Kidhood

The kiddo had a pretty bad experience in school a few days ago. It was one of those things that I couldn't fix for her; all I could do was hug her tight, talk it through, and to her and tell her to soldier on. And I know that there will be many more instances where she will have to face a situation where she has to deal with it on her own. I will be a helpless bystander, able to offer sympathy and support and not much else. For a mother, who's natural instinct is to go into fiercely protective mummy bear mode if she's hurt, that's hard to accept.

Life can be very cruel to a child if they make the wrong choices or pick the wrong friends. But what do kids know about choices? From what I remember, we mostly blindly follow our peers or try to emulate those that stand out. My parents never interfered much when it came to school stuff. At the time I was grateful for it, but I wish now that I had had a better understanding of how the rest of your life can be shaped by one event, one decision. Those days we had no one to tell us these things. No one acknowleged feelings back then. Oh we were loved, we knew that with certainity, but it was in a practical, absolutely intangible way. If someone had told me back then even half the things I tell my kid now, I might have turned out to be a completely different person. I probably wouldn't have stumbled around for a good portion of my early years enveloped in self doubt and insecurity.

Mind you, in a way I'm glad things went the way they did - because everything is pretty spiffy in the now. 

"I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar."

When I was small I wanted to marry someone called John. This was mainly because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to communicate properly with someone who didn’t speak English and John seemed like a safe bet. I also made myself a promise that I would never marry someone with Perera as the surname (I had an uncle with that surname who used to tease me a lot – and I thought all Pereras were related to him). I was quite happy with my well laid plans; it seemed quite unlikely that a John Perera would ever come into my life after all.

So what did I grow up and do? I married Shane Perera of course.

Being married was hard; being married was wonderful; being married to you, it opened me up to a whole new world of experiences, and made me into a bigger better person. It gave me the capacity to love strongly, and more importantly, to be able to express that love openly. For a shy girl who earlier couldn’t even utter a simple ‘I love you’ without tying myself in knots – that was a major freakin’ deal.

It didn’t last, but so what; that doesn’t take away what was. What it made me be. And no matter what form of love mine has evolved to, it’s there and it always will be. You opened up a side of yourself to me that quite possibly only one other person in the world has ever seen. One of the things that make my insides wrench is that Abbster won’t ever get to see you as I saw you. But she has so much of you in her. She makes me stop in my tracks when she mimics a mannerism or even says something that’s just so you. With her, I don’t know where I end and you begin and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Guardians of the Galaxy is coming out soon. And you’re not going to get to see it, are you. It’s funny, how things like that are what get to me the most. I’m sorry that the last thing you watched in the X-Men franchise was the shitty Wolverine movie and that you totally missed Days of Future Past.

For a while there babe, we had the most amazing ride. I suppose to have had even a short amount of indescribable happiness is better than a lifetime of banality. I’ll forever be grateful that the last moment we shared was when I hugged you goodbye so tightly I made your glasses smudge. You made that ‘tsk tsk’ face and I cleaned them up. Let’s call this that last hug anniversary; that sounds better than any other name I can think of. 

Away and Onward (or Look Who's Talking)

Do you talk to yourself? I do. And I don’t mean the odd question silently directed towards oneself when in doubt, I mean full on conversations where I’m actually two people. Okay, I see that I might have to elaborate a bit here. See, I don’t talk with myself; I talk with other people, BY MYSELF. So effectively, I’m carrying on both sides of the conversation. Sometimes, it’s in my head. Sometimes hand gestures and actual conversation is required. Yes, I know it’s weird, but I was for all intents and purposes an only child[1] so in order to stay sane, I had to resort to insane behavior.

I can’t remember how it started. It is said that when I was really really small I had an imaginary friend called “W” who lived on the roof. I don’t remember speaking with “W” or anything about him though (or whether it was a him or her or an IT). I only think I remember that I had an imaginary friend because my parents told me so. For all I know they could have been trying to cover up the fact that they possessed a strange child who'd mumble at nothing in corners. What I do remember was pretending to be a famous person. It didn't matter how or why, I was famous and people wanted to interview me. So I interviewed myself, all the time, all over the place. Most of these interviews took place in the bathroom though, the one place where I could chatter away unobserved. Then there were the cooking shows. I would be making a snack and the whole thing would turn into a cookery show where I would demonstrate the making of the perfect Spanish omelette using random ingredients found in the fridge, all the while talking to an imaginary audience.

All this sounds insane, but it worked for me. Most of the time I didn’t have anyone to talk to and even if there were people around, they didn’t think like me, and they wouldn’t understand me, so I figured things out by talking to some imaginary person (preferably a talk show host). I did this all through my life and I still do it now. Any important event, you can be sure I’d run through several possible scenarios beforehand. One minute I’d be thinking about something and the next I’d be talking about it with Ellen. Weirdly enough, it helps. Even if I don’t end up using these conversation snippets in real life situations, I’d be less intimidated because I’d run through the scenario beforehand.

I consider hands free devices the greatest invention ever because now I can jabber away in the car and people will just assume I’m on the phone instead of shaking their heads sadly at the crazy lady.

Seriously though, you have to try it, at least once. Imagine you're sitting in a comfy couch telling the girls from The View how it felt to win that Pulitzer (breakaway for a moment here to re-enact your acceptance speech when accepting the Pulitzer). Maybe next time I'll even talk about how it felt to be an extra on The Mentalist - and the trauma of dealing with the eventual restraining order.  

---

[1] I do have a sister but she’s 9 years older than me so when I a kid she was practically a grown up. So she doesn't count*. 


* Not that she doesn't count, but she doesn't count in the context of this story. 

The Visitor - Part 2

(part one is here)

This time, I’m ready for him.

Open the door even before he raises his hand to knock.

He tips his hat, ever polite,

“Been expecting me?“ he says.

Just a flicker of amusement crosses his face

I silently gesture him in; his drink, already poured, sits at the table.

As he takes his seat he shoots me a cautionary glance; “You seem different.”

“That’s because I am.” I shrug,

“I have realized that I can’t beat you.”

“No matter how fast I run, you will always be there waiting for me at the finish line.”

He says nothing. Merely raises a questioning eyebrow.

I shrug again, resignedly,

“It’s over. You’ve won. I’m done fighting.”

Silence.

I pour my own drink. Raise the glass.

“To you, the victor.” I say mockingly.

He doesn’t move; waits till I gulp down two thirds of my drink.

Finally, leans over, face inches from mine.

I can smell him. He smells of memories.

“Giving up is not how you face reality” He says, softly.

“Accept. Then do what you can to make reality work for you.”

Maybe he doesn’t speak at all, maybe I just hear his voice in my head

He gets up, tosses his drink back, and once again he’s the suave stranger

He nods at me “be seeing you”.

Places his empty glass on the table, walks out the door.

And I? I sit there and wait for my next guest

The one whom they say waits for no man.

The Visitor

This is it, I’m done

Close the book start again

Wait for the off chance that I might be proven wrong

Hold my breath? not that stupid my friend

Reality comes a banging

Beating on the door

Reluctantly let him in, offer him a drink

He puts his feet up on my coffee table

Sips his G & T and gives me a wry grin

Beaten again? He asks in that snide way of his

I shake my head, offer him a coaster

Not this time I say, I haven’t fallen down yet

You were here when it started

We made the bargain

I don’t need you here smirking with your offering of pity

There’s the door, see yourself out

I gesture with my head

He puts his drink down, spares me a smile

I’ll be back says he, doffing his hat

You’ll be seeing me when you admit the truth to yourself

Then he’s gone, the ice still melts in his drink

I sit where he sat, waiting for the knocking to start again

Conversations with myself - part 1

“What’s wrong”, I ask myself.

“I’m not quite sure” I answer. “There’s this pent up raw mass of emotional impedimenta just waiting to get out”.

“Oh, is that it?” I say, “why didn’t you say so? And why couldn’t you use simpler words? Seriously, raw mass of emotional impedimenta? Why couldn’t you just say I feel kinda fucked up? That explains the situation just as well”.

“Well,” I reply, having thought about it for while, “it just sounds more potent, put like that y’know? It makes me sound deep”.

“Makes you sound like a proper twat it does” I say, sneeringly.

“Fine fine, I admit it. I do tent to overuse the language a bit. But sometimes when what I need to say has to be veiled so that the people they’re intended for don’t get it, it has to be done”.

“Hmmm. I get what you mean. But when you talk to me, I would appreciate you ditching the flowery language – just say it like it is, no need to gift wrap it”.

I smile.

I Return the smile.

“Anyway, so that’s how it is. Do you think it’ll get better anytime soon?”

“I dunno”, I reply. “But here’s the thing, as long as you continue to be this self absorbed you wont be doing anyone any good”.

“I know. And I’m going to drag myself out of this. Soon. I have to.”

“You will.” I say, understanding full well what I’m talking about. “Sometimes you need to be a little self indulgent and wallow. It’s all part of the process.”

“It just sucks, y’know.”

“I know.”

I sit back, feeling slightly better for the conversation, the company and the realization that no matter what, I can always count on myself to dig me out of whatever hole I’m in.