Coping Musings: Illustrations & Coffee Humour 

Two things help me cope: 

  1. Humour
  2. Art/Arts and crafts (incidentally, why is it arts & crafts and not art & craft? English is such a weird language 🤣). 

As a child, I learned crochet, sewing and embroidery from my grandmother. We spent many a great afternoon having coffee and making stuff together and -unlike whoever my current teacher at that moment was- she was never put off by the fact I was left-handed. I also learned other various crafts at school but as I grew up, I forwent them for the pursuit of science. 

Three or fours years ago, however, during a three week stay at the mental health hospital ward, my awesome assigned occupational therapist had me working on various crafting projects twice a week. That re-kindled my love for the arts & crafts. 

Now I do papercrafts and I am also teaching myself some graphic design. This piece I made last year is based on a tutorial for typography-based design by Design Cuts -who are fantastic, by the way- but I changed their quote for a coffee related one. Because, you know, coffee.

Do NOT get between a Colombian and her coffee. Ever!

Um, yeah… I have a weird sense of humour. I know.

What’s in a name?

Oh, what’s in a name, sings Timon to Pumbaa. 

Very convincingly too. 

And for the most part, he is right; not much, really. 

But some other times, there is hell in it. Or redemption.

I have known both.

Right now, my name contains my Safe Place. It means freedom. It means healing. It means a chance at being happy. 

I’ve been divorced for more than ten years, yet I still use my married name. Every now and then, someone would ask why. I always say that I hate red tape and it really isn’t worth the hassle of the paperwork and the money and time spent doing it. 

At this point, most people agree and the conversation moves on.

But even more rarely, someone – trying to be useful, I’m sure – will say “oh, it is not as complicated as you think. You just fill out a form and that’s it”.

At this point, I stare blankly at them, at loss for words. 

How do you explain that you simply cannot bring yourself to bear your father’s name again?

How do you say anything when even trying to hint at the fact that the real reason has to do with my father sends me into the amusement-park-house-of-horrors-mushrooms-induced-bad-trip-like experience* that thinking about my father unleashes?

I just can’t. 

All that I have achieved in terms of healing, in accepting myself, in internalizing that my father’s sins are not mine to carry, that I am not a bad seed, that I don’t have to serve time for my father’s transgressions… all of that will be lost if I go back to my maiden name. 

I can’t allow that to happen.

So, what’s in a name?

For some of us, the key to a healthy life.

Footnotes

* I’ve heard and read in the textbooks. I have never been inclined to drown my sorrows in alcohol or drugs despite the difficult, painful circumstances of my childhood and adolescence​.

Want an old-fashioned handwritten letter from moi?

Who likes to get stuff on the snail mail?

Real stuff, that is, not ads from local businesses and credit card companies.

If you do, you’re in luck cause you can get a shiny old-fashioned letter hand written by yours truly!

If you don’t mind giving me your snail mail address, of course.

I was supposed to do this a month ago.

Well, it goes back further than that, actually. Ever since I heard of  Ziggy Shortcrust and her lovely project of  Illustrated Letters, I’ve been wanting to do the same simply because I enjoy handwriting and I don’t do much of it these days.

Awesome coffee elf by Ziggy Shortcrust

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