Saturday, November 15, 2014

RIP Matthew

My cousin killed himself on Sunday.
Mum called me as I was going into my drum lesson on Monday. The first thing I thought after hanging up was “Should I still take my lesson”?
I walked in, told my instructor I’d have to cancel, paid for my upcoming lessons - all the time thinking “This is a pain, I’ve been practicing hard all week - I really had the part I was working out sussed”.
Obviously mentally I was pretty fucked up .

This week was also the one where I found out if I was successful in my new job. Frankly with all this going on I was thinking that redundancy and a trip home for Christmas would have fitted the bill perfectly.
Instead I find myself here on Saturday night- job secured - working on a funeral slideshow; 4 minutes and 29 seconds of life, for a life that is no more.

Initially, after the shock of it all abated slightly, I thought i’d be fine. I didn’t know Matthew that well - I was always closer to his sister Toni. For the last few days I’ve been helping where I can - It never feels like its enough.
It’s never enough.

As the week has wore on I I’ve become more despondent - tired in a way no amount of sleep can counter. But this isn’t about me.
He was obviously unhappy - people around him unaware. He was a perfectionist, perhaps only happy when he had a project or plan to work toward.
Oblivious to everyone but himself, he pushed away those he was closest to, before leaving entirely.

I’m sure if he knew the carnage he’s left behind, the suffering that will will eventually become his legacy, he would have chosen another path. 
Perhaps a path where he would have asked for help, a path with a happier ending, a path leading anywhere but a funeral home this coming Monday.
But I know now he couldn’t rationalise that.

I wonder how I’m supposed to learn from all this? 
Should I be working at being happier? Should I be less stubborn ? (can I be less stubborn)?
Should I somehow cut the ties that bind me to NFG ?- can I even do that? I don’t think I can.
Fuck it.

Regardless, It seems to be in poor taste to make this all about me. 
No matter how bad or sad this all makes me feel, I realise it’s a multitude of times worse for my cousin and my aunt. 
And knowing I just can’t make it right - just makes it harder to stomach.
But I’ll do what I can to learn from this, and help those around me. Be more aware.
And that can be his legacy to me.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Birthday Cake



A journey to a destination unknown, however long, is still a journey – is it not? 
Is it possible that it is the journey alone that matters?

I care not.

I do not know what awaits me at my destination. I am not a planner, but in some ways I could be the antithesis. For I know what I don’t want.

Cake.

Ok – I lied. Everyone likes cake – and those that do not, simply cannot be trusted. It crumbles they may cry in defiance – they will claim they’re biscuit people, expecting me to believe in their twaddle. But they are wrong – they believe in nothing – for there is only cake – or no cake at all.

In the beginning I did not understand cake, but those with older wiser heads than mine nodded, and said nothing. The truth would come – as it does to all of us in the end.

When I saw cake as it truly was for the first time, I loved it for what it was, but like so much cake before it, an asshole I knew stole it from my grasp, while I was out of town on my Christmas holiday. But that was a Christmas cake – and a story for another day.

So many (many) years later, I look at Cake with a fond heart, but no stomach for it’s empty promises of fulfillment.

I’ve seen the cake that’s bad for you; the cake that you devour and instantly regret. I’ve watched cake spoil – left too long unattended to the elements. I’ve seen cake that costs too much, and delivers far too little.

There are too many to count. And I do not count.

Cake is for optimists, Cake is for dreamers. Cake is not for those who calculate, or those who attempt to curry their favours. (Curry is a condiment you see).

Cake is a young persons crumpet, or perhaps more correctly, Cake is for the young of heart.

Cake is not for the old. Cake is for the bold.

Today I find myself thinking of Cake – perhaps the most rare cake of all. Perhaps only a promise of a Cake yet to be, waiting for the right combination of ingredients come together, to make a sum better than its parts.


And today of all days, my love - may your birthday cake be a good one .

Monday, May 19, 2014

True story

[posted from Tumblr]

I saw this elderly gentleman dining by himself, with an old picture of a lady in front of him. I though maybe I could brighten his day by talking to him. As I had assumed, she was his wife. But I didn’t expect such an interesting story. They met when they were both 17. They dated briefly, then lost contact when he went to war and her family moved. But he said he thought about her the entire war. After his return, he decided to look for her. He searched for her for 10 years and never dated anyone. People told him he was crazy, to which he replied “I am. Crazy in love”. On a trip to California, he went to a barber shop. He told the barber how he had been searching for a girl for ten years. The barber went to his phone and called his daughter in. It was her! She had also been searching for him and never dated either.

He proposed immediately and they were married for 55 years before her death 5 years ago. He still celebrates her birthday and their anniversary. He takes her picture with him everywhere and kisses her goodnight.Some inspiring things he said; I was a very rich man. Not with money, but with loveI never had a single argument with my wife, but we had lots of debates. People are like candles. At any moment a breeze can blow it out, so enjoy the light while you have it. Tell your wife that you love her everyday. And be sure to ask her, have I told you that I love you lately?

Be sure to talk to the elderly. Especially strangers. You may think that you will brighten their day, but you may be surprised that they can actually brighten yours.





I want this story, to be my story.

Sunday, October 06, 2013

Reasons


There is a very good reason we are who we are. We can let life have it's way with us, and be what it moulds us to be. But we can also choose certain things along the way - refuse to be a certain way, refuse to bend to the whims of the events that would serve to shape us. Perhaps to a greater of lesser extent, that is how we are all unmade.

It can be difficult enough to be who we choose to be. It is harder when the ones we love cannot understand our choices - sadder still when we can not bring ourselves to explain those choices.

My stubbornness has shaped my life. A refusal to accept and move on. I am always amazed at those who can let things go - move on from something they wanted. I have often given that advice to others, and I live in wonder at those who have taken it and run.

I cannot. I relive moments of wonder - I cannot forget. The memories remain long after - both the good and bad. They continue to influence, cajole, remind.

For the most part it's OK, but when friends serve to tear away and look for reason behind my decisions - I'm suddenly put into a position where I have to defend them - to speak words and concepts of reply that have no meaning for others. A futile exercise, but one that brings a certain sadness regardless.



And I think I may have to wait forever.