August 29, 2003 - 11:54 p.m.

A geisha's memoir.
Mood:

I can't believe I finished reading an entire book today and started another one. Mind you this second one is the Frida one my mom bought for me and of course it's more visual than literary but it does take a bit of time to evaluate each painting in turn. I'm still trying to get my head around a few things, although really, whatever can't be explained away simply IS. Not everything has a purpose, especially when it comes to art.

I really do admire her frankness. A lot of the things she painted require a lot of guts to display. Frida wasn't someone who cared about the world's opinion of her though, so technically I'm sure the visage of her art and what it could mean to others didn't phase her one bit. If this was me on the other hand, I'd be damn concerned. It's hard not to care about what others think, when you basically grew up listening to negative comments and "talk behind your back", but spoken in front of you for maximum effectiveness.

Reading these stories, of women in MUCH greater peril than myself I can do nothing but marvel at their courageous nature. And in a way it puts me at peace knowing that no matter WHAT happens to you, it's up to you what you make of it, and it's up to you if you're happy, or live in misery for the rest of your life.

These women experienced little BUT misery throughout their lives, and yet in the end they chose to harbour happiness in their souls, and in the end, that's all that matters.