Search

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Home - A Short Story By Me

The following is a short story I wrote in 2014 when I suffered from insomnia and my bedtime was never before three in the morning.

It was during the not-so brightest period in my life and was inspired by Caress Your Soul by Sticky Fingers.


The reaction from my friends I went to Uni with for a short while after showing them was priceless.
So, I'll warn you now that it isn't the happiest nor positive story I have ever written. If you read it and are at all shocked/disgusted, don't say I didn't warn you.

Here goes:


My fingers were grasped tightly around her wrist. She didn't bother to wriggle or struggle from my pull as she stumbled behind me, but my anger didn't allow me to loosen my grip. I walked fast away from the music and out through the front door, into the chills of the cold night. "Where are you taking me?" She asked, her voice shaking. "Home. I'm taking you home".

I released my hand as we made it to the car parked under the street lights with the other party goers' cars. I walked to the drivers side and jumped in hastily. I slid the key in ignition, turned the car on and slipped on my seatbelt before realising she was still standing on the sidewalk. She stared into the tinted window at me, and I could tell she was contemplating whether or not to get in. Her hesitation jabbed my heart, joining the already hurt and anger that had found shelter there only moments ago.

She stood still for several moments before finally accompanying me. She was quiet the entire trip home; the low mutterings of the radio the only sound, apart from my heavy breathing. I knew her silence was a result of the guilt she felt; she knew she had done wrong. Wasn't the first time so you'd think she'd learn.

I parked into our driveway and walked to her door, opening it and providing my assistance for her to the house. I wrapped my arm around her and held her as she drunkenly walked inside. We avoided the few unpacked boxes in the hallway that had sat there since we moved in over a month ago and I lead her to our bedroom.

She slumped on the side of the bed and stared at the floor. I stood in front of her and watched her for what seemed like minutes before she whispered, "I'm sorry". I couldn't help it. The anger, jealousy and hurt exploded in a rush of adrenaline and she fell to the floor, the back of my hand stinging. Her hair was sprawled around her head as she leant on her hands and knees, her face buried between her arms and leaning on the wood. The strap of her black dress fell loose revealing her olive skin and her scapula bone that created a small bump on her upper back, giving me the strong urge to kiss it. Her body shook with the sound of her sobs and I fell to my knees beside her, feeling now also angry at myself for touching her like that. I always felt crap after I did.

I picked her up and pulled her to my chest, tears forming in my eyes while she cried into my shirt. "Please don't cry", my voice cracked. My fingers tangled in strands of her hair as I pulled her tightly to me, as if I were able to pull us close enough so that we would become insync; one; or tie our souls together for eternity. But she only cried more and my tears began to leak and fall on to the top of her head.

I pulled her away and in front of me, analysing her face and the mascara streaks that stained her cheeks and eyes. A drop of blood had begun to form on the corner of her mouth, and her hair was rustled and half wet from stray tears. Her sobbing calmed and she looked back at me. I slowly leaned in to her face and kissed and pulled away so gently and quickly her mouth where the blood had been a second ago.

"Why do you do this to me?" I asked frustrated, my fingers still intertwined in her hair. She closed her eyes and shook her head, more tears streaming from beneath her eye lids. "No, please stop crying. Please don't cry", I wiped the water from her face.
"We were just talking", she cried. The anger rushed back and I stood up, resisting the twitch of my hand and instead taking it out on our bedside lamp that now lied in pieces on the floor beside her. "Don't lie to me".
"I swear", she pleaded. "I love you".

I closed my eyes at the sweet sound of those words and stood motionless, being torn by the happiness of the statement and the jealousy that was overbearing. I slowly dropped back down to my knees and cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to look back at me. I lifted her face and pulled her lips to mine, kissing her hard with urgency. She kissed me back lightly and I could feel the passion that lacked on her side. I needed her but I knew; I could feel, she didn't need me the same way.

I tore my lips away and pressed my forehead to hers and said, "and I only hurt you because I love you". She nodded and continued to silently cry more, falling back into my chest. I dug my face into her hair and could smell her strawberry scented shampoo that intoxicated me. I slid my hand away from her across the wooden floorboards and gripped onto a sharp piece of the broken lamp that was still warm under my touch from the light bulb. She cried silently and I whispered for the last time, "I love you", my vision becoming blurry from my tears. I muffled her scream with my hand as blood poured from the stab wound in her back and I sobbed into her neck. She stopped moving and I lied next to her; the view and feel of her soothed the pain from the gash in my neck as our blood created a beautiful puddle around us, our blood coming together in a way I knew our souls never could.

Monday, 29 August 2016

Acting on Impulse


In reference to my post, ‘apologies for the neglect’, my conclusion of the entry was true.

 

I was happy, or so I thought for some time. Radical change in your life can be both a refreshing and exciting thing until you realize that you had it better before and the change sucked. Why? Because I was bored maybe; needed a change of scenery or the whole idea of being independent and moving out of home, being free to go out on a weekday without the judgment of my grandparents seemed like an offer I could not refuse.

 

Now nothing bad exactly went down in my life after this time. There were no dramatic problems turning my life upside down. But I did realize that the underlying problem I ignored by keeping busy and holding myself back from dwelling, was in fact me.

 

I am an impulsive person. I make a decision and rather than think it over, I go right ahead and do it in the fear that I will change my mind. But then changing my mind can often be a good thing. And in hindsight, I wish I had changed my mind, rather than carry out something impulsively and regrettably without thinking it properly through.
I wonder why I do these things. I don’t know. I give up too quickly, perhaps.
Or maybe I need the change of scenery in order to appreciate my original view.

 

And my original view had been great. At times it appeared grey and dark and I didn’t think the rays of the sun would seep back in, but then again, I didn’t wait for it to either. I gave up, packed up and left, both my home, and the person who represented every idea I believed a home would feel like.

Thursday, 25 August 2016

The Green Light

I guess I'll warn you now that this post will not be the most interesting, and quite honestly my thoughts on the matter don't completely make sense (then again, when do my thoughts ever?).

I was watching The Great Gatsby the other week for about the tenth time, and there is a particular scene that always connects with me, but I find myself never dwelling on it further than in the moment.

It wasn't until a particular song (Maggie Rogers, Alaska) was playing on the radio that the situation and feelings at the time suddenly reminded me of this scene that I had forgotten completely about.

In the beginning of the film (I have unfortunately not read the book), the Green Light at the end of Daisy's dock is a very significant and symbolic object to the story. When we are first introduced to the light, we get our first glimpse of Gatsby who is reaching out to it, yearning for the person who owns that very dock.
I think many of us feel the same as Gatsby had, when we idolize and romanticise a particular object, song or place, because it reminds us of something or someone, which we want.
Perhaps even the smallest whiff of a smell send our emotions into overload and we can think of nothing but that until the smell fades. Or a song, reminiscing of times spent and times desired until the final beat is played and the music fades out.



But this was not the particular part that gets me thinking for a brief but great moment. It is in the film when Gatsby gets his biggest desire, Daisy becomes (sort of) his, he no longer needs to reach out for that green light because the person who owns that dock is not so far away anymore. The green light becomes just another green light.
Just as a song becomes just a song, and the thoughts it pushed and encouraged us to wonder about no longer push or encourage us to wonder about it anymore.

I was talking about these thoughts with someone close to me. I mentioned the significance of a song and the feelings it instantly erupts in us, fades when we achieve what we desired. It becomes no more than a memory of how we used to feel.

He said, "you just need to remind yourself what you were reaching out for in the first place".
And it is true.


Hate to say this, but I have had many songs that meant a lot to me, reminding me of a place or person and yearning for it, thinking about it and getting nostalgic over it. But when I get what I was reaching for, it becomes that song that just 'made me think about that a lot during that particular time'.

You see Alaska by Maggie Rogers had made me cry, feel sad and think beyond about a particular person when it played, knowing it was one of their favourite songs, and feeling that the lyrics in the song represented the situation so much.
But when it played that day, reminding me of the green light, it still felt significant and in some ways, I was still reaching out that song, turning it up, caressing with my heart (lame).  Perhaps I wasn't yearning for the person who was perhaps listening to it also, but instead I felt an overwhelming appreciation that I got them back. I don't listen to it in sadness anymore, but in happiness, and feel a strong desire to hug Maggie and hope that she will feel the same way that I do now.


But I guess we know that dreams and wishes for something is real when the songs, places or even lights, are still important and significant and we continue to idolize it nonetheless.

Or maybe I have had too much caffeine today and my head is being silly.

Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Creators and Learners

I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car while my mother drove me back to work after a long and eventful discussion we had at the beach.
Our discussion has no relevance whatsoever to what I am going to discuss but I felt it would better fit the mood if I explained the setting of this thought.

I had this realization that the world is made up of two kinds of people.
Now don't get offended and assume that I am being black and white - that people must be 100% in one category and not at all in the other because that is simply not true. More like, most people probably feel they better fit in one. It's not impossible to relate or do the things that the category they would consider is not 'theirs', but they find it better, easier perhaps, to follow their own.

So, my realization was that many people better fit in one of two categories: the learners and the creators.



I would just like to state now that neither category is better than the other; the world needs both. But I will admit that I may be quite bias towards the so-called category that I find I better fit.

The category of the creators is quite simple; they create. These are the people who often find themselves with many ideas. These are the people who I hope also try to put these ideas into reality. They are the artists of the world; helping others understand what is not necessarily obvious or perhaps in any physical form. These are the poets and songwriters who help people find understanding. The creators are the architects who cause people to stare upwards into the sky with their mouth parted or they could also possibly be the masterminds behind a new gadget or invention.

Then there are the learners. The learners follow steps and rules that have imprinted themselves into their mind from years of study perhaps, to figure out a solution to a problem. They might be really great at remembering and are the kids who aced their exams in high school. They are the nurses and doctors in the world. The scientists. The people who spend years studying a topic in order to exhibit it with ease. The seekers of facts and the ones who maintain this world and its survival.

Both when thought about it, both are completely necessary and vital. Perhaps a writer doesn't sound as important as a doctor (and I am not saying that they are), but who knows how many lives they could have and could possibly save with their words. I know that a song has managed to turn my mood around in a matter of minutes.
And a mere painting has had the ability to fill myself with  an almost overwhelming feeling of content. 
But I certainly wouldn't trust that artist to diagnose me; nor would I let them anywhere near me with a scalpel.

And perhaps this is where we went wrong in school - a curriculum designed primarily for 'learners'. I am not cut out for studying. My memory is ridiculous.
And I am sure there are many other people out their who were judged and graded on their ability to remember and regurgitate as opposed to their ability to create. But I also admit that it is far easier to make a living by doing something that can be learnt with hard work than hope that a great idea will sweep by and rescue one from the dead end their life may appear to be heading into.

Okay that's a bit dramatic but you catch my drift.

Monday, 8 August 2016

Maybe the Buddhists were right

Buddhism has always appealed to me as a peaceful and beautiful religion. The aspects I love most about it is that it does not worship anyone; nor does it tell you to respect and follow a higher being that you have never seen and have no proof even really exists (despite that I have beliefs of this exact kind of stuff), and instead teaches their followers to focus on oneself.

Buddhism encourages you to live a certain way in order to find the one thing majority never finds; peace with themselves and to be what they want to see in others. It seems people are never completely happy with who they are. We deny a lot about ourselves rather than face it, deal with it and try to fix it. But anyway, this wasn't what I wanted to discuss.

Despite my respect and interest in Buddhism, I don't think I could ever actually go through with becoming a Buddhist because I am too, well, human.
I am quite selfish. I know this. Unfortunately this tendency is a common aspect shared amongst humanity.
Therefore I do not want to give up material possessions, dreams of travelling and living the high life or owning a good home in the hopes that I may some day find enlightenment. These are things I aspire for. It gives my days purpose. And I don't have any intentions of changing this. At the most, I'll try and be a good person on the way.

But the part I found the most challenging to comprehend is the ideology that people must let go of attachments, to which I was like, 'the hell is the point in that?'
What's the point in having no attachments to anything? No suffering?
Okay, no suffering does sounds pretty great but you can't have suffering if you didn't have the opposite of it in the first place.
Being a human, we feel. It's what we do. And its reminder to us that we are alive.
It makes us special that we often act out so passionately and wildly due to something inside us that we can't even see and that we create things in order to express these invisible things. I admire that about humans.

But then I thought - maybe what is meant by letting go and not having attachments, is to let go of the bad and move on. Perhaps when we take steps back, by returning to a place - both literally and metaphorically, it is just making our journey longer and harder.
As much as we may want to go back to something, it is probably not the best thing for us. Maybe its time to let go and move on.

So what I mean is, perhaps when things don't go well and we begin to suffer, we must let go and move on. There's no need to drag on our pain after all.
So instead of going back, no matter how much we  may want to, maybe we are supposed to reflect and learn, take those lessons, and apply it to our future and hope the next round goes better.


Wednesday, 3 August 2016

Needing and Wanting

This is going to sound pretty sad/pathetic, but at times I find myself wondering the most unnecessary and somewhat completely irrelevant things like for instance, is it better to want someone or need someone?
I think I originally asked myself this question several years ago when I saw a meme in regards to 'what the signs want to hear' and the three options were: I want you, I need you and I love you.

My sign, Scorpio, got 'I want you'. At the time, I felt it wasn't correct. I would want someone to tell me that they needed me, particularly in a relationship.

You see, I saw needing someone, as stronger than a mere want. It's something that the person has no control over. Being with someone is not something they debate over in their head, but instead is  a fact that they require this person in order to be them, or to be whole. I viewed needing someone as a solid, shall we say.
Wanting someone on the other hand is a choice. They can live without this person but they choose not to. And that's lovely, but like all choices, decisions can change. So do preferences. And I saw this as not a solid, but a flowing liquid with a current that can alter at any second. A lot like my mind.

It wasn't until recently that I realized that needing someone might not be as particularly strong as I had once thought. Now I agree with that meme that for some unknown reason, still haunts me until this day. To have someone say they want me, that they thought about it, debated it over within their head, doesn't need me in their life but prefers me in it anyway, is what I would want to hear.
As opposed to needing someone, it's powerful, and strong, but what happens when you don't need them anymore? Or they don't need you?
What if they found that missing piece, in themselves perhaps, or a pet or even a new food, and that need they had for you to keep them together is gone? That can change things quicker than a change of mind. And the realization that you served your purpose and are no longer required, can hurt like a motherfucker.

But I guess the two common reasons of being with someone: because you need them or want them, is both flawed.
Maybe there's a path leading from the two that meets them halfway. And maybe that middle ground is what they call love.

Now to add a little colour to my blog, here's a completely
irrelevant photograph of the sunrise I took yesterday.