Life's ironic

She's 44, successful, rich (a trust fund baby) and childlike.

I am 24, still climbing up the ladder, rich only because my ancestors were and well-mannered because my family comes from a certain class in the society, and mature beyond my years.

She had the opportunity to attend art school and become a successful designer. Although my family and relatives saw my potential for art and tried to nudge me into the direction of art school, at 17, when my entire portfolio was stolen, I decided that it was not meant to be. Moreover, I had grander plans. It would be easier to get a backup job with an Economics degree and Math minor than with an arts degree. Eventually, I know that I am made for acting- nothing else would do.

Now that she is in her forties, she wants children. The man I love chose her at a point in his life when he needed the care and the love that an older woman could offer him. This was a slap to my face, but life slapped me a bigger slap when she called to tell me that he wanted to have a child with her. I remember looking at myself in the mirror an hour later and wondering what had happened- I suddenly wondered whether my child is not worth having for him. He had always told me that he never wanted children. They why did he actively try with her? It hurt to think about it. I declared my ultimatum to him that I want children also at some point in my life.

I dreamt a dream a few months ago when I was playing with a boy (around age 4) and twin girls (around one years old). I felt that they were my children- the boy had my eyes. The girls, well, they were lighter skinned but had my dainty features.One of them had straight hair. The other one had my Shirley Temple curls.

Her and I are perfect complements- we each have what the other doesn't have. My darkness versus her light inconsistency. My jet black hair against her blonde waves. Her blue eyes are probably more "beautiful" than my piercing brown ones. Come to think of it, if they had ended up making a child, the baby would have been very attractive. My babies, on the other hand, would probably not be attractive in a conventional sense. But all the wealth in the world would not make me as happy as my own children would, I am sure. I will have them one day, and it doesn't matter if I have to raise them alone. I'll do it. Like a true scorpion, I'll be the best mother that I can be. Maybe I could not be the best lover or the best daughter or the best sister, but I will be my best at motherhood.

I pray and I hope that she too finds her joy somewhere. From one woman to another, wish you the best, lady, wherever you are.