Abandoned (my)spaces.

Recently, whilst browsing the internet late at night, I came across my old bebo account. It was an unpleasant surprise, rather like opening a bag only to discover that sandwich from six months ago. I looked back into my past, I stared at my fourteen year old self’s profile with a crippling feeling of self loathing. Was I really like that? As I’ve gotten older, I looked back on my past self with endearment, I was young, but I was still mature for my age and not too much of a social mess. But here was my entire awkward teenage-hood plastered on my computer screen, and not only that, but anyone in the world could see my obsession with text speak, capital letters in the middle of words and cringe-worthy inside jokes that defined those years. I stared with a mixture of horror and surprise at the persona I had projected on the world. What’s worse is that I know that was what I was actually like.

I cautiously explored the rest of my page, and came across all the abandoned profiles of friends. Some of them I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years, and yet here remained the shadows of five years ago, fragments of their teenage selves. The conversations we had are still on the comments wall, questions unanswered. It feels unsettlingly like climbing aboard a virtual Mary Celeste, there was a similar eeriness as I browsed the profiles people had hastily left in exchange for MySpace or Facebook. I noticed all the different types of profile people had, there were the emo profiles, full of melancholy posts and icons saying things like ‘don’t try to fix me, I’m not broken’, the vanity profiles filled entirely with pictures of said person and the profiles that act as shrines to a significant other. At first I explored with interest, but I soon felt drawn to leave, maybe it was the overtiredness but it all started to feel a little eerie.

I considered briefly deleting the old profile, but I decided against it and left it as a tiny monument to the past.

For the Birthday Bard

Happy early Birthday Shakespere. Here's your present. I drew this after a conversation which concluded that to make Shakespere more appealing to the youth, he should have an obsession with extreme sport. I would have liked to put skis in but didn't have enough room.

Happy Birthday from a fan who loves you whether or not you liked to rock climb.

90p for 100g

There is nothing quite like buying sweets from my favourite sweetshop. It stands like a beacon on a busy road, its windows filled with those big jars containing every sweet conceivable. I step inside, and suddenly I am eight years old again, excitedly trying to read as many of the labels on the jars, struggling to choose before I get to the front of the queue.

There is brief inner battle over whether I should get something new and unusual or stick to an old favourite, and inevitably my nostalgic side takes over and I select 100g of strawberry bonbons. The big jar comes down and they rattle onto the old silver scales, sending up little clouds of pink dust into the sweet, musty air. I scoop out the change from my purse and hand it over in exchange for the little paper bag, the man at the counter smiles as if he understands the child-like excitement that has infused me. I open the door, letting the little bell ring.

I’m barely a few steps out of the shop before I pop the first bonbon into my mouth, the taste is sweet, sharp and full of nostalgia. It is the best bonbon I’ve ever had. I walk down the road, too happy to care about my ‘sucking on a sweet’ face.

An Unexpected Call

A while ago, in the early morning, I got a phone call from the Past. “How are you doing?” it asked after a few moments of awkward small talk. “Oh all right really,” I answered,” I’m applying to university at the moment.”

“Oh really, to study what?”

“English Literature”

A pause.

“English? But I thought you loved Science?”
It was then I realised how little we had in common and how it was the best decision of my life to abandon the Past and embrace the Future.

The Cup of Tea

A Letter to Mr Dumas

Recently I have been feeling somewhat guilty over dropping of ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ for slightly less serious books during this work intensive season. Dumas is a wonderful author and it feels uncomfortably like cheating when I read something else. And so, I have written him a letter. I hope he understands.


Dearest Alexandre,

First and foremost in this letter, I wish to ask for your forgiveness. You are most pleasant and cultured and I truly love you dearly, but I have to confess that admittedly, I have been not been faithful to you. I knew I could not keep this from you, you being too dear to my heart, ever since we first met I knew we were meant for each other. It all started that night, when we began to feel cold towards one another. We sat together, but nothing passed between us, it only worsened with time, soon I barely saw you and when our paths did cross, there were only brief exchanges and then more horrid silence.
Then I met my old childhood playmate again. We sat together on the veranda and talked of his exploits, his tales offered me reprieve from the sorrow that had gripped my soul, and I was entranced. Whilst you were buried in some study or another, we walked together, exchanging affections. I confess to you, I was infatuated. But I remembered you, my betrothed and was overcome with guilt. I cut off all forms of contact to my old friend, and now I write this letter to you.
I was a fool to forget you; all there is left to do is ask your forgiveness for my indiscretions. Alexandre, my love for you is like an eternal flame, although for a moment the flame cooled, it didn’t die and the burning embers, the essence forever remained. I implore you, forgive me, and let us meet again, our passion renewed.

With love and affection,

R.

New life.

What is a blog? Or more importantly, what is this blog? This is a story. It’s a collection of snippets, excerpts, streams of words and thoughts, pictures, creations. Where exactly it began and where it will finish I can’t say.

This blog has no defined subject; it isn’t a rambling sprawl of photos, political discussions, reviews of your latest gadget. This blog exists to embrace life, the tiny heartbreaks, the beauty and the astonishment: this blog is for treasure hunting and lying awake at night and choosing the wrong path and the old man who smiled at you that one time and the uncertainty of the future.

This blog is a white rabbit. Follow it if you will.