Drugs and I

In regards to drugs, I am a happy, ignorant child of Communism, I would say. I had no idea what they were while growing up. Nobody tried to sell them to me at school, none of my friends experienced it – or I was too nerdy or naïve to know?

Drugs were something you bought at the pharmacy and took for headache. When I was 19, I was invited to a New Years Eve party and a bunch of guys went out for a “smoke” … I don’t smoke! I can’t inhale and smoke makes my eyes itch, so who cared?! There was talk about marijuana and one guy mentioned, that he was growing it and asked his mom to water his “herbs” while away. His mom thought her son found a new hobby in horticulture and we all laughed hysterically, including myself, who didn’t want to be exposed for the lack of knowledge. I never took an offer for a fear of being completely ridiculed not being able to inhale.

In another case, years later, I was offered white powder while already living in the US. I looked at the baggie and thought it would look pretty on my baked cookies sieved onto cutout jelly hearts.

Later again, we took a trip to Jamaica. It was an unexpected vacation I won through a magazine competition and we stayed at an all-inclusive resort. I am not a resort person! During the first 30 minutes I tried every bar chair, table, hammock and pool and was ready to leave somewhere else in search of an adventure, when a guy in a little boat waved at me from the water. He was a bit far, but I was happy to take a swim and make contact with the first real dreadlock rastaman.
“Ya maan!” .. You need weed?
I realized he was conducting business ...
“Uhhhmm sure! But how do we do this?”
“Just put the money in a plastic bag!”
I was excited to finally try it and did just that. Placed bills in a zip-lock and proved my swimming skills with one arm were sufficiently great. We smoked it that night on our little balcony overlooking the crystal blue water. I felt it was part of the culture, like rum cake, Bob Marley and the bobsled team, though I had no idea when or how “high” would come …
… I guess I didn’t inhale …

Then came colonoscopy!
I had no idea!
Seriously!!!!
I thought it was all awkward, painful, terrifying. But waking up from whatever drug, I found myself a part of a kaleidoscope swirling peacefully in shine, shimmer, color, glitter. My first question awake jokingly was: “What was that stuff? When can I come again?”  That was the closest I have ever gotten to high, I think, but I am still not 100% sure.

The one thing I know a lot about are needles! Not by a choice of a recreational drug, but by chemotherapy and IVF. None of them made me high or gave pleasurable experience. Heck, not even an altered state of mind that I could rely on when I thought there was death in my deck of cards that life dealt. Chemo made me sick with nausea, depressed and wanting me to spend days in bed watching TV and feeling like my life was slipping away.

I finally, painfully learnt the mastery of needles while undergoing IVF. I was telling myself “this time it’s to create a new life and not a battle”. I mustered up all my strength to take a needle, pinch my stomach and with a fast, but decisive moment shoot it all in there.

Every time I hear a celebrity passing, because of recreational needles I feel resentful, angry. I’ve seen too many needles! I’ve seen and known people living their life to the fullest, maybe not celebrities, but amazing people who would have done anything for the opportunity others had. Their needles contained drugs of no choice or recreation; it was to live longer. Their “high” was defined very much by being with family and friends at times, when they could still comprehend.

 I am so angry! How do you, addicts dare???

I have an addiction experience!
No needles, bottles instead!
Many bottles.
Violence, doors that were bang shut, promises not kept, knives that flew overhead.
Fearful days and nights from not knowing the state, in which he would enter through the front door. Sometimes he would just collapse, as he entered and fell asleep – this was the better. Other times, we would have to pack and run for our lives and ask for shelter from family, friends … until nobody would take us in for their own fear. We would then take a train and book into a hotel that was the cost of mom’s two weeks salary …

Behind every addict there is a family that suffers!

Numerous attempts made - doctors, medications that supposed to help, rehab that gives new hope every time, but more often than not fails; tears shed, discussions and family meetings had. Sometimes threats, fights and mostly the feeling of helplessness … 

An article that I recently read talks about people that faze out the addicts, that addicts don’t get help … (The phasing out part you know, that also happens to cancer patients.)

Behind every addict is a family, friends that tried … that are hurt, that mostly have done everything …  There are kids that have been sheltered from the truth, but are smart and know all too well …

I was that child, the cancer patient and I resent – the drugs, the addicts, the chance at life they had, but threw away!   

…  

Humble lessons in paradise

London and Lola (a.k.a. LoLo) are travelers. Traveling is our religion and so they come with us wherever we go. During their 4.5 years they’ve flown 4 times to Europe, visited 4 Caribbean islands and managed to get a frequent flier card. My husband, Geoffrey travels for work and carefully manages his reward points, so that we can stay comfortably in most places of the world for free. (A perk that is nice to have, but hardly a substitution for family dinners missed or good night cuddles).

This year, we picked the Virgin Islands as our winter gateway. We’ve stayed on St. John before and re-tell our Cinnamon Bay adventure 12 years ago, again and again. You know, when … we could not figure out how to build our brand new tent and it got dark, when we were told there were wild donkeys roaming the campgrounds and one may just wander into our brand new tent, when we realized what it meant to have “too much privacy” getting a bare site in the middle of the dense forest, the time when all horror movies came alive every and each night … and the rest of course … the stunning beaches, the 50 shades of turquoise of the water, the amazing wild life, the hikes, cactus, live reggae and the horseback ride that almost killed Geoffrey (because I did not completely believe that he is so allergic to animals).

This time around, before we booked our bungalow at Cinnamon Bay, we thought of all the advantages and disadvantages of spending 4 nights at a campground. Though we’ve been planning to, we have not yet camped out with LoLo. Our vacations were spent in the comfort of hotel rooms with crispy, white bed sheets or family homes that provided as much comfort as our own apartment in Brooklyn. We would stay in a bungalow with simple beds, a closet (I was hoping for) and no bathroom facilities. The lack of bathroom seemed to be the biggest of our concerns, so I ordered a portable potty with 5 stars review from amazon and decided that the 25 USD spent was part of our private insurance policy (“just in case we need it”). We were wondering how LoLo would react to this new, unusual environment. At the end of the day, they are children of privilege – just as all their peers at home. They have the entire world in their city, get exposed to a variety of experiences one would only find in New York, they travel, they suffer no shortage of any kind (if time spent with dad doesn’t count). We were excited to show them something different.

Weeks before the trip, we talked about the beautiful beaches, the palm trees, the islands and what we would do without mentioning even a word about our “hotel”.  Not because we didn’t want to, but because it was not important (I thought). After a short flight, a taxi ride and a boat ride we loaded our belongings into a blue rental jeep and were driving the winding roads of St. John.

The Tree Lizards restaurant stood without change, just as 12 years ago. A lady with a wide smile checked us in, we loaded our wheel barrow and were on our way to bungalow 8D. Everyone we passed by greeted us with a big smile and a “hello”. We felt welcomed. A single key on a ring and a green plastic triangle opened the lock on the door, LoLo ran ahead and did the hotel initiation ceremony of jumping on the beds, while we figured out the room set up. 4 beds on visibly rusty, old spring boxes, one table, four plastic chairs, no closet, but few weathered shelves with basic kitchen utensils and a few plates, a mini fridge and two fans at the corner of the room. Two sides of the bungalow were walls, the other two were mesh screens with curtain panels. The porch had a picnic table and a small gas cooker. As soon as I put down our luggage I went to check the mattresses for bed bugs, but before I could Geoffrey frowned at me: “Elvi, don’t!” …
… I did not …

“Can we please, go swimming” sounded the unanimous plea of both, London and Lola from below the tall palm trees full of coconuts. We ran to the beach visible from our bungalow. LoLo jumped the waves, screamed from happiness, threw their shoes to shore and ran back and forth chasing the blue water. I wish I had my camera ready … “This is why we came here”, I thought ... the pure joy of them being by the ocean and of us, parents witnessing all of it was worth a trip … LoLo wanted to shed their clothes on an instinct and run ... I often wonder why happiness in kids shines through by running … When kids run, they are happy … always!

We went back to the bungalow, changed into our bathing suits and enjoyed the rest of the day by the beautiful water, sand and palm trees. Finally, we discovered the bathroom facilities – basic, clean, with cold water showers! “I work too hard for this” I remembered Geoffrey’s words when we camped here for the first time. “Ok, this will definitely be an adventure” I mumbled to myself and turned to the kids with smile “Yay for cold showers!” London and Lola felt the water and giggled to my surprise (why are they not whining? I want to!).

There were three adorable kids checking us out all this time – an 8 years old girl, Anna, her 7 years old brother Harry and the 5 years old Holly all came to introduce themselves and offer their water and beach toys to share. I would see them the following days playing by the water, collecting twigs and leaves and going proudly with their 5 dollar bills to and from the camp store to purchase ice cream of their choice, like big kids. Melanie, their mom is a single mother and brought them on vacation. I thought about me taking London and Lola to school and how long that took and had immediate admiration of Melanie, who packed up three kids and herself in one!!!! suitcase. When I asked them if I could take a photo, Anna said she would ask her mom if it was ok; when Lola fell on the rocks, because she followed Anna, she came to apologize, though it was not her fault. These kids were the best behaved, most responsible, independent kids I’ve met. Melanie told me, that she believes in giving experiences to her kids and not material things, I agreed and liked her immediately. We matched in our philosophies, but I still need to learn! 1 suitcase! .. I kept thinking …

At night, when all four of us crawled into two single beds pushed together, I realized that it wasn’t only the four of us that shared the bungalow, but also a variety of four and multi-legged creatures that crawled under and above the bed. This time, a cockroach walked lazily across the room while I was tucking myself into the single white sheet, getting ready for story time. I wanted to scream and run. I glanced over to Geoffrey, who was comfortably hugging the two munchkins and I decided to keep this news top secret to myself fearing, that he will pack us all up and we’ll head to the nearest resort the next day. That night, as all the following nights  of our stay, we fell asleep with the sun setting, waves crushing, the sound of our fans spinning the warm Caribbean air, night birds and frogs chirping and stories from Geoffrey’s and my childhood. And every night it seemed magical. Did I say there was no cell phone or internet service? It brought us, as a family closer than ever before. To my surprise, still nobody complained. After a while I realized, that Geoffrey was fully aware of the creatures that shared our living space – what’s more, one apparently even crossed his face one morning, but somehow it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t even sure if LoLo noticed the change in their living conditions – they were just happy and content (cold showers, bed mites nicknamed ants, saltines for breakfast, toilet away .. etc.) The only thing London said on the first night was: “Mommy, this is not like home!” (The understatement of the year, we giggled.).

Melanie, the single mom with three kids and one suitcase, who as we’ve learnt is an attorney in “real” life recommended, that we visit another beach that’s part of a resort.  This beach is also part of the national park, so anyone can have access. We drove through the manicured lawn, walking across the hotel property to yet another stunning beach. We spent the day enjoying the water once again. Only one thing stood out – the guests at the resort didn’t smile and didn’t greet each other, just like every single person at the campground. They walked past each – other as strangers, who happen to be at the same place.

Thinking of Melanie, who could most certainly afford taking her kids to any hotel, seeing the strangers at the resort, going through our amazing experiences as a family and yes, that 1 suitcase, the well-known lines of Tolkien’s poem kept coming back to my mind again and again  …  

   
 All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost ….

  

The donut

I've heard it many times before ... "You have to do what you say you will, otherwise your kids won't take you seriously and won't ever listen!". Today was THE day! London wasn't listening and I said "no dessert". This on its own would not be such a huge punishment, if there wasn't for Lola, who loves dessert and is London's twin sister, plus she loves to rub in the fact that she WILL get dessert.

So, we are on our way home when we stop at a local food store. I browse through the counter when my eyes reluctantly stop on the display of baked donuts. I don't buy donuts, rarely do I eat them, but this little round fat blob with a thick chocolate cover was calling my name clear and loud. I wrestled it into a bag and we took it home.

London: "Mommy, is this for dessert?"
Me: "Yes!"
Lola: "But London you are not getting any! Mommy, you will share it with me, right?"
Me: "Right" ... I nodded with huge guilt engulfing my heart ...

Dinner was served. London sat down behind the table and without a single word it was all gone.
It was delicious! (A natural born charmer, who can certainly pull out a few tricks from his sleeve, what can I say?)

London: "Mommy, I am done!"
Me: "Good job, London!"
London: " Is there dessert?"
Me: "Yes, the donut"
London: "Can I have some?"
Me: (painfully while reciting the "stick to your guns" mantra) No, you get no dessert today!
Lola: "Do I get some?" (rub, rub)
Me: "Yes, you will!"

London cries as I am cutting the donut in quarters. He sobs, while I hand over the little piece covered in chocolate to Lola. It's not the hysterical, upset cry. It's the kind that breaks your heart ... like he had lost his favorite toy or when some kid tells him he can not run fast enough. It's the cry that makes me want to hike up to the sky and get him a bright shining star ... "Mommy it looks so delicious" ... he can barely pronounce while crocodile tears stream down his face ...

I am heartbroken.

"stick to your guns"
"stick to your guns"
"stick to your guns"

I want to cry with him .. or ... give him a donut! Not a little piece, a HUGE one ... with chocolate and sprinkles; not one, two! Or three .. or a dozen ... baked or deep fried, who cares?

Then something happens that catches me completely by surprise!

Lola turns to him and hands over her donut while licking her little fingers ...
"Here it is London, don't cry!"

I am overtaken by emotions .. (What can a donut do to you, huh?) I bet no parenting book counts with this outcome.

London's eyes are shining big and brown with tear drops drying up at corners, his little face beaming, the single dimple stretched to bigger than I've ever seen.

Thank you Lola!
I am relieved.

       

Toddler travels

Flying is fun and it’s exciting or it’s stressful and scary. Or both when you happen to have toddler twins on your hands. There are numerous articles and blogs and forums full of advice on how to manage the expedition all moms and dads fear and I read them all!

Before we embarked on our transatlantic journey I did my homework.
I talked about the trip weeks before to London and Lola (aka LoLo); I bought new books and toys and stickers; I packed their favorite DVD’s; I made a list of food to bring, snacks to pack, changes of clothes for everyone and had secured bulk head seats well in advance. “Everyone survives it, so will we!” The last item on my “to do” list was to call the pediatrician to ask about Benadryl, or as my well-traveled mom friend claims, the only thing I really need for a peaceful journey.  “It knocks them out…” 

The nurse picks up the phone and I confidently ask if it’s ok to give LoLo half a pill each. “You want to drug your child????” the sturdy voice asks with so much guilt in it, I suddenly question myself. “How could I possibly take drugs into consideration” given our organic, everything homemade, healthy lifestyle? Shame on me!

The day arrives and we high-five with hubby as we smoothly go through security with baby bottles filled with milk, feed LoLo their dinner and make friends with everyone around. “Not sure why everyone says this is terrible!” We board a plane on time, settle in our seats and wait, and wait, and wait. The plane doesn’t take off for two hours; within the first 15 minutes we’ve gone through all the new toys, books and have cheerios falling out of all cavities. Now LoLo is crying, while the entire plane is busy either finding their earplugs or giving me the look directed at a mother that can’t handle her children. By the time our meals arrive we’ve done about 40 circles around the cabin. We can’t eat, because we can’t hold the tray; LoLo wants to do anything but sleep despite the fact that we chose the time of flight according to their sleep schedule. There is just so much excitement around. Flashing lights and seatbelts and new faces and turbulence. Their favorite video only keeps their attention for about 10 minutes while the captain keeps reminding everyone to stay buckled because of safety. It feels that our safety may be more at risk from our kicking, screaming toddlers as they fight the buckles and the seatbelt and we apologetically smile (sort of) at the surrounding passengers.  As the last resort, I find the stickers at the bottom of one of the four carry-ons; the peace is short lived, the results just the opposite. 

Eight long hours later we landed.  We’ve listened to crying in stereo most of the journey and so did everyone else. Needless to say, there weren’t many “they’re so cute” comments as usual. I sympathize with those haters – I used to be one of them when flying single with one handbag and no stickers. Hubby and I look at each other with relief as we push our two exhausted sleeping children through the passport control. As I peel off a “You did it” star from the back of his shirt, I only wish I could call the pediatrician’s office right away: “Hello, nurse? Remember me? Twin mom flying across the Atlantic? Just for future records:  I want to drug my children!” 

Maybe

I don’t have an alarm clock; my expensive watch I got from Geoffrey as a wedding gift is at the bottom of a jewelry box; the only piece of accessory I wear is my wedding band and engagement ring. I have children, two of them, twins, toddlers.

My morning doesn’t start with the annoying tone of an electric alarm clock, but with a giggle, a cry or a scream “momma”. Consequently, there is no “snooze” button.
I don’t get 5 more minutes under the warm bed covers. When I hear shuffling noises through the monitor, I know that two pairs of big, blue and green eyes are open and my day just started! 

Sometimes I get a minute to put on my sweats, my uniform, other times the cry from next doors is so imminent and so powerful, it becomes an emergency situation and I am required to put out fires right away, one after another.  “Emergency situation”:  a pacifier thrown on the floor, a book of desire within an unreachable distance, or a diaper half torn from a perfect little body covered in skin as smooth as butter, as aromatic as a fresh load of warm cloths from a drier and a butt as round as two garlic cloves.

I am a mom in training. I’ve studied child psychology in college, I worked years as a nanny getting my practice run at motherhood and I’ve even watched a few episodes of  “wife swap” to sample extreme forms of parenting, but nothing really prepared me for the job at hand. I remember chuckling at my friend, Miriam’s facebook post a while ago, who said her toddler was her most demanding client. That’s from a blackberry of a corporate executive! "Not my children" I would have said years ago when I had my “will be” parenting tactics outlined as “strict”!

Meanwhile, in the babie’s room, the emergency situation has been saved and everyone is happily leafing through pages of colorful books. I would like to start a day, but LoLo doesn’t. My role now is to sit and wait it out while begging for some lenience, to be able to at least change their diapers. When all tricks fail, the of -chance  “If you’re happy and you know it” song prevails and I turn into a composer/singer/producer putting on a show. “If you’re happy and you know it, get out of bed”. Now at least we’re on our way to breakfast heading 5 steps south towards the living room!

Breakfast? Having wasted half of the morning, I reach for the easiest thing that comes to my hands – English muffins! I direct LoLo to their high chairs with more trouble than the traffic chief at crossroads on Times Square and try to stuff their little limbs into the coordinating holes. London insists on the company of the largest truck ever made for his age group, LoLa is clinging on to her two pacifiers, a blanket and a book. “Not without my truck, blanket, pacifiers, books”

The English muffin is done, a little butter and jam. I present the scrumptious breakfast on a favorite plate, but both look at me with great suspicion, as they never had a muffin before. London proceeds to poke a hole through the crispy dough while Lola turns it and smells it till all her fingers are covered in blackberry jam. “Cookie” she announces victoriously with a huge grin  ... London’s caught on to the idea and now they are both eating their breakfast, that just passed for a dessert!

Good job mom, you deserve a cup of coffee!” A second of quiet is followed by another emergency sound as soon as I fill up the coffee maker “Maaa” “Maaa” “Maaa”  I hear the chant … “Maaa” comes from a word “Masik” in Hungarian meaning “another one” or “the other”. Now London and Lola are both balancing their identical bowl with identical ingredients towards each other …  I am not just a mom and a wife, everyday I realize I am mostly a student and the lesson for today is : “Two identically appearing items are never identical” … I help with the exchange and longingly look towards the coffee maker when London shows me his squeezing fist I taught them months ago – “milk” in sign language … Sooner than London’s cup is filled, Lola is pushing hers towards me, though half full. The way of least resistance works the best for a bit of quiet in exchange and so I get the milk box, turn around and fill the cup. As I am handing it over to Lola, she shakes her head “NO” ..Nooo??? You don’t want it”? Lost in translation, I go back to baby language, sign language, ape language, switch from English to Hungarian and finally figure it all out! I turned my back! She didn’t see me pouring the milk into the cup! “If I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen” is my lesson two for the day.

The day proceeds in a similar chaotic manner. One minute I marvel at our luck of having these two adorables in our life, another it’s an emergency.  I am endlessly exchanging items, using my persuasive skills (one per each foot/hand) to make LoLo wear shoes/hats/gloves, demonstrating the possibility of eating with just one spoon rather than a few, opening and closing doors for safety vs fun! My life has moved from the chair level to the ground – I sweep the floor, I play on the floor and occasionally, I eat of the floor.  My “I will never” (as a parent) changed to “maybe”.

“Momma, cookie?”  

“Maybeeee”

It's not you Jon; it's us!

I live in the best city of the world. I didn’t say it, Jon Bon Jovi did, when he took stage last Thursday in Madison Square Garden. It was Geoffrey's (my husband) dream to see him, so I bought tickets and presented to him as Christmas gift. He was giddy with excitement!

Besides a few well-known songs, I really don’t know the band, though I did notice that Jon got somehow sexier as he aged going from a tight jean rocker to the leather wearing bad boy.

Brigitta comes, she throws her jacket to the chair and she is ready to take care of the two rascals, so that mom can go and be wild. The door to my closet is open, I am on momma time and style, I grab the closest pair of jeans and this year’s favorite stripey shirt … ready to rock and roll!

So many people! I fight my way through the door, security, “Aww Myy Gaawd you’re a Bon Jovi virgin?” I hear a woman asking another one on the escalator; I also nod. Only one flight up and I am being ushered to my seat, “Hurry up honey, he’ll sing his first song close by”. I am hungry, Geoffrey volunteers to pick up the finest kind of popcorn sold in a box for 10 USD swearing hate and war if he misses the first song. Shortly after he leaves, the lights go out and 30 thousand people jump to their feet screaming. The monitor shows heavy steps coming towards us, then in a second of confusion and disbelief I look right and there he is! Hanging onto his guitar, working the strings, head tilt back and forth. The energy grabs me and I am a hardcore fan in seconds, nervously looking around for hubby and fearing consequences. The popcorn arrives, Jon leaves with an entourage of about 10 security guards and takes the front stage.

Whatever song he sings it transports me back to my high school years in Kosice, Eastern Slovakia. Dorm rooms come alive as I see posters of JBJ cut out from the latest “Bravo” magazine smuggled in from Austria or bought at a “Tuzex”. “Tuzex”, a store with its own currency and goods, that we’ve never heard or seen before; pricey commodities brought in from the West for the priviledged. Levi’s jeans, cans of coke, gummy bears, popping candy in pretty bags and perfumes I could only dream of. It was the only real window to what life behind the iron gate offered at the time.

Now here I am, popcorn, coke, Bon Jovi, New York. Jon talks about sitting in nosebleed benches when he was a kid, but I wonder how a girl from Southern Slovakia got here? “Ooh she’s a little runaway” …  I wasn’t one in a true sense of the word, yet I was one in another ... Running away from the world I knew to a world that excited me through movies, neon lights, adds, restaurants with flickering candles, high heels, yellow cabs, kids playing basketball in between city blocks and men in suits …  Now I barely notice the neon adds of Times Square, I eat by candle light at restaurants, have a closet full of high heels waiting to be worn and hail a cab with confidence. My husband is a man in suit I always dreamed of as little girl. (Yes, some dream of a white horse, but I grew up in a village!) I am at a Bon Jovi Concert!
I feel like I just received an Oscar, I feel like I achieved something, tough I am having difficulties putting it into words. Living in America was as unattainable as a trip to space, now I call this country my home. It’s where I got my education, met my husband and gave birth to my children.

“I’ll be there for you; These five words I swear to you” … all I hear IS the five words and wipe my tears. What did just happen? How did I get so emotional thinking about those five words that sound so cliché? I look at Geoffrey and we both cry. “I am embarrassed”, he says. I look away because we know exactly the meaning of these words. No need to say it out loud, we both think of those hard times spent at a hospital, when he held my hand, caressed my face and those five words carried all my hope for the future. I have to pinch myself to believe where we are today …

“The more things change, the more they stay the same” sings Jon about the music industry, but I am on my nostalgia road trip. I think of the friends I made during these 15 years in the US, the family I gained, the fact that life passes by as a bullet train. Just how far technology came I also ponder, as the girl next keeps taking video with her phone; the one that she will never watch. As cell phones light up all around instead of lighters, I can’t help but think of that phone call made home from a suitcase of a journalist giving me a ride while hitchhiking vs. the blackberry in my pocket; our flat screen TV vs. our black and white box with antenna on the rooftop and chocolate foil wrapped around the cables for better reception; hand written letters vs. facebook. I own a computer; though the first time I saw one at the college computer lab, I thought floppy disks were gear for scientists with much higher IQ than mine. Some things change, like technology, but memories remain. I think of friendships I made, lost and renewed; their innumerable value; my life experiences. Every little memory ties to a person, not an object, not the “stuff” from “Tuzex” I can now freely purchase at my local mall.  Just like this concert is much less about you Jon, it’s about us!

The woman next to me keeps texting;
I don’t think she understands …

It's my life

It's now or never

I ain't gonna live forever

I just want to live while I'm alive

(It's my life)

My heart is like an open highway

Like Frankie said

I did it my way

I just wanna live while I'm alive

It's my life

Thank you for the trip, Jon!