Blog Dis
Emotional suckers...
2026-01-22
We learn from our parents. Kids of the same sex as their parent are most influenced by the same parent, rather than the other way around, where a mother can greatly influence a son or how a father can greatly influence the daughter. That is also true, to an extent of course, but not to the same degree that a mother is able to imprint on her daughter or the manner in which a father imprints on his son.
My Mom is still with me, and while she may no longer be the towering individual of her youth, able to leap tall buildings of unruly children, wielding a torch of half-threats and half-promises that we'll die from our stupidity, I'm reminded daily of her influence because of her presence and me being able to clearly see my mother in myself. How I care for my place, and manage my finances, is a page ripped from my mother's view on managing her responsibilities. Has our relationship been all rose petals and happiness? Of course not. No parent and child relationship is 100% A-OK, any more than sibling rivalry will exist in perpetuity or that a marriage will never see a day of disagreement. But as we evolve, rather than to borrow on that tired old expression of getting old, we change while we grow, while simultaneously we become like our parents, the way they had aged, they way they've grown weaker and less focused on pursuing their goals.
And this not-so-subtle post is a round-about way of me recognizing that there were elements about my Mom that I still don't understand, such as how she had survived her childhood in Germany, having been born the same year when World War II broke out. Her upbringing was rough and shattering, having lost literally everything when Russians invaded Germany. Her father, too, spoke out against the Nazis and ended up being conscripted into the SS and was ultimately shipped to the Russian front, and then later captured by Russians, and sent to prison. Luckily for him, my maternal grandfather spoke five languages: German, English, French, Russian and Czechoslovakian, so he was able to evade being tortured by taking off his German uniform to put on instead a Czech uniform, taken from a dead soldier. After spending years in a Russian prison (and this occurred in the 40s), he had eventually made his way back to Germany, to then set about to find his children, all of whom ended up in orphanages, while my maternal grandmother had contracted tuberculosis, what they called in the 19th Century as 'consumption'. Long story short, the family survived living in a barn without water or electricity, and were barely able to scrape by using their wits, and were forced to hunt for vegetables from farmer's fields that had been left behind due to the poor quality.
I admire my Mom's fortitude to keep ploughing ahead, to be able to out-work other people, and to never give up. I hope that these qualities have grown deep roots in me, and to a degree I believe they have but where my Mom and I differ is in our idea of revenge. I don't waste my energy on revenge. My Mom, however, is particularly fond of revenge movies, while I don't seek them out and neither do I gravitate to them naturally.
And yet...
During one of my visits with my Mom, the subject of a revenge movie came up, which my Mom has watched easily a dozen times: Kill Bill Vol. 2. The first volume I had seen on my own and I enjoyed it. The second instalment I missed, so it was apropos that a copy should find its way to me. Mom, bless her heart, felt that it carried a vital message every woman should understand and have reiterated to them and it is this: Never place your total faith and trust in the love you hold for any person, be them male or female. Sage advice, I had thought at the time. I believe my Mom was trying to encourage me to put myself first, to love myself unconditionally, over anyone else. And in this context, the messaging resonates. Too often, we put others ahead of ourselves
At the outset, Quentin's movie is essentially about exacting revenge; stylish, slick and exciting in the standard Tarantino manner of pulling in viewers with drama that unfolds like layers of a deep chocolate cake. As previously stated, I don't gravitate to martial arts films because I find the action ultimately boring in the long run due to its repetitiveness. But in this case, Tarantino delivered. The action was neatly broken up with an actual story. Yay! We all know martial arts films are notorious for getting carried away with too much action. And please! Don't get me started on anti-gravity martial arts films where fighters are able to leap into the air and remain there, suspended, without being impacted by the laws of gravity. That old dog can only hunt that kind of hunt for so long.
But in returning to my mom's wisdom, she who had survived a 36-year marriage and numerous ups and downs, her advice still rings true to this day, I admit. I have always said this to my female friends that women are too often guilty of behaving like emotional suckers. We love completely and totally and throw ourselves and our hearts at the heels of the object of our desire, for many this means men, only to be crushed and disappointed if that love isn't returned in kind. The need for emotional release is intense in the female species and in part this insatiable need sometimes propels the receiver to run in the opposite direction.
The more women want to show their new love interest, how much they love him, the more he wants to show us that our love is destroying a perfectly good sexual liaison. As some philosophers opine: women give sex to get love and men give love to get sex... and never the twain shall they meet.
I've never loved a man enough that I wanted to kill him. Hatred is a measure of love because to hate someone with such finite passion requires you to actually feel deep genuine love for that person. I personally believe that love gets away with too much. Love sometimes manifests itself into hatred when it feels scorned. I've read much on the subject of love, plenty of poetry and philosophy and have witnessed the beginnings and endings of other people and their love all around me. I do not advise people on how to keep their love close to their heart. I can only tell them that they have to keep their eyes open wide because their love cannot exist in a vacuum. Love will change just as sure as the weather changes.
And when the love stops, are you wise to set out at once to seek revenge? This would not be my personal choice, though I've read plenty stories of divorces turning the corner to become pure acrimony, in the courts, and either him or her seeking revenge in every way possible.
The ending of Kill Bill Volume 2 (released in 2004) is satisfying for reasons that I won't divulge here, in case you haven't seen this classic movie. If I may recommend, watch it with your love holding hands. As you arrive at the conclusion, you can look your lover in the eye and remind him or her that treachery will not go unpunished. Perhaps a subtle and idle threat will remind them that their love must be true to you to thrive in this impermanent world.
My Mom is still with me, and while she may no longer be the towering individual of her youth, able to leap tall buildings of unruly children, wielding a torch of half-threats and half-promises that we'll die from our stupidity, I'm reminded daily of her influence because of her presence and me being able to clearly see my mother in myself. How I care for my place, and manage my finances, is a page ripped from my mother's view on managing her responsibilities. Has our relationship been all rose petals and happiness? Of course not. No parent and child relationship is 100% A-OK, any more than sibling rivalry will exist in perpetuity or that a marriage will never see a day of disagreement. But as we evolve, rather than to borrow on that tired old expression of getting old, we change while we grow, while simultaneously we become like our parents, the way they had aged, they way they've grown weaker and less focused on pursuing their goals.
And this not-so-subtle post is a round-about way of me recognizing that there were elements about my Mom that I still don't understand, such as how she had survived her childhood in Germany, having been born the same year when World War II broke out. Her upbringing was rough and shattering, having lost literally everything when Russians invaded Germany. Her father, too, spoke out against the Nazis and ended up being conscripted into the SS and was ultimately shipped to the Russian front, and then later captured by Russians, and sent to prison. Luckily for him, my maternal grandfather spoke five languages: German, English, French, Russian and Czechoslovakian, so he was able to evade being tortured by taking off his German uniform to put on instead a Czech uniform, taken from a dead soldier. After spending years in a Russian prison (and this occurred in the 40s), he had eventually made his way back to Germany, to then set about to find his children, all of whom ended up in orphanages, while my maternal grandmother had contracted tuberculosis, what they called in the 19th Century as 'consumption'. Long story short, the family survived living in a barn without water or electricity, and were barely able to scrape by using their wits, and were forced to hunt for vegetables from farmer's fields that had been left behind due to the poor quality.
I admire my Mom's fortitude to keep ploughing ahead, to be able to out-work other people, and to never give up. I hope that these qualities have grown deep roots in me, and to a degree I believe they have but where my Mom and I differ is in our idea of revenge. I don't waste my energy on revenge. My Mom, however, is particularly fond of revenge movies, while I don't seek them out and neither do I gravitate to them naturally.
And yet...
During one of my visits with my Mom, the subject of a revenge movie came up, which my Mom has watched easily a dozen times: Kill Bill Vol. 2. The first volume I had seen on my own and I enjoyed it. The second instalment I missed, so it was apropos that a copy should find its way to me. Mom, bless her heart, felt that it carried a vital message every woman should understand and have reiterated to them and it is this: Never place your total faith and trust in the love you hold for any person, be them male or female. Sage advice, I had thought at the time. I believe my Mom was trying to encourage me to put myself first, to love myself unconditionally, over anyone else. And in this context, the messaging resonates. Too often, we put others ahead of ourselves
At the outset, Quentin's movie is essentially about exacting revenge; stylish, slick and exciting in the standard Tarantino manner of pulling in viewers with drama that unfolds like layers of a deep chocolate cake. As previously stated, I don't gravitate to martial arts films because I find the action ultimately boring in the long run due to its repetitiveness. But in this case, Tarantino delivered. The action was neatly broken up with an actual story. Yay! We all know martial arts films are notorious for getting carried away with too much action. And please! Don't get me started on anti-gravity martial arts films where fighters are able to leap into the air and remain there, suspended, without being impacted by the laws of gravity. That old dog can only hunt that kind of hunt for so long.
But in returning to my mom's wisdom, she who had survived a 36-year marriage and numerous ups and downs, her advice still rings true to this day, I admit. I have always said this to my female friends that women are too often guilty of behaving like emotional suckers. We love completely and totally and throw ourselves and our hearts at the heels of the object of our desire, for many this means men, only to be crushed and disappointed if that love isn't returned in kind. The need for emotional release is intense in the female species and in part this insatiable need sometimes propels the receiver to run in the opposite direction.
The more women want to show their new love interest, how much they love him, the more he wants to show us that our love is destroying a perfectly good sexual liaison. As some philosophers opine: women give sex to get love and men give love to get sex... and never the twain shall they meet.
I've never loved a man enough that I wanted to kill him. Hatred is a measure of love because to hate someone with such finite passion requires you to actually feel deep genuine love for that person. I personally believe that love gets away with too much. Love sometimes manifests itself into hatred when it feels scorned. I've read much on the subject of love, plenty of poetry and philosophy and have witnessed the beginnings and endings of other people and their love all around me. I do not advise people on how to keep their love close to their heart. I can only tell them that they have to keep their eyes open wide because their love cannot exist in a vacuum. Love will change just as sure as the weather changes.
And when the love stops, are you wise to set out at once to seek revenge? This would not be my personal choice, though I've read plenty stories of divorces turning the corner to become pure acrimony, in the courts, and either him or her seeking revenge in every way possible.
The ending of Kill Bill Volume 2 (released in 2004) is satisfying for reasons that I won't divulge here, in case you haven't seen this classic movie. If I may recommend, watch it with your love holding hands. As you arrive at the conclusion, you can look your lover in the eye and remind him or her that treachery will not go unpunished. Perhaps a subtle and idle threat will remind them that their love must be true to you to thrive in this impermanent world.
