Loose Leaves

Dublin, Ireland

  • Ask Box

  • Au revoir?

    Today I lost a very dear friend, one who has been a part of my life for over four years now. Short though it may be, he has seen me through so many highs and lows, and despite my occasional conniption fits and physical abuse, he has never threatened to leave my side. He was a strong one, very well-endowed, and I honestly loved him for everything he was.

    In return I have always been faithful, never lusting after another, although he was by no means the most beautiful of specimens. It’s an awful thing to say, but as familiarty entwined our relationship, I suppose he let himself go a little, and that was perfectly fine by me. It wasn’t a relationship without flaws, however, particularly in the beginning, but we were blissfully happy as of late, or so I thought.

    A couple of days ago something felt off, so I tried to get it off his chest and that was when he informed me that he had had enough and couldn’t take it any more. No words can express how furious I was but I wouldn’t accept it, there was simply no way that I could. Eventually we came to a compromise, just like we always do, and I promised I’d reconsider my priorities. I said, You don’t stop loving just because you have had enough. And so we carried on.

    This morning we took the bus together as usual, where we sat in silence as it drove off to our destination. His warm, chiseled body pressed against mine as I slept. One minute there were people going about their daily routines, music playing, and birds that seem to fly perpetually against the gloomy canvas that is the gray skies; the next a huge chunk of my world had fallen away into the unknown.

    Suddenly he couldn’t go on anymore, and I just sat there motionless in disbelief. I shook my head, all the while asking, Why, why, why? but he didn’t respond and just stared at me abstractedly with those sorrow-glazed eyes. No amount of pleading would change his mind, and now he’s gone for good. I feel like a lifeless, brittle eggshell where a chick eventually emancipates itself from.

    Throughout the day I desperately tried to make contact, to no avail. I listened to the radio while I cooked lunch that still lies untouched on my kitchen table, all in the name of trying to ease the sense of futility that had taken over my life as I once knew it, rather than be alone with my thoughts. But still, my mind wandered.

    I considered calling a friend for a bit of advice, but I resolved to go through it on my own. Like the fishing vessels on Deadliest Catch that I so often catch on television, I, too, can make it to the end of this season.

    Right now I sit here in the dim light of my halogen lamp, reading a book as a temporary antidote. Not giving up hope, I try to resurrect his lifeless body underneath my pillow every once in a while. And I cry.

    Sweet iPod, please be ok?

    the manic street preacher

    A few days ago I was waiting to meet someone outside the Central Bank of Ireland and there was this man, he was pacing the pavements in his bare feet and had some garda (police) crime scene tape wrapped around his head, plus he was yelling at a bunch of strangers so my first impression of him was that he was daft, a Jesus freak or a panhandler at least, the kind you usually avoid eye contact with. But I looked at him and held his gaze for about ten minutes and listened.

    "I got kicked out of my apartment last night just because I caught my girlfriend cheating. See I didn’t do anything wrong but I ended up getting kicked out into the street to freeze, and I was forced to spend the night outdoors. I’m supposed to have too much dignity to admit that I spent a night in the streets. People judged me; people saw me sitting on the street today and think I’m this or that but they don’t know nothing about me…

    God loves you, Jesus loves you… that doesn’t mean a thing. Who cares if God loves you or not, it’s not even important. I LOVE YOU! That’s what matters. I LOVE YOU. I was on the streets all day and these kids, man, these kids came up and gave me their change.

    It’s like this [pulls out two small curved pieces of cardboard from his pocket, one blue the other red, and holds them up]. You’re looking at these and you’re trying to figure out which one is bigger. Look up around you at all these signs and advertisements, they can sell you an alarm clock for thirty quid by putting it up on a billboard while you can get the exact same thing from sidestreet vendors for a tenner. Where does all that extra profit go? They’re the same thing. It’s an illusion. [Holds up the pieces of cardboard and places one over the other]. The red one appeared bigger but they’re the same size. You were trusting your eyes instead of what was really there, but the kids, man, they came up to me and gave me their change. I love the children. Have a great day.”

    Then he walks off.

    Nature’s Fruit Gums
When you crave juice but the large carton in the fridge shakes empty, don’t give up hope. There in the crisper looms a large box of mandarins, reach in through the netted plastic veil and lift one of these orange planets, and admire for a moment its perfect shape and colour, the phenotype of all phenotypes. Then dig your thumbnail under its crust and peel away tectonic plate by plate. Therein lies the pith, clinging to and dulling the glow of the flesh, like mist at sunrise. These cobwebs must be swept away. Gently tug and the vines will detach from the fruit like the world’s borders being drawn up and out of an atlas. It is a delicate task, removing the clinging veins without ripping through the organ’s flesh, but worth it for a smoother treat with less residual chewing. Orange you glad you did?

    Nature’s Fruit Gums

    When you crave juice but the large carton in the fridge shakes empty, don’t give up hope. There in the crisper looms a large box of mandarins, reach in through the netted plastic veil and lift one of these orange planets, and admire for a moment its perfect shape and colour, the phenotype of all phenotypes. Then dig your thumbnail under its crust and peel away tectonic plate by plate. Therein lies the pith, clinging to and dulling the glow of the flesh, like mist at sunrise. These cobwebs must be swept away. Gently tug and the vines will detach from the fruit like the world’s borders being drawn up and out of an atlas. It is a delicate task, removing the clinging veins without ripping through the organ’s flesh, but worth it for a smoother treat with less residual chewing. Orange you glad you did?

    Hello how do you do!

    So I’m back from my holiday and I’ve surely missed a lot of your wonderful writings, but I will be sure to check my dashboard regularly from now on and post some newer content. That is all. Goodnight lovelies! :-)

    GPOYW. She is obviously much older than  I am, but that only adds to her  mystique. I wonder what she has seen in the last thirty years. Perhaps  the pyramids of Giza; the face of a beautiful lover now long past his  youth,  or just an army of ants. I’m spending my time playing with her  knobs, clicks, and buttons. If there’s one thing she’ll teach me it’s patience, which I don’t have a lot of.

    GPOYW. She is obviously much older than I am, but that only adds to her mystique. I wonder what she has seen in the last thirty years. Perhaps the pyramids of Giza; the face of a beautiful lover now long past his youth, or just an army of ants.

    I’m spending my time playing with her knobs, clicks, and buttons. If there’s one thing she’ll teach me it’s patience, which I don’t have a lot of.

    busy

    The initial numbness upon returning to the Philippines has evaporated and I’ve been slapped with the emotional burden that has been suspending from the ceiling, waiting for me to come back and then bury me under itself. I have to admit it doesn’t affect me as much anymore, but argh, it’s so bloody annoying I almost wish I didn’t have a heart to feel anything. Numbness is supposed to be a defence mechanism. I kind of like that.

     Played:21

    Bright Eyes - If the Brakeman Turns My Way

    still alive, but I have a good reason to die today

    (Please don’t tell me if you do not care. My ego is frail.)

    There’s that fateful day when you turn 20. You’re not really that cool with the rest of the twenty-somethings because you haven’t yet earned the ‘something’, so anyone “above” you is still entitled to mistake you for a kid, yet many are willing to accept you and test your potential, and any guy over 25 is less paranoid about being accused of hunting jailbait (i.e., you) by his peers.

    I suppose I’ve grown even more contemplative than I used to be regarding these annual and slow albeit steady transitions into maturehood. Today I am one year closer to graduation, marriage, menopause, and even death. I’ve just spent the last half-hour coming up with good reasons to be 20. Not that I have any choices anymore, unless time were to somehow augment itself to go backwards by twelve months then do a kamikaze and remain there forever.

    Ah well. At least we’re all getting somewhere when we get older, it’s just that sometimes we lose so much more. Being 19 signified that fuzzy line between farting in public and covering my mouth when I burp; between wearing my converse sneakers and dress shoes; between laughing out loud and politely smiling. It meant that I could still be a kid but people would at least sigh and try to understand.

    Being 19 lets me recess into the maturity of a 12-year-old; being 20 means I have to start letting go of that, because by the time I’m 21 I can still be immature, but the consequences would be more drastic. There are loads of immature old people out there, but things like barely getting into a pub had this innocent thrill to it. Now it’s just old news.

    Perhaps I should stop living life in phases. First it was turning double digits: 12, 16, the painfully slow years to 18, and now it’s the slow trek to 21 before there truly is no more next phase to live for, apart from my money-providing, hot-car-flossing apathetic Irish husband or whoever I get chained up with. After a while, birthdays will stop mattering because I have to crank out some dinner for my kids. Could youth be a disease from which we all recover from? If that is indeed the case, then hold back my medicines, I don’t think I’ll need them just yet.

    The narrow shafts of light coming in through my venetian blinds drilled into my head that my existence is in question today. Play me my funeral song, pull the blanket over my head, and bury me next to my lost youth.

    On a brighter note, I’m one step closer to pulling off my dentures, wig, glass eye, and prosthetic limb, and really freaking the day lights out of the bloody kiddies.

     Played:10

    Portishead - Mysterons

    Write one leaf about the term “holier than thou.”

    (via writeoneleaf)

    I don’t think some people realise how potentially offensive it can be to tell a person (let’s call this gay friend of mine Mr X) to change his sexuality — even though Mr X is totally comfortable in his own skin — because other people aren’t. Why should anyone think that Mr X has an obligation to give a rat’s arse and justify his sexuality? Then again I’d been diagnosed with autism by one of my friends, so I guess I don’t have a real understanding of the way society works. It just amazes how people can be so self-absorbed.

    Hypothetically speaking, if you live in a society where majority of the population are homosexuals and you were one of the very few heterosexuals, would you feel pressured to change? I wonder how it would feel if someone came up to you and whispered furtively into your ear, ‘You should be gay. Being straight is not the righteous path.’ Imagine if the person had said it in such low surreptitious tones that suggest how thoroughly abashed he is to know that you are different. You would be his freaky friend, the freak story he shares with his posse and poke fun at, and as time ticks by you’d quietly accept that perhaps it would be easier to pretend; easier to find acceptance and marriage with a hope of love.