clinging to the wreckage

I once knew a woman who was obsessed with things like men not believing women, men not trusting women, and so on. This woman lived with her husband but they were separated. She was seeing other men but lived with her husband because she didn’t work and had no other form of support. She said she couldn’t work because she had too many health issues… she was always seriously, critically ill. Always messaging to say that she had come close to death, she was in hospital, they didn’t know if she’d pull through. I always wondered how she managed to send such long, detailed messages from her deathbed whilst in a life threatening coma. Even more strange than this was the fact that she somehow would make it out of the hospital during the evenings and go drinking with her friends and would post photos on Facebook of herself holding a glass of wine and laughing in the street as she lifted her skirt to show her underwear. Then, the next day, the poor thing, she was back on her deathbed, ha...

Four or more days off and then the clocks change, the sun disappears, and Monday morning punches us in the face like an angry friend we once turned to for love and understanding. Hope is vanquished and every deadline is beyond urgent. It seems we are stranded in the place where Christ once lost his sandals.  A love letter, written to a lost lover, that was never sent, lies yellowing in the dust upon a dirty floor. You lie down, wondering why certain feelings that should be long since dead never relent. Finally you reach out and send text messages to someone who never responds. Unrequited love and a desire are not reciprocal.

An abstract silence thundered through the night into which she had disappeared. Like flashes of lightning she would appear and then, along with the storm, she’d be gone. Tempestuous was her beauty but her elegance and grace was like the calm before the storm. The personification of calm is what she was. Pale skin veiled in a robe of black hair and piercing bright eyes that seemed to venture deep into one’s mind and read every thought that lay inside, revealing every little lie and unravelling it. The eyes said ‘you do not need to speak for I know everything.’ From joyous and enthusiastic interaction to complete and utter stony silence. Excited interest turned to vitriolic violent hatred. There is no explanation. Formidable. I long for you.

March 4, 2016 Sitting in the living room of my parent’s house on the South African coast I received an e-mail from the University. I assumed it was one of the standard mails that arrives from them from time to time such as a newsletter or miscellaneous information but I opened it instantly anyway, just in case it was the result of my Master’s degree. The mail read ‘your result is currently being transferred to the student homepage and should be available shortly.’ I slowly opened the Student Homepage with palpitating heart, convinced I had failed, trying to decide if I should tell anyone. Upon arrival on the student homepage I saw the word ‘PASS’ and a smile formed on my face that I was unable to remove for quite some time. I ran to tell my mother and the sounds she made caused my dad to run into the room to ask what was wrong. It was a great moment that was perfectly timed and I am so utterly relieved to have passed. These things fade away in time but...

Many are now clinging to the vestiges of their vacations. That leisurely stroll along the beach at sunset is now a mere fading romantic recollection and some even start to dream of Christmas. Ever so gently autumn makes a silent approach, skilfully paving the way for her more aggressive sister, winter. Frustration often overcomes those who return to work after a lengthy holiday and conflicts can arise but there is no reason to give in and accuse the world of entering into demise. There are certain things that we must live with and one thing that we learn as we grow is that heartache will follow us wherever we go. “The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.” Earth can be a lonely place but at this moment in time there is immense beauty and an alluring charm as the heat drifts out of the night and is replaced by a cooler and more welcoming air. The Madrid skyline soothes us as it fades t...

They will stop and speak to a guy guarding cars in a car park because he is young and white but they won’t think twice about stopping for the older non-whites who are suffering equally if not worse. They will try to raise funds for the young car guard but what about the rest? They’ll stand up in protest about one murdered lion because it goes viral on the internet but it seems that before this event they were oblivious to the fact that animals are poached, tortured, and killed every single day of our fucking lives. They think that we can only understand the pain of loss once we have a child and start to imagine that every lost life is that of our own child… it’s like they never cared about the loss of life or suffering of other human beings before they had children. They are too fucking scared to do anything, support anything, say anything, feel anything until someone tells them it is okay to fuckingwell do so.

The curtain sways in the wind like a hanging man whose last light of life has left. Sad songs stumble from the speaker and an ageing man lies alone in a room reflecting upon the things he once loved that have now slipped through his fingers. On Monday he flies to France for purposes of business and it seems so meaningless. Last night he drank with the Irish, German, Italian and the Spaniard only to awake this morning with a terrible hangover and to stare at the bright sunlight staining those swaying curtains with a pain in his eyes, his head and in his heart.