousy

It's funny how we carry a sense of ownership towards people. That's MY son. That's MY mommy, that's MY daddy, etc. We do this in all our relationships it seems. That MY girl, that's MY friend and so on. It goes on and on. It gives the impression that people are possessions, especially in the context…

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