Pony: Three Things Stolen From Me
2.4.2009

In case you are wondering why I am posting yet again after a few sporadic months, you should now that it's February Smackdown on happyrobot, where we write something on an assigned subject every day for the whole month of February. To all of you who tagged me with your 25 things about me thing on Facebook, you should know that I once did the meme that went up to 100, and I have no interest in repeating that exercise. Consider these posts a replacement to my 25.

Group topic today? Look up! It's "things stolen from me".
I suggested this topic, because it always generates good stories. What was yours that was stolen? 

1. I once had a roommate in a far-off place who was a bit crazy. She would sing the same part of the do-doo-doo-doo Cranberries song over and over every day. She would binge on white bread and caramel spread and then excuse herself to vomit. She stole beautiful bras my mother sent me from Canada. Strange that it still bugs me to remember that. But it was just stuff. Mostly I am a bit mad because she stole my sense of safety and comfort in my residence.

2. In one stay in India, the housekeeper stole small things, like a translation book, a couple of shirts, my favourite beaded necklace....In the end he got very angry when I did not give him a more money as parting gift (I gave him twice what people recommended). I wish I had given him ten times that. Who was I to try and gauge what is fair? I am glad he stole that shit and forced me to tackle some truth in that icky-strange servant-master dynamic. Have you read White Tiger? 

3. I used to feel like a blessed creature. Really, I am embarrassed to say it, but I had this vain and narcissistic belief that I was special and glowing and so exceptional in every shiny way. But things happened over the years and the wind got taken out of my sails. And I was so angry at those people I perceived at blame for stealing that magical sense of self.  

But that was all ego, bred out of an annoying need to get validation and applause at every turn. Now don't get me wrong, I have pretty healthy self esteem. And I DO feel blessed and lucky in circumstance: I was born pleasingly symmetrical, with a good working brain and while those things last, how lucky am I to have them! How far they have brought me, how well they have spoken for me! But really, if I met the old me, I would find her annoying and exhausting. 

I really had no plan for this post. I am scrambling for a theme here. Maybe it is how the idea of theft is intertwined with entitlement? Or how ownership is tied up with ego? And how losing something you always thought was yours makes you roll up your sleeves and deal with the real stuff.

Ever read Oscar and Lucinda? I keep thinking of that line about how Lucinda was never happier than when she was up to her elbows in brine at the pickle factory. And how, if that were about a real person, it would probably be true.

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