Fraud

You’re a fraud.

“Excuse me?”

What? You thought I’d never say it?

Did you think that I lacked the courage or that I couldn’t see it?

It’s so evident it’s borderline embarrassing.

You ask, “How are you?” one moment, the say “Goodbye!” the next.

Before I even got to say a word.

What response did you expect when you couldn’t share one breath?

You’re “busy”.

LOL.

I absolutely get it.

The most important thing in this world is time.

Who you devote it to might as well be your bride.

I love that excuse, as if you think that a year from now you’ll be less busy.

Think about that for a moment.

Excuse me… where was I? Oh, that’s right.

You smile as you listen to my stories – actually that’s false!

To listen you must hear and when we speak you’re clearly a world away.

Your smile’s as thin as a razor, cutting up my soul… maybe… if I still had one.

Be upfront next time.

As we said before, what matters most in this world is time, so please don’t waste mine.

Don’t say “hello” if all you’re thinking is goodbye.

“I was trying to be nice.”

Nice try. That’s a lie…

And you’re a fraud.

You’re “worried” about me you say? Don’t be.

I’ll be totally fine when you’re gone.

How do I know?

Well… that’s because all along, I’ve been a fraud too.

Inspired by Words of Radiance – Brandon Sanderson.

#lies #Sadeas

Courage Born From Disobedience aka I Used To Be Afraid Of The Dark

Fears… phobias are just a few of the things we often keep close to our hearts. We don’t like to talk about them for fear others will ridicule us or worse, use the knowledge against us. Fear is a powerful thing; it’s enough to start entire revolutions – or stifle them. Fear can win wars or lose them. And yet sometimes the smallest thing can help spark the courage you need to overcome that fear. I used to be afraid of the dark. “Used to be” because I’m not anymore. In fact, anyone who knows me knows I now prefer a dark room and night time to day time. All for one simple, ridiculous reason.

From the 7th grade onwards I developed an insatiable appetite for reading. This was a localised fascination, it had to be fantasy (and largely still is) simply because of the creativity it inspired within me. *I’ll discuss how I became fond of reading in tomorrow’s post.* However high school loomed and the work grew more intense. I would no longer have the countless hours to pore though fantasy and science fiction novels the size of dictionaries day in, day out. I had to be realistic. This is what my parents told me.

“Focus on school, read the books later.”

Now I know what you’re thinking. This post is about fear of the dark, what does it have to do with reading novels and high school? Firstly let me rephrase the term “fear of the dark”. I possessed (especially in my younger years) a quite incredible imagination as often is the case with youth. All I needed was space and time to create whatever universe my whims led me to. I only fell just short of the imagination Oscar for never having had an imaginary friend. I had an imaginary army but never the one friend who would take up space at the table etc for that would have been near suicidal. It was this intense imagination coupled with the housekeeper’s fascination with horror movies, ones I had to watch with her at all costs, that made me fear the dark for a long time… yes even into my teens.

So I would sleep with the light on. “I need to read,” was the typical response. It wasn’t nearly as intense as the phobia I wrote about earlier in my blog though. So long as I was already in bed with my eyes shut, I’d have been fine. But that was rarely the case so the light stayed on… until I was told to stop reading novels at night. I had to wake up early in the morning since my bus to school left at 0630. Immediately my mind went into detective mode because the love for reading was too great to let go instantaneously, much less for something as mundane as waking up on time for school. How to beat the system? That’s what I pondered for a few hours at most. The answer finally came.

“Good night. I’m going to sleep.”

Then I would switch off my light, proof that I was actually sleeping… only to go into my  blankets, produce my latest novel from under the pillow and switch on my Nokia’s torch. This is how I read Stephenie Meyer’s ‘New Moon’ in one night. I did this often enough that the fear of the dark evaporated. I needed the dark for me to do what I loved; read. And I read. I went through 6 to 8 books a month this way. In a school of 700 students the librarian new my name and would set aside new books for me to devour. So repetitive and exciting was the new habit that even my study habits tweaked to accommodate this mindset so that even now I’m extremely productive in the hours from late evening to early morning.

And that’s it. I told my parents about it a while ago and they had a laugh. It was silly beyond belief. But one can’t deny that it got rid of an unnecessary, hindering fear… even if it may have replaced it with a less than necessary habit. The young man no longer feared the dark… he was just borderline useless early in the morning.

No Woody!

Woody Harrelson. So I decided to take an 81 min break and watch a movie. The movie is Zombieland, incredibly violent, asinine, funny as can be and an absolutely awful watch when you’re having dinner (which I was).

Woody isn’t the protagonist but he absolutely steals the show. His character isn’t witty… it isn’t meant to be. He’s just absolutely genuine and genuinely idiotic. But the moment that takes the cake is when he turns into the the world’s best anti-wingman. My man Jesse isn’t even aiming to get laid. All he wanted to do in this life was brush aside some hair. That was his life purpose – much like Woody and his Twinkie. Yet when the opportunity finally arose for the boy to sorta become a man, albeit a hair-caressing one, I found myself screaming:

“No Woody!”

Gotta love the man.

Good Pain

From the balls of my feet to the nape of my neck is a low-burning sensation. With each motion (more likely attempted motion) the flames are stoked and burn brightly. My limbs have been rendered near useless. I feel as if my bones have transformed into jelly – my muscle fibres into marshmallow. Sitting up my lower back screams at me, crying tears of sweat for the slowest motion. As I lie down again my calves beg for relief. Just one session of parkour, “just a taster” they said and I feel I’ve had my fill for seven generations. And yet I absolutely loved it. I’m no masochist but I’ve never felt better. Each step takes more effort than the last. At times I feel as though I’m one hundred years older; putting on clothes or getting out of bed feel like impossible tasks. But each time I manage to do something, even the really simple things, the euphoria kicks in. I have gained a greater appreciation for every part of my body – because at long last I now feel every part of that body. Oh it’s pain alright… but it’s so damn good… it’s good pain.

Perhaps I should have listened to myself and one funny brunette I know. Maybe I should frequent the best place for my body, the secret the world would love to hear about; in her own words: “Gym!” 

Or maybe I’ll go back to the parkour session next week. Maybe I’ll shake off the cobwebs in my underused muscles and awaken them with a sweet, sweet dose of good old pain.

Weird Game #1

Weird games. They’re weird right? Not hard to assume considering it’s in the name. Unfortunately my mind is capable of coming up with such oddities. Furthermore, my mind insists on me being an active player of these games. Here is the first… of many.

You want to know why I walk quickly? The first reason is I have longer-than-average legs. The second is that I’ve spent some time in London where at any given time most people will be in a rush, especially in tube stations. But the number one reason is this weird mental game I play.

At each street crossing I imagine that once I step foot on the tarmac, two cars, from both directions, are trying to make a Joe-meets-tarmac pancake. Stepping back is not an option as the path behind me has fallen away into oblivion. The only way forward is… well, forward. However, my legs are in iron braces, so I cannot run. What to do now? Walk baby! Walk like the wind!

It’s quite a comical sight. My mind doesn’t even have the decency to only suggest it at night. It brings such thoughts up in brought daylight. It won’t even be a suggestion! It has simply become an order my body follows at every street crossing. It wouldn’t be a weird game without awkward consequences now would it?

You’ll see me gliding across the street as I walk. If Google says walking to said destination should take me an hour, I’ll get there in two-thirds that. Why? All to avoid the awkward gawking directed towards someone who will walk like a normal person before the intersection only to act like a man on fire after it.

A Bit Odd? Yes! (Dry Cleaning)

I watch the washing machine do it’s work.

That’s my entertainment.

The sounds and vibrations they sooth me.

They are a heartbeat – after a thousand Redbulls!

Thump thump. Thump Thump! THUMP THUMP!

The clothes pick up pace! Swirling in dirt and waste…

Then – soapy bubbles!

“Bloop bloop!”

I didn’t make that sound.

Not out loud… did I?

Of course I did!

So I walk away from the other fella in the room.

Dry clean washing is over.

PS The clothes get wet; why is it even called dry cleaning? It better not be a dry joke.