The Cosmopolitan Blog

I’m giving a speech tomorrow on setting up your own blog and the key to success. I was doing some more researching today and found these two valuable posts / resources:

• Mitch Joel (yes, i know, again, what can i say, he’s good!) claims that blogging is getting a second wind and that micro-niches (i like the term) and fresh new ideas are the way to go.
• Tactical Execution: nothing new in their post other than reinforcing the idea that linking to other experts in your field is a good idea, i like the “outbound links = currency” part, they have a point.

Since it’s pretty much guaranteed that there’s a least ONE other person out there discussion the same thing(s) you are, then you might as well use each other. Post on their blogs, and link back to yours. And ALWAYS open up conversation, don’t close it. Ask questions. Even create a bit of a debate. People who will visit the “competitor” blogs will then visit your blog, because you have something interesting to say.

It’s funny, everyone (even me) out there is pretending they have valuable info to share about blog promotion.

I’m looking for those fresh new ideas, so tell me, what resources do you use? Let me know, comment below! I want to hear from you (i do, really, i’m not just saying that so that i can promote my blog effectively), hehehe.

A few posts ago, i wrote about women i admired, like Oprah and Christiane Amampour. Today, I want to pay homage to two other women. These two are not famous though. But they’re brave and smart and kind and funny and so so strong. But alas, both have passed away. One, over 8 years ago. The other passed away on Saturday.

I’m writing about both, because it’s the passing of the 2nd that reminds me how much i still miss the first. This is a super long post, but it’s a personal post as i mourn both these women.

My aunt

My aunt passed away just before the millennium. But i remember her smile, her voice, her expressions, her touch, like it was yesterday. I remember her strong will. She was as short as I was (and trust me, that’s short!), but her will and her inner strength made you forget her actual height. She fought fearlessly for what she believed was right. She worked her whole life to improve the human condition of underprivileged women. But it was the woman she was that made her truly remarkable. Her strongest passion was her family. And even though she had three older brothers, she remained the head of our extended family, when she spoke, people listened, what she said went. She was also a remarkably feminine woman, i remember her closets being full of amazing sarees of the most glamourous materials and colors. She wore strong lipstick, and i always remember teasing her about how she had put some on her teeth by mistake. But my memories of her wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t remember how stubborn she could be and how angry she would sometimes get. She had 2 sons and a daughter, and i know from seeing them regularly, how often and constantly they still miss her.

Which is why i know that this empty feeling of sadness i have at the passing of this other person on Saturday is not going to leave me anything soon.

Annette

I grew up in an apartment block, and Annette was the housekeeper for the building, so she lived in the basement apartment. She was there and waiting when i was born and my parents brought me home. And she’s been there ever since. She was the one i would hang out with when i got home from school and my parents weren’t back. She was the one who would watch me on evenings where my parents were out for dinner. She was the one who took me to the park and stood by me as i rode my bike for the first time. She was the one i could run to when my mom would frustrate me like only a mom can. But Annette wouldn’t take those moments to score points, she would be understanding, she would listen, but then she would remind me of my mom’s motivation and show me that my mom actually had a point. I remember her coming up for dinner at least once a week. I remember going out to a chinese restaurant with her for the first time, and all of us, my parents included, rolling on the floor laughing as we watched her try using her chopsticks for the first time. I remember how she would make my parents laugh with her wicked and sometimes naughty sense of humor and her very unique view on life.

Later in life, after i was done with college and came back to live at my old apartment, she would come up for chats and cups of tea, we would gossip endlessly about my friends and college life, and later, she would listen to me complain about the long hours working in hotels. By then, i had gotten myself a little kitten, and Annette was there when i brought Princess home, she gave me tips, she watched her grow, she took care of her when i worked long hours. Princess got used to going down in the elevator and coming out into Annette’s apartment for a visit (although, somehow, she found the elevator trip back up terrifying). Annette gave me so much life advice, relationship tips, she always knew how to see the positive in any situation. Annette had been sick for a long, long time with a blood disease, and yet, looking at her, you would never have known the pain she surely endured daily. Pity, complaining and complacency used to drive her completely crazy. I remember her loosing patience when a grocery check out clerk would not smile, have too slow movements and refuse to be polite. She’d say “May i please have a pen (to sign the credit card receipt), oh! and a smile, please?”. She never, never let me feel sorry for myself. She taught me that life was tough, but was also so rewarding. She taught me to love animals and plants, and I remember how distressed she was when she announced she would never get another cat because the pain of loosing them was too great. I remember her smell, her hair, her nails, the German expressions she still used even though she had lived in England for years. I remember the pride with which she spoke of her grandchildren. I remember her cooking and then always leaving the frying pan with the remaining oil sitting on the stove for a day or 2. I remember chatting to her about the latest happenings of our favorite soap opera.

Then i left England. And i missed her. I missed her so much. I remember going back to London for visits, and being in a hurry to see her or call her, and all she could say was “don’t worry, i’ll be here, go spend more time with your mom instead, she’s the one who misses you the most, don’t show her that you miss me too”. She never wanted to intrude, she understood that the relationship we shared was so special that my mother might, at times, feel a pinch of jealousy, and she was worried and never wanted that to happen. I remember seeing her, year after year, and thinking she looked the same and never seemed to get older. She was stuck at a certain age and look, and that’s were she stayed. She was getting close to 80, and she was out and about like the rest of us.

But then things changed and she had to leave the basement apartment and retire. And then, with nothing to keep her busy, her condition deteriorated quickly. I remember visiting her one Christmas as she lay in hospital. She was in a room with 8 other people, and she was in the far bed, by the window. She had her back turned to the room, and as approached her, i could hear her whimpering and crying. And it broke my heart because i knew how lonely she must have felt and how having people take care of her would have been the last thing she wanted. I kept expecting her to stand up and say “enough of this, i’ve got some errands to run”. She tried to be brave as I sat with her for that short visit, but she was so upset.

I saw her a few times after that. And then, last weekend, i went to London for a weekend, fully intending to either visit or at least call her in her retirement house she lived at. And then, that evening, her son called us to tell us she had had a stroke and it was 50/50. The following day, i had planned on visiting our old apartment block and taking pictures, and it was that Saturday evening, as i took a thousand pictures of the same door, of her basement apartment and of the hallway, all these places we had spent so many hours in, that, at the same time, she was passing away.

I miss her so much. It’s not that i haven’t been missing her for the past 8 years that i’ve been in North America. But now, i can’t even call her. She’s no longer in this world. And somehow, that’s so much harder. I think about her at the oddest moments, at a checkout counter or sitting at my desk at work, and then my eyes fill with tears. I miss her. I will always miss her.