Change

Writing

I feel like I’m in such a weird space at present, no sooner have I moved flat than I’m trawling the jobboards of everything from Indeed.com to Craigslist (ok maybe not Craigslist).  Being a seasoned veteran on these job sites is not something I’m proud of, frequenting them so much that Google ads now pop up with ‘need a new job?’ as I’m downloading a voucher off Groupon for a pair of discounted leggings.

What’s going on with me?

I just have this inbuilt element of restlessness, like the kind you get when you sit on a computer chair for too long and your ass starts getting really itchy. I have to get up and move, find something different. I truly think there’s something not right with me, I honestly get bored of things too frequently and too quickly. Tell me I’m NOT the only one who feels this way?!

This attitude has seeped its way into every aspect of my life, from where I live to what I eat. I’m a glutenous pig for chips, but I just can’t stomach any other food item repeated more that twice in a row.

This element of ‘change’ has sprung to mind in more recent times as I think about how much change I’ve actually went through since moving to London. Change to me is like a flame to a moth, I’m attracted to it but with dangerous consequences.

Jobs, housing, hobbies, hair colour! I’ve done it all! I seriously ask myself if I’m having some sort of identity crisis, a quarter life breakdown, perhaps? But these frantic thoughts and feelings are swiftly pacified by a session of binge eating and multiple episodes of ‘Botched’. But  I guess you can only suppress your feelings for so long, sooner or later they creep back out from under the woodwork. Manifest themselves in mysterious ways. If you’ve ever found yourself getting annoyed at the checkout lady in the supermarket for not scanning through your groceries fast enough then maybe it’s actually a sign that you’re internally annoyed at yourself for something. or if you find yourself crying after impulsively ending the short life of a housefly which landed on your homemade Victoria sponge, maybe it’s time for some self-reflection.

At least this is what I’ve found in my own life, frustration in myself can wrongfully be taken out on those closest to me. One thing I get frustrated about is this sense that we have such little time on this planet and it’s as if I change what I’m doing a little too often because in some subconscious way I have massive fomo (fear of missing out). Life is short I want to try as much as I can, I guess. But is this really the best attitude to have?

There’s really no point getting worked up about time, I know that but sometimes you can’t help it. When you see people your age travelling or enjoying certain experiences you can’t help but wish you had those too, right? That’s why I think social media on the whole isn’t a good thing for people’s mental health. We are being bombarded by a plethora of photoshopped pictures, and rented out rich lifestyles. Photos and opinions are liked and disliked, all of it a facade at the end of the day.

Apologies, I feel like I’m going off on a bit of a tangent, I just wanted to share with you this element of change I’m going through currently. I wonder if I’m alone with this, or have you went through change as frequently as I?

I’ll leave this with you, the words of Greek Philosopher Heraclitus (terrible choice of name):

change is the only constant in life.”

 

 

 

 

An Evening Lit By Candlelight

Writing

It’s been a hot minute (I hate that term) since I’ve written anything mildly conducive to that of an Individual with half a brain cell..

I don’t know why but lately I’ve found it difficult being organised, finding time to post anything. I’ve found it difficult feeling fulfilled. So much so that I’ve perhaps exchanged the time dedicated to blogging to doing ‘other things ‘ which may have promise of filling this void of unfulfillment.

So last week I told myself I would try some new things. But one thing I didn’t expect to do was

Grieve. In public.

A friend of mine lost her father earlier this year and invited me to attend a grieving event in London the Sunday just passed. I can’t deny that I was apprehensive to attend. I thought grief was an emotion shown only to your closest of family members, not strangers seated before a candlelit table, but as the experience taught me, sometimes strangers can offer a support of their own in a profound way.

Ofcourse hindsight is a beautiful thing, because prior to the event I was truly afraid incase it would leave me with an overbearing feeling of sadness. A selfish thing to say, I know. But there’s a reason why grieving events aren’t as popular as club nights, I’m sure we can all agree on this. At the same time I was fearful that I may not connect enough, and show a lacking depth of emotion.

Regardless of my internally antagonistic thoughts which churned almost as aggressively as the butterflies in my queasy stomach, I attended.

On arrival I had anticipated an event somewhat structured like that of an alcoholics anonymous session, yet it was far from that. Held in a room not big enough to swing a cat in, attached by a tiny corridor to the rest of the building which took the form of a boisterously bustling bar. Quite a dissimilar fit I thought as I was greeted at the door of this tiny corridor by the friendly faced event organiser. 

 

Entering the room as a latecomer, my friend and I sat in the remaining two chairs at a table already occupied by eight. All women, no men. Which was something quite resonating and sad in itself. I took a seat and looked around at the faces, and was met with a mixture of emotions, from sadness to restraint.

We took it in turn sharing stories of the people close to us who we had lost, I found it a bit too much at times to be honest. Without delving too deep, witnessing the tellings of stories of battles with long term illnesses and overdoses was a sobering experience. Sitting in this little room lit by candlelight, the soft glow emphasising the pained expressions of the women in attendance. The atmosphere was vulnerable and heavy and raw.

I came away from the evening thinking of how we all live in our own little bubbles and sometimes think that we are the only ones going through troubles, that dark times just aren’t as dark for others as they are for us. But that Sunday evening proved to me that this just isn’t the case. 

I’m not saying that it’s a good thing that you or I are not the only ones suffering in the world but what I am saying is that there’s a relatability and with this comes shared understanding and support if needed. If you are facing a challenging time in your life, chances are someone else is too. And what we find is talking outward about an issue is always healthier than internalizing it. 

I thought I would come out of the grieving event on a low and I did temporarily due to the nature of the event but on the whole I came away taking with me a sense that everyone has ups and downs in life and that support is there for you. You really aren’t alone. 

 

 

 

 

Animal Instincts

Writing

If you could choose to be any animal in the world, which would you choose to be?

 

This thought sprung to mind as I watched my sister’s cat lick her wounds in a state of a pure delusion. The 5 year old tabby was shell shocked moments after being bitten in the spine by the obese feline that lives in number 22.  It looks like it’s popped out 20 kittens in the last month, and is up the duff yet again with 20 more due late October by the way its stomach scrapes against the concrete as it ambushes our innocent housecat less than half its size atleast twice a day. 

Cats are interesting to watch, agile, independent, yet fight more than heavyweight champions, and for that reason I would have to pass on the potential of being a pussy for the day.

selective focus photography of sphinx cat lying on bedspread

Photo by наталья семенкова on Pexels.com

What about man’s best friend? I think being a dog would be fun, ofcourse it would depend on what breed you were born as. If I came back to this planet as a pug I’m f*cked, give me a German Shepherd anyday. No offense, but I quite like the idea of breathing and eating my food without the hazard of choking on every bite thanks to a muzzle that looks like it’s been hit with a spade. As tempting as a dog’s life is, do I like the idea of getting spayed or neutered, not really. Do I like the idea of being left at home or in the garden for hours on end, maybe not. Having some other mutt sniff my ass on the routine stroll around the block? Eh, what do you think?

adorable animal breed canine

And don’t get me started on the rodents, gerbil dads are known to get peckish and prey on their offspring as a bit of a midnight snack. Well, atleast, this is the case according to an old school friend who by all means woke to hear the sounds of crunching in the gerbil family residence next to her bed. On turning the bedroom light on to her horror the dad gerbil had one of the gerbil babies legs hanging out of its mouth, with the rest of the baby have way through his colon. An image which fails to free itself from my mind’s eye.

brown wooden mouse trap with cheese bait on top

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

An animal group which is a popular choice for reincarnation is the birds of prey. This makes sense, with our unwavering interest in what it must feel like to catch air currents over the Grand Canyon or just to levitate to the shop to pick up the milk. I get this feeling too. But bird babies are kind of gross looking, so if I was a bird parent I’d be throwing the baby out the nest pronto which isn’t great. 

tilt shift photography of birds

Photo by 42 North on Pexels.com

I guess I’ll come back as a………

Poem – I Will Remember

Writing

Entangled in a web of grief,

Spiralling out of control.

Swig a bottle of cyanide, should I?

To let the pain mellow?

 

I couldn’t bear to bring myself,

To meet such ill a fate.

Instead I took a sip once more,

Of lemon and ginger ale.

 

I sip and reminisce,

 Of how life used to be.

When we would pick the daisies,

Beneath  the cherry trees.

 

I remember when you would hold my hand.

And tell me you’d never let go.

Your warm breath against my cheek,

Almost as warm as your smile, it glowed.

 

Forever I will love you,

Forever you shall be missed.

Heaven will always have taken you, 

Too early for me to accept.

If only God knew the pain I felt,

Then the angels would truly have wept.

 

Life – is but a fragile thing.

So precious, so easily lost.

If I could pray for just one thing,

It would be for you to come back to my arms. 

 

A close friend of mine recently lost her Father, he passed away while they were on family holiday. I dedicate this poem to her.

Poem: Time

Writing

We think about the future,

So that we can enjoy its ‘present’.

But like a dollar bill drifting in the wind.

We never do quite catch it.

 

We worry that it’s not on our side.

Like it’s going by too quickly.

Asking ‘where does it fly’?

 

Time – isn’t it a peculiar concept?

Does it exist or does it not?

As humans have we just ‘created’ it?

Or is it time that created us?

 

We can’t rewind the clocks,

And we certainly can’t speed them up.

Why don’t we just get lost in the moment?

And not worry about the time that we’ve lost?

 

5 People To Avoid at the 24/7 petrol station:

Writing

We’ve all been in this position, you’re travelling late at night, maybe coming back from the airport or from burying your noisy neighbour once and for all, when you suddenly get a little peckish. Pulling over to the nearest fuel station seems like the wisest thing to do and you begin dismounting your 4 by 4 truck as you wipe off the last remaining wheat field sediment from your brand new Levi’s.

Upon entering the shop you are hit with the stark realisation that things just don’t seem right. You only came in for a snickers and a bread roll but instead you meet the gaze of these 5 freaks below:

  1. Microwave Meal Guy

Not that there’s anything particularly wrong with microwave meals but you know if you see someone with a basket stocked sky-high with readymade roast dinners and lasagnes, they’re either lazy af or mentally unstable. Probably an equal measure of both. Don’t you know how to cut a bloody vegetable?!

  1. The Exhausted Single Mum

Feeding 5 kids as a single parent isn’t easy, and doesn’t it show on the face of Sandra. 3/5 Kids have developed some midnight cravings, and Sandy, being the natural night-owl that she is, decides to indulge in her kids requests for pizzas, pop tarts and chocolate ice cream at 1am in the morning. Help her find the reduced in price curly fries please.

  1. The ‘Checkout’ Guy

Don’t bend down for the washing detergent to swiftly or you’ll find the watchful eye of the hormonal adolescent upon you. Really they should be at home playing Call of Duty but their parents thought it much wiser to have them bleep through beer cans and packs of tobacco in the wee hours of the morning to learn some sense of ‘responsibility’.

  1. The Guy That Stocks The Shelves

Look at him the wrong way and you’re getting stocked in the freezer next to the frozen petis pois that’s all I will say.

  1. The Serial Killer

Murdering people is heavy work, and sometimes a Happy meal just doesn’t suffice, you’ll always find them lurking near the Twinkie aisle with a hand full of bleach and marigolds in one hand, and a packet of beef jerky in the other. Quickly, give him the secret handshake, grab your soft mints and get out!

Poem: A Human

Writing

A Human

A subatomic bunch of laughter and woes,

From our nose down to our toes,

We either grimace or glow.

Why are we here on this planet of blue sea and earth?

Does it own us?

Or do we own the world?

Brief is the time we get to embrace it.

You blink your eye,

and it’s gone, you’ve missed it.

Decades of memories have gone, they’ve passed.

All that’s now left,

a subatomic mass within grass.

 

How morbid am I?! Although it’s true, life is so precious because it’s so short. So as Horace so eloquently put it ‘carpe diem’!

 

 

Poem: Rorrim

Writing

 

I control you.

From the cradle to the grave, I will own you.

You can smell me, hold me, taste me,

lose me.

Yet you cannot refrain from the goal to retain me.

You lie to everyone about me,

conduct deceitful acts to earn me,

learn for me, learn from me,

either way, like it or not, you yearn for me.

I am inanimate.

Yet cause you such animation.

Cause corruption and celebration.

You collapse and I spare you.

If luck promises this truth,

I provide the means needed to feed you.

And ask not to whom may this be repayable to?

Yet you still are oblivious to my deeds.

 

You gaze upon me in awe,

via those rose-tinted glasses.

Can you not feel the thorns?

I mesmerize you with every move,

captivate you all too soon.

But you abuse my power.

You twist it.

To capitalize on your venture,

to indoctrinate your peers,

have them rely on fear,

that they will lose me.

I will only go

when a lack of esteem starts to show.

 

Time cannot keep me from you.

You cannot keep me from you.

You are afraid that I may leave your side.

And when I do, you may run and hide.

But do not do so forever.

For to give up on me,

is a battle already lost,

and I will disappear as if merely a ghost.

But stay faithful to me,

and just wait and see.

As things aren’t always what they seem to be.

When I find you, do not be alarmed.

For I am unarmed, unharmed, I am charmed.

 

For it will be pleasant,

to be in the presence of such elegance.

I can blossom or dismantle you,

the choice is my command.

But you may be unlike any other man?

Who had tried to deceit, inflict and conflict me.

          But when all is done, the power will come back to me,

to ordain how your life is planned.

Do you not know who I am?

The aim of the poem is to maintain the reader’s curiosity, and keep them guessing as to what the abject/ topic of the poem is based upon. The poem begins by making the audience assume that the poem is describing money/wealth, the poem then transcends into depicting beauty and the ideas and pressures of beauty pushed by the media, before entering the combined domain of health and aging.

The overall concept and ending finalized question of the piece “Do you not know who I am?” leaves the reader wondering and desiring to know what the root of the poem is hinting at.

The answer is that the poem is a reflection of you. Whatever topic the reader / you associated most greatly with, will be what you then think is the final answer as to what the poem is based on.

The title of the poem – ‘Rorrim’ is actually the word mirror reflected, to subtly hint that the poem is in fact a reflection of each of our own individual unique desires and fears: money, beauty, aging and death.