In which I get terribly confused and lament my lost youth...
It's been ages since I thought about writing anything down. And for the solo (or maybe two or three readers, because thank you siblings) set of eyes joining my adventures, be warned: I shall fill this blog with the most mundane and everyday happenings of my not-exciting life.
Avert your eyes should boring blog posts fill you with despair.
That warning made, I was prompted to put some words down because something happened two weeks ago that made me simultaneously sad, flattered and ultimately confused. I was crossing the street to get to my bus-stop when this council van says hello to me. I mumbled hi in return. Quick glance up in case I know the person (never, not in 14 years as an immigrant anyway) and saw the driver was some guy. I figured, oh, OK, maybe he knows some black girl who wears glasses, right,.....then he pulls a move straight out of creepy-older-married man-perving-on-16-year-old-me-in-school-uniform by proceeding to slowly drive and then stop directly opposite me by the bus stop. Cue holding up traffic for a good 20 seconds while he stared and I very fixedly looked hard into the distance.....
Friends and neighbours, a man perving on me in the street hasn't happened in donkey years. And I was wearing my boring work trousers and grey shapeless winter jacket, so my first (flattered) thought was, gosh, I've still got it, swiftly followed by (sadly), this dude has me mixed up with someone, and boy, has it been THAT long since I got random male attention that some grubby looking randomer should make me feel flattered? Then confusion as I realised the guy was being creepy and I just wanted him to eff off as he was holding up my bus, which I could see 6 cars behind him....
You see, once upon a time, in the arrogance of being a teenager, some guy stopping to ask if I needed a lift was only irritating. For some reason, I guess school uniforms really bring out the creeps and even at 14, I'd ask if his wife also wanted a lift! Once, (this was much later, I wasn't 14!) walking home from college, I accepted a "lift" only for the guy to ask me on the inevitable date. So I figured, what the hell and cue a few days later and a flimsy excuse to the parents, he picked me up for an afternoon meet-up. Can I say, it's amazing what the mind remembers. He was a real gent, opened the car door for me, very polite, but the minute I got in the car and had a good look at him, it was always going to go south. For starters, I'd broken my own rule about lifts from guys. Secondly, looking at him without the sun in my eyes he looked (to my then 18 year old self) an ancient 30.... He suggested going to a popular drinking spot, so I hastily said I had to be home in an hour and he gave me such a sad look. He just wanted to get a drink somewhere nice. After making sure I had taxi money in my purse in case it all went bad, I said OK (ah, youth) and dude was true to his word, we went (where I'd have been in trouble had anyone who knew my parents spotted me) and.....had two cokes.
He then proceeded to put me off strange lifts for life by eating the groundnuts and crisps that came with the Cokes with his mouth open....and also bore me off by talking about his business and then confessing randomly in the middle of my boredom about his 7 year old child with some girl who cared about very much even though he didn't get on with their mother. Yeah. At that point I figured, I'm too young and green for this meeting strangers adventure.
Now unfortunately for me, and I confess this freely, I've been programmed to automatically be deferential to elders. This is generally OK, especially when dealing with cranky older people where it can soften things, but it also means I struggle to be assertive when someone's older. In this lost afternoon date, it means that this guy thought by taking me to see his business, I'd be impressed. I couldn't say no (curse that respect thing) and he diligently swung by his offices in town (with no traffic in Lusaka so you can tell how long ago this was), where my presence gave some gossip to his secretary and the other person there whose gender I can't even remember.
Funny, I was obviously a kid compared to this guy. He must have been looking for a wife, showing off his business, talking about his child to a girl he just met. Or maybe he just wanted to see if I'd be up for some fun, who knows, I certainly didn't get confused or flustered like I did two weeks ago. Naw, I was miss cool cat, thinking in my youthful arrogance that unsolicited male attention would forever be mine.. Lol
The date ended with him asking for my number (the days before the whole world had phones or social media) so I said, no I don't think my parents would like that (house line) and I didn't think it was a good idea to meet again.
He wasn't happy but didn't push it. Maybe he had other girls lined up, but I prefer to think he was just a gent. A gent with poor table manners and very boring but a gent.
Hmm, I just wrote an entire blog about a 2-hour date I had when I was 18!
And that's pretty much how I realised how freaking long its been since then.
I sure don't get any attention these days. And certainly not with kids fighting and a bored teenager at my side.
I wouldn't dream of taking a random chance like that these days (as if I'd get the opportunity), but I wouldn't mind that 18 year old body again, as my busted knees remind me only too often of how much older I am.
But I'll take consolation that people in work genuinely thought I was 26! Haha hoho.
That week I also took
Tuesday, 10 April 2018
Friday, 22 November 2013
Words.
I find it difficult to write.
In this I am joined by countless others, but I find it frustrating, irritating and it maddens me that it's such a slow process to solidify my thoughts when words have kept me sane at some of my lowest points. I hate that even looking at a blank page immediately gets that old sinking feeling going - and I absolutely love words. All of them, from funny sounding English ones like pugnacious to Tonga words like "mujungwishi". Words have been the background to my life, from the ones that shaped me, to the ones that allowed me an escape, every time the world became hard to live with. I travelled, opened my mind, learnt about the mundane, the fantastic, the extraordinary from the words I read. I could be anyone, become anything, do anything and all before dinner time in the books I read, and yet for all those words floating in me, it's a battle making my own. I envy those people that can make songs from words. Alright, I envy a lot of talents that others have, but this is the only one that I know I have no natural talent for and yet is the one I would like most.
But this isn't supposed to be a self-pitying moan, although I did begin this way. It's supposed to be about letting the other voice(es) speak.I'll say this - to give a voice to my dark half is what this blog is supposed to be for, and yes, I do think of George Stark* when I say this. Would I like a smidgeon of the talent Mr. King has? Yup, but even more I would like to sing my songs the way Pat Conroy does. I remember reading "The Prince of Tides" at 13 (completely inappropriate of course) and raving to my older sister about the book I thought it was so touching. I re-read it in my 20s and was horrified to realise that touching feeling was actually self-recognition in the Wingo children. This was around the time I began to internally voice I had a problem. That I was damaged, broken somehow, and didn't know where, I only knew I was. And yes, others are damaged, others manage to rise, but for me, the realisation that there is this thundercloud, this deep purple, this dark half in me, has taken me almost 10 years to realise. How's that for self awareness?
And every time the clouds close over me, it is a song trying to break free. Some of this music is awful, hateful, and some the sad low notes of loneliness, but each piece sung is one more that I have let free, one more no longer making it's music inside. And if I can capture it, trap it in words physical, then it may still have the power to hurt, but maybe, just maybe, it will be one less bind to that spiralling feeling of helplessness when the storms break.
Has much changed since I started to come to all these self absorbed realisations? And they are, terribly, lamentably self absorbed, but then depression is selfish.....and often self absorbed! So the answer is not really. I live, laugh, wonder at my children, delight in the marvels of science, and make my way, breathing in and out. And through it all the current of dark, a twisting of hate - the purple and I have our show-downs, our ignores, our little victories in this never-ending relationship.
It's a work in progress, but I like to think that it's one that I am slowly mastering, every time I let the words free.
* "The Dark Half" - Stephen King (NEL) 1989
In this I am joined by countless others, but I find it frustrating, irritating and it maddens me that it's such a slow process to solidify my thoughts when words have kept me sane at some of my lowest points. I hate that even looking at a blank page immediately gets that old sinking feeling going - and I absolutely love words. All of them, from funny sounding English ones like pugnacious to Tonga words like "mujungwishi". Words have been the background to my life, from the ones that shaped me, to the ones that allowed me an escape, every time the world became hard to live with. I travelled, opened my mind, learnt about the mundane, the fantastic, the extraordinary from the words I read. I could be anyone, become anything, do anything and all before dinner time in the books I read, and yet for all those words floating in me, it's a battle making my own. I envy those people that can make songs from words. Alright, I envy a lot of talents that others have, but this is the only one that I know I have no natural talent for and yet is the one I would like most.
But this isn't supposed to be a self-pitying moan, although I did begin this way. It's supposed to be about letting the other voice(es) speak.I'll say this - to give a voice to my dark half is what this blog is supposed to be for, and yes, I do think of George Stark* when I say this. Would I like a smidgeon of the talent Mr. King has? Yup, but even more I would like to sing my songs the way Pat Conroy does. I remember reading "The Prince of Tides" at 13 (completely inappropriate of course) and raving to my older sister about the book I thought it was so touching. I re-read it in my 20s and was horrified to realise that touching feeling was actually self-recognition in the Wingo children. This was around the time I began to internally voice I had a problem. That I was damaged, broken somehow, and didn't know where, I only knew I was. And yes, others are damaged, others manage to rise, but for me, the realisation that there is this thundercloud, this deep purple, this dark half in me, has taken me almost 10 years to realise. How's that for self awareness?
And every time the clouds close over me, it is a song trying to break free. Some of this music is awful, hateful, and some the sad low notes of loneliness, but each piece sung is one more that I have let free, one more no longer making it's music inside. And if I can capture it, trap it in words physical, then it may still have the power to hurt, but maybe, just maybe, it will be one less bind to that spiralling feeling of helplessness when the storms break.
Has much changed since I started to come to all these self absorbed realisations? And they are, terribly, lamentably self absorbed, but then depression is selfish.....and often self absorbed! So the answer is not really. I live, laugh, wonder at my children, delight in the marvels of science, and make my way, breathing in and out. And through it all the current of dark, a twisting of hate - the purple and I have our show-downs, our ignores, our little victories in this never-ending relationship.
It's a work in progress, but I like to think that it's one that I am slowly mastering, every time I let the words free.
* "The Dark Half" - Stephen King (NEL) 1989
Thursday, 31 October 2013
Happy New Year to Me!
I love October.
I'm an October baby, and I haven't looked forward to a birthday since I turned 18. The last time I remember feeling even remotely excited about a birthday was when I turned 8. I kid you not. I have a long memory.
So I turned the decade. Officially one-third through my life (or middle-aged, depending on which life expectancy chart you're looking at) and I made some new year resolutions.
A few weeks in and I am realising that a curious thing has happened to my resolve. It's gone all weird. The time when I would say - righty-ho, going to do a thing and it's done are gone. No questions, want something, get it. I guess there really is something in the "arrogance of youth". I'm no old hen but I am more cautious, less confident in my abilities, but then, I've also become more aware of what I really am good at (and procrastinating doesn't count, I've known that for years). Now I'm a little more realistic. Will isn't always everything. A darn good amount of luck and the right people in your life have a lot to do with it.
So today being the last day of October, and what I like to think of as my own special time, I decided it's time to recapture some of the magic I had at 15. The kind that said, sod it, I'll do it my way and be darn good at it. So I woke up, ran around after the kids, did what I have to do and opened a small door for myself. I forgot how good being independent makes me feel.
It made me think about the last 20 years - I'm getting better at dealing with who I am, but it made me miss the simplicity of my Octobers as a child.
When I'm in the Southern Hemisphere and it's 34 degrees outside I love nothing better than long hot lazy afternoons, grasshoppers singing outside and the sound of sprinklers on the lawn.
When I'm in the Northern Hemisphere, much as I hate the cold the sight of autumn leaves falling, wind sighing through the trees, lit fires and apples make being away from the heat just that little bit more bearable.
Plus I get to celebrate Halloween.
It's been a gradual build-up my celebrating Samhain. I love that I live in the birthplace of the festival, and the part of me that read stories of druids, banshees, were-wolves and Bram Stoker's Dracula is round eyed with excitement at being near it all. This year my son got to enjoy Halloween fully as he's finally completely aware of the history and significance of the dressing up and better - he got to enjoy it with friends, something we've been working on for a long time.
I don't think I could have asked for a better start to my new year.
I'm an October baby, and I haven't looked forward to a birthday since I turned 18. The last time I remember feeling even remotely excited about a birthday was when I turned 8. I kid you not. I have a long memory.
So I turned the decade. Officially one-third through my life (or middle-aged, depending on which life expectancy chart you're looking at) and I made some new year resolutions.
A few weeks in and I am realising that a curious thing has happened to my resolve. It's gone all weird. The time when I would say - righty-ho, going to do a thing and it's done are gone. No questions, want something, get it. I guess there really is something in the "arrogance of youth". I'm no old hen but I am more cautious, less confident in my abilities, but then, I've also become more aware of what I really am good at (and procrastinating doesn't count, I've known that for years). Now I'm a little more realistic. Will isn't always everything. A darn good amount of luck and the right people in your life have a lot to do with it.
So today being the last day of October, and what I like to think of as my own special time, I decided it's time to recapture some of the magic I had at 15. The kind that said, sod it, I'll do it my way and be darn good at it. So I woke up, ran around after the kids, did what I have to do and opened a small door for myself. I forgot how good being independent makes me feel.
It made me think about the last 20 years - I'm getting better at dealing with who I am, but it made me miss the simplicity of my Octobers as a child.
When I'm in the Southern Hemisphere and it's 34 degrees outside I love nothing better than long hot lazy afternoons, grasshoppers singing outside and the sound of sprinklers on the lawn.
When I'm in the Northern Hemisphere, much as I hate the cold the sight of autumn leaves falling, wind sighing through the trees, lit fires and apples make being away from the heat just that little bit more bearable.
Plus I get to celebrate Halloween.
It's been a gradual build-up my celebrating Samhain. I love that I live in the birthplace of the festival, and the part of me that read stories of druids, banshees, were-wolves and Bram Stoker's Dracula is round eyed with excitement at being near it all. This year my son got to enjoy Halloween fully as he's finally completely aware of the history and significance of the dressing up and better - he got to enjoy it with friends, something we've been working on for a long time.
I don't think I could have asked for a better start to my new year.
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