Life with a newborn

The first few weeks with my baby have been exhausting; even though I love my child beyond every living creature on this planet. Yes; friends and family have told me that life with a newborn is difficult, but somehow they all made it seem so easy to be parents. Whenever I entered their homes, their little baby was quietly looking around the perfectly arranged and cleaned room, the mothers wore makeup and had freshly washed hair and the fathers greeted me with such enthusiasm that it seemed they had slept more than enough.

My babyboy is almost seven weeks old now, weights 11 pounds and is a crybaby. If he is not sleeping or getting food, he is crying. It doesn’t make it easier for me that I am alone with him most of the time. The first few days after leaving the hospital; I stayed there a week because of complications during birth – I didn’t even have time to go to the bathroom. As soon as I dropped my son he started crying as loud as he possibly could. Only when I carried him in my arms he seemed a little more relaxed. So, as you can imagine, sleeping was only a vivid dream of mine. The most I have slept until today have been six hours, thanks to my mother. I carry my baby day and night, he sleeps upon my chest and I give to him all the love I have. To be honest, I imagined my life with a newborn a lot easier. It did not cross my mind that he would not sleep in his own bed, that he would cry this much or that I’d have to carry him 24 hours. I saw all these women with their babies and they all seemed so relaxed; and to this day I do not know how they do it.

My home is a mess; I haven’t had time to wash any clothes or to properly clean the house in these seven weeks. I consider myself lucky if I get enough time to eat something and to brush my teeth. I wake up in the same cloths I go to bed to; there is simply not enough time to change. And I do not want to leave my babyboy crying at any time, eventhough he does cry when I hold him too, but at least he knows that his mother is there.

As the days passed by, I started to think that maybe I am not a good mother. Not nearly good enough. All the other women seem to handle their babies; and my poor babyboy cries all the time. I started to feel guilty for his sorrow, to feel helpless and powerless; I started to feel hate towards myself. Yes; I was exhausted. But while my little angel slept upon my chest one day, I started to think about my feelings. Why was I feeling this way? What made me think I was a bad mother, when I give all the love I have within me to my baby?

Today I am feeling better, eventhough there are still days where my baby pushes me to my limits, despite the love I feel towards him. But I came to understand that I had set my expectations way too high. Before my son was born I had this image of the perfect mother in my head. I thought that with the energy I have I will manage to keep my house clean, to cook for my husband and myself, to get in shape AND to nourish my baby with love. Maybe it were the naive thoughts of a twentyone years old woman, but to be honest, I really did not think it could be this hard. And with friends telling me their baby slept all night from day one, my expectations grew bigger and bigger.

There is no such thing as a perfect mother. And I came to realize that each baby is an individual and so different from other babies that it makes it impossible to compare yourself to other mothers. I did; and it almost broke me.

Today I know better, at least most of the times. I know that I am doing my best in keeping my angel happy and that should be enough. He needs my warmth, maybe more than I imagined, and I am willing to give to him all I have. This little angel may cry more than the average baby, he may not sleep more than two hours at a time and he may need me more than other babies need their mothers; but that does not make me a bad mother.

And when a little smile comes across his chubby cheeks I am sure that I am doing good. I am tired, but so happy to have my angel so close.

Jehona Thaqi© And if you ask yourself how I found time to write this; he is quietly sleeping upon my chest

Advertisements

Impressions of Zurich

Eventhough I was born and raised in a small city near Zurich, I profoundly enjoy taking photographs of the beautiful corners of this quiet place. Zurich is one of the most amazing places I have ever been to; everything seems to be perfectly arranged, with little twists of flaws and imperfections.

As you walk across the Quai-bridge – the wind softly humming into your ears; you will fall in love with the small boats and the turquoise sea. To make the view even greater your eyes will soon capture the amazing buildings at the beginning of the most expensive district in Zurich. I am overly obsessed with the architecture within this city! 

Walking across these streets each day makes me sometimes forget to see the beauty within them. I have to remind myself how overly privileged I am to be living in this country, especially here in Zurich. As the child of two immigrants, who flew from poverty and political instabilities, I feel a strong connection towards this place. It has been the place that gave my parents the opportunity to live – in its full meaning, and gave me the opportunity to educate myself.

This city has made me grow, maybe it is a further reason of why I love it so much.

One of the sweetest things in Zurich are the trams in the center of the city. No cars, no buses, no trains, only the trams that will surely bring you to the right place at the right time. And yes; Swiss people are extremely punctual.

But there is another thing that I strongly admire about this city: art. Where ever your eyes wander, I am sure that they will capture art in a variety of forms. Maybe one day I will be part of the displayed art in this wonderful city.

Have you ever been to Zurich? And if so, what is your greatest memory of it?

Jehona Thaqi© all rights reserved

Am I a poet

Dear who-ever you are,

thank you for taking the time to read

the words I almost refused to write

the words which lifted me up

while thinking that I do not deserve being lifted.

This is no poem. It is for you, who told me that I am nothing. How true it is, to a world full of artists and poets and writers and broken hearts that found comfort in writing, to a world full of art, I am nothing. Still, I am enough for myself. When my hands are bleeding and my soul is restless, I write to mend the broken pieces. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I seek shelter underneath the poetry of other writers, the ones you named, the ones that sound so familiar, the ones whom I do not aim to be, the ones who have inspired me to be. 
This is no poem. Are any of my writings poems? Do I consider myself a poet? What is a poem? Does poetry have boundries? Am I original? Am I the same as everyone else? Some questions have no answers. You, as a poet, will know best. I have yet not had the courage to say I am a poet, for my words seem so weak. But I am glad that you can, that you believe you are, what so many aim to be.

This is no poem.

Yours sincerely

Jehona Thaqi © this goes out to those who have told me that I am merely a copy of artists around the world. 

A letter to my unborn daughter

image

We have not met yet,
I have never seen your face, nor have I felt your heart beating.
People tend to not believe in things their eyes have not witnessed,
but I know that your atoms are swirling somewhere
inbetween the galaxies and stars.

One day I will hold you and tell you stories
of how your mother survived upon an earth so ignorant and harsh.
I will teach you that good will not always return
but that you shall never hesitate to keep fighting for it.

I will hold tight to your small body,
as I know that growing up to be a woman can be a devastating war.
You see, I have been reduced to being a woman too often
and it has broken me in places I never knew existed.

Your hands will grow like the petals of a rose,
and so will the pain.
It will fall upon your leafs like raindrops,
sometimes slowly, sometimes within a raging storm.
Please do not try to hold it all alone,
I am here to take whatever your hands can not endure.

My daughter, I will tell you that pain knows no age,
despite what society has told me.
You are never too young to be destroyed
nor will you ever be too old for being broken-hearted.
I promise that I will listen to you each night until your swollen eyes collaps
and your soft heart falls asleep.

I will love you with every inch of who I am,
so no matter how often your soul gets ripped into a thousand pieces,
I will lend you parts of mine, you will heal and grow into a beautiful creature,
nourishing this world with seeds of love.

You see, it will not be easy,
but you will unfold yourself,
and I will be here to water you
whenever your petals dry out.

Jehona Thaqi © if I should ever have a daughter

BIG NEWS

image
Fiona Shabani

Dearest Reader, I am extremely excited to talk to you about my new project! Soon I will start to sell not only portraits (as some of you might already know from my other Social Media profiles), but also handwritten prints and illustrations of my poetry.

You will be able to purchase your portrait or your favorite poem online. The details are listed below.
It has always been a dream of mine to have my own little shop, where I can sell art in the most various forms to other art-lovers. I am starting here and now to widen my audience and I am hoping to connect myself with people from all around the globe, to share my interests and to make someone out there smile. Maybe the passion for my own shop will turn into reality in the near future.

If you are interested (portrait or illustrations of my poetry) please contact me via E-Mail: thaqi.jehona@hotmail.com .

Details on my portraits: I work on 100% cellulose paper (cold pressed), 13,5 x 21 cm. Shipping worldwide! If there are other requests (oil-paintings, etc.) I will be pleased to add them to my homepage. Feel free to contact me at any time!

Details on my poetry-illustrations: please contact me via E-Mail! I am open about new styles and I will try to make them as customized and personal as possible!

THANK YOU for your support!

Yours sincerely,
Jehona Thaqi

image
Evon Wahab
image
Lana Del Rey
image
Dhurata Dora
image
Name unkown
image
Jehona Thaqi
image
Era Istrefi

 

Another way of expressing myself

Processed with VSCOcam with t1 preset

Art; a friend of mine who comforted me when words were not enough. A friend who kept me awake until 3 o’clock in the morning, who did not want me to fall into dreams. A friend who let me dream with eyes wide open, who showed me perfection in other people’s beauty, who taught me that everyone has beauty.

As weird as it might sound, I have struggled a lot with ‘art’. Sometimes I got mad at myself for not being able to get to sleep, because I could not put my pen aside. I was so addicted to the idea of creating something breathtaking, which I never reached, that eventually it made me sick. “All art is but dirtying the paper delicately.”, wrote Ruskin, and I must admit that I have never read anything more accurate than that. We will never be able to reach perfection, not in art, nor in anything else. Drawing has only been a way of ruinig the white space with effort and taste.

Today I draw less. I prefer writing, even if words either leave too much or too little space. But sometimes, when my heart is heavy and my mind tired, I reach for a pen and let drawings and sketches speak for me.

Sometimes I still enjoy dirtying the paper.

Jehona Thaqi  © the drawings are signed with Jehona B. because B. is my maiden name

Follow me on instagram @jehonathaqi for more!

Dedikuar ty

image

Ah, sa shume vargje ti dedikova permes heshtjes. E di qe i ndegjove, ne mes te muzgut dhe agimit.
Diku ne endrrat e tua i ndjeve ato fjal, qe u mundova ti spjegoja me shkrimet e mija te panumerta. Po me trego, si mund ta spjegosh dhimbjen ne mes te brinjeve? Sa fjal duhen ta pershkrush stuhin brenda vetes? Kush arrin te kuptoj zjarrin qe digjet pran gjetheve te vjeshtes? Sa metafore duhen per te treguar qe me mungon?
“Dua te behem poete”, te thash. Por nuk di si te behem poete kur filloj dhe mbaroj çdo fjali me emrin tend.

I have dedicated to you verses through silence. I know you heared them somewhere inbetween dusk and dawn. Within your vivid dreams you heared my words, those stories I tried to tell you in all my letters. But tell me, how do I explain the pain I feel within my ribs? How many words are enough to explain the storm within my body?
“I want to be a poet”, I said. But how can I be a poet if every beginning and end is signed with your name.

Jehona Thaqi©

This is no poem

image

“I am more than how you choose to see me. And I am not reducing this whole body of mine to a scale from one to ten. You can give me a mark on how I spell my words, but you can not correct my tongue. For I am standing up for the soul that is being born each day, in billion shades of wonderful. I am still trying to find myself and you will not define the time I stop.”

The words that burst out of my mouth.
Things school never taught me.
Thoughts that haunt me.

This is no poem.
Yet for me it is more than that.

Jehona Thaqi©

Sleeping city

image

“Rising sun above the deep blue and calm ocean,
burning clouds above the sleeping city.
The city is still sleeping
but the world is wide awake.”

I wrote this while sitting at the beach of Barcelona, inbetween five and six o’clock in the morning, in late July last year. My notebook was resting upon my thighs, my pen clutched against my fingers and my eyes stared blankely. It was a tremendously sad period of my young life, and that very moment, which I tried to capture with a photograph, made my heart weight less than a feather. I felt free, as if I was starting to understand a new way of living.

I restarted the poem above several times, I crossed out words, made new sentences, but nothing came close to what was happening in front of my eyes. The mixture of those vivid colours and reflections on both the ocean and the clouds were magical. The massive bulidings against the soft and calm water were dancing together,  I relished that moment, as I was extremely happy of having found purpose.

The city was still sleeping. Selfish as I am, it made me think of myself. It made me understand that the absence of happiness in my life does not mean that it isn’t there, that it is non existing. Maybe I was just asleep, sadness being my cussion. Maybe I was asleep at the wrong time, in the wrong place. You see, things will pass. And happiness will always be around, somewhere, at some time.

What a wonderful morning it was, and how much it has affected my days. But still, words will never be enough.

Jehona Thaqi©