A lot of things are opinion. Subjective. In this era, there has developed a line between facts and feelings that shouldn’t be there to start with. And that line’s gotten blurred and grey, so people don’t really differentiate anymore. I like to keep it real. Grey areas offend me. The fact is that feelings and opinions are like souls, everyone has them. But that doesn’t imply value. Or even validity. Mine might even count for less. But since this is the internet, and everyone has a free pass to spout out all the shit they can express in ones and zeros, here’s my load.
Liv started from sleep with a grunt as the loud alarm clock let out a shrill beep three times showing five am on the screen. She reached across and pressed snooze. Turning over, she stretched within the delicious warmth of her covers, stilling a bit as sleep seeped into her senses again. She sat up in a slow daze, throwing the covers aside. Why did it always feel like moving a boulder, getting up in the morning? She swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, rubbing her eyes and scratching her hair. Dragging her feet, she went to the bathroom, toothpasted her toothbrush and undressed for the shower. Naked, toothbrush in hand and hair covered, she went under the spray of nearly too hot water, and stood there, brushing her teeth. The water felt like a benediction for leaving the warmth of her bed at this sacrilegious hour. Gazing listlessly at the floor, water slid down her body as she scrubbed them. When she was satisfied she rinsed her mouth and then the brush, then threw that back on the sink. Continue reading “Toddlers, Bis and Midgets.”
I’ve always wanted to start a writing and make it feel like how the Hungarian Rhapsody 2 sounds. Dramatic, and kingly, yet seductive as it continues. Reflective as it passes the threshold of your brain. Telling you sweet little stories of gay adventures and the part their mistresses played. And what satisfying, happy endings they had. You can just imagine their flighty journeys through terrible countries and dangerous peoples. How they braved all that for the sake of glory and renown. In your shoes that looks perfectly acceptable and very much a desirable thing to endure. You’d be right. Except that you aren’t in their shoes. You’re in yours. Which are warm and comfortable and trusty. No irksome little stones at the corners picking at your toes. And they fit you well so the top edges round back don’t pinch the skin above your heel. They don’t have holes at the front where your toes peek out and the water seeps in. They don’t have sand in them to remind you of fairer and finer places you left behind. Continue reading “Poodles and Boobs”
Like most places, I think I’ve come to believe, you have to be there to experience it. Like nothing really authentically describes how it was, or how you felt, being there at that time. It’s like touching air or feeling your heart racing in there. I’m coming off sounding like I was just on the moon. No. It’s not the barren majesty of the heavens. It’s incredibly full of life and you see it for miles. You can feel it in the earth beneath your feet, giving way under them because there’s just been a good soaking. You can smell it in the air because one of the cows has just dropped a load, and the wind has ruffled the pine trees. Leaves are falling. You can taste it in the water that gushes unheeded below you from one of the many hills on which you’re standing. The steady, hypnotic flow of it is something one can sit there and listen to as you stare off into the distance. There are little green shrubs and tall trees; mud and grass thatched huts that you can see, dotting the hills. Far away the heads of herds are bent to the dark green ground and the apex of the hills have lone trees against a background of blue and white. The sound of what could be a giant saw comes at you from a distance as you look at the terrains with precise demarcations of jade and brown. You smell wood smoke. Continue reading “Highlands and Slutty Crickets”
The three of us were very active after school. Meeting in the CBD, going to each other’s
places and hanging out, letting one another know when we got out first personal phones. We kept in touch real good. I even went over to RayRay’s campus one time and slept over.
I can’t, however, tell you when we started to drift. Or how. I had long lost touch with
Constance. She lived the furthest out of the three of us. It was hard to get her to come out. I remember this one time I found her in the CBD, I was so excited I left my family to go talk to her in the middle of the street for more than half an hour. My mom chewed me up and spit me out for days because of that. But that was the last time I ever had a
real conversation with Constance.Continue reading “Raylin – Part 3”
Time went by and the pressures of school became very familiar burdens. I stopped feeling lonesome, and I knew it was because of the books. I looked forward to each new story with boundless urgency. Everyone who’s ever read a book they enjoyed can tell you how satisfying it is to forget for a moment who and where you are, what you’ve been doing or where you’ve been. And get lost in a completely different time and place.
I don’t really remember how we started talking. I just found us there. We had a mutual friend. The girl on the top bunk next to me. I guess some geekiness was displayed and acknowledged, and we moved from there. This girl we shall call Constance. She was a little tall and spoke very well. Everyone spoke well except me. Dark in complexion with clear brown eyes, but a little on the quiet side too. The three of us became a thing. We even got those old photos they take of Seniors when they are doing the final exams about to finish school. It was pretty. You either found one with the other, or all three of us together at any given moment. Continue reading “Raylin – Part 2”
We slept in the same dorm room. It was a comfortable little structure, with wooden beams across the open ceiling, supporting the aluminium roof, which was red with rust and housing small birds. There were four double-decker beds on each long side of the wall, and one window fronted with grills. The walls were light blue. So was the door and the one window, as was the wont in high school dormitories. She slept on the left side near the exit, I slept further in, on the right, near the window. She was built squat, with a cheery smile and an open face. Fairly along in physical development. Unlike some of us who looked like we never even heard of that bus. But we didn’t become friends until Form 3.
I was painfully bad at social interactions. It was very difficult for me to carry on a typical one on one with just about anyone. I had crippling social anxiety. One that you couldn’t hide it felt like a built-in warning on my head. I was so quiet even I wondered what was wrong with me. She, on the other hand, was something of a loud mouth. She never ran out of things to say she spoke a mile a minute. As I watched from the side, I used to sigh and think about how I could never feel any pressure to go back and forth in conversation with her. Not with a mouth like that. My role would be to listen. And I had that skill in spades. Could do that without even thinking. Continue reading “RAYLIN”