CBMused

Last night amidst a mountain of documents from a 4-drawer filing cabinet accumulated over a decade, the desire to cull, purge and sort was strong. Being well-organised is as much a vice as it is an advantage.

Rummaging through the contents of the filing cabinet was like entering an Aladdin’s cave of memories. Amongst old bills, collected newspaper cuttings and travel brochures and memorabilia, snippets of a remembered past flashed with the lightening outside.

And I found his short story.

Mr N, whose age was just a number that would have put him in the ranks of a grandfather, had lent me a small portfolio of his writing, meticulously typewriter-written and edited. One story had a profound effect on me at the time, and with his permission, I had kept a copy. To what purpose, I cannot recall. I scanned through the words, remembering the friendship with a gentleman who had passed on but not before teaching me an age-old lesson in life.

Sorting through another folder of past work, I reviewed a series of names, filed in alphabetical order with the identifying comment I had given each person. “The nicest man I’ve ever met” was written on his card, a label so worthy and well-deserved that it did not need his name on it, as identifying as his signature hat and winter scarf. My heart leaped when I noticed his date of birth: 16 June.

Memories may be filed deep in drawers or in cavernous filing cabinets, or they may be archived in our minds, yet suddenly they unravel through the touch of an ageing piece of paper, the echo of a few notable words or past sentiments that linger with us for the rest of our lives.

– For Mr N, In Memory of His Birthday

When relationships break down, time is given to get over the initial shock before the healing process begins. But what of friendships? What happens when the person who has been your best friend for decades, the one you had often referred to as a sister, the one you thought you could confide in and share your most intimate troubles, turns around and kicks you in the shins when you’re wobbling on the edge of life?

Friendships are cherished entities and ones that I do not take lightly. In essence, they are akin to relationships, you give and take, and work through the ups and downs, much like a marriage, or a partnership or a commitment but without the fanfare or the piece of paper that binds you together. Then one day you wake up to the facts, you feel calm, numb, but with a clear head, and you un-best your best friend.

I have made repeated allowances for her circumstances. For a period of over three years, she has not been the same person. She has created major issues for people, tormented her husband and developed abnormal behaviour that could be called unhealthy, obsessive, coupled with eating disorders and a lack of rational thought at times that echo with desperate cries of attention, but all in the wrong place.

I accept that everyone goes through a phase in their lives where everything seems to change dramatically. A life crisis is no longer limited to mid-life or later, and can occur at any age. Granted, I have made many allowances over time when it came to her relationship with me. I expecting the phase to be over by now, but it has become progressively worse to the point that her company has become a little painful.

The point that I last took issue with, the one that made me wake up and deliver the coup de grace to the best friend status, occurred not so long ago. I alluded to it here in #6. I was at a very low point and realising the state of mind I was in, I pushed myself to talk about it, struggling with tears streaming down and the inability to complete a sentence. The way she responded left me shocked at the knife stab. Later, when I came to my senses after the wound had gushed, I realised what had happened . I came home feeling defeated and deflated. Who can you trust in your low moments if you can’t trust your best friend?

Later, when the shock had subsided and the fog had lifted, I saw the reality that had been obscured over the last few years.

I no longer have a best friend.

Monday - A couple of middle-aged strangers knocked at my door. I spoke to them through the one way security grill. The man in the beret accompanied by the frumpy woman asked, “What would it take to bring peace to the world?” So they tried their bible talk on me. I cut them off. “I don’t think. I’m not religious. I don’t care.” They asked if my non-religion status is a recent thing. “I’m not the right person for you”. And left them to go on their merry godly ways. I should have opened the door wearing a towel and told them I had company.

Tuesday – I woke up to the deafening unplugged silence when my online connection was severed. I cursed and fretted. No promises were made to restore connection in a timely fashion. Wearing a little disguise at the internet café with no privacy and nothing but the chatter of backpackers packed close, I looked over my shoulder as I updated my site with the Unplugged post, with the screen minimised, then deleted browser caches.

Wednesday – I had a dream that I died in a car accident and went to heaven. Except heaven was a sterile air conditioned environment run by matronly women in their 50s. I demanded to see certain people who have passed on but they gave me nothing but excuses. “I’m in heaven, right? So let me see them now!” Yeah, even in heaven I can kick arse.

Thursday – Karma can be good to you or it can bite your arse, provided you believe in it, and at best of times I sit on the fence. But sitting in the company of a troubled stranger, conversation started and I found myself offering support and advice to which the woman was ever so grateful. Unknown to me at the time, she had slipped a feel-good compliment which was highlighted to me after her departure. Karma was obviously very kind to my arse.

Friday – Things seemed to come together and then they didn’t. Just as my gut feel told me. There was some give and some take; an ebb and flow of events, feelings, thoughts, inspirations that were neither here nor there. The self-diagnosed control freak within just shrugged and continued, unabated. With an evening spent with the laptop in bed, a few glasses of my favourite red, the television in the background, working on a project, life is nothing but cruising.

Weekend – Whether it is beliefs, non-beliefs, personality, karma or expectations, life has a way of continuing, like you, unabated, surprising one minute, disappointing the next, then enthralling and elevating to new heights. Nothing is ever easy, for sure. Plans can be met or thwarted. Life, and consequently happiness, are always what you make of them.

And I made good.

This post is a timepiece from the vaults of my hard drive. Minor edits have been made yet the originality is preserved.

I woke up this morning and took a long, hard look in the mirror. To my astonishment, a stranger looked at me from a safe distance.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“You,” was her reply.

I looked again at the face glaring at me with surprise. What happened to my long hair, to the sparkle in my eyes and to that radiant face?

Time was all I could think of on that cold autumn morning, time and its ravages that have eroded certain aspects of myself. No longer was I a carefree university student in my early twenties, full of excitement and ambition for a future that lay dormant for four years.

Twenty-first birthdays had become a faded memory. Late night parties did not terminate before 2 am. University was an exchange of ideas and intellect. Optimism was at its peak. A guarantee of employment at the end was a fait accompli. Economic recession was not on everybody’s lips. Graduation signified more than a piece of paper that adorned a blank wall. It was the symbol of freedom, of an open-door to a fulfilling future.

Today, we live in a recycled age. Fashion and styles mimic those of past decades. Popular music lacks original appeal. Political correctness is mandatory. Our philosophy has to conform with everyone else’s. We struggle to keep our jobs. We are forced into heavy workloads and long hours. Yet we are easily replaceable. We are readily retrenched. Our entire lives could alter at any moment. And we must learn to accept it and move on.

We do not live. We exist.

I look at my pale cheeks and sad expression. My skin is not as taut as before. My figure is not as slender as it has always been. I am fading away.

I get dressed for work. My wardrobe reflects classic styles. I look deflated and demure. I apply make-up in natural colours. I brush my hair. Are these dark circles under my eyes? Did I always resemble my mother?

I stare into the mirror again. I look so bland…

I pick up my recycled birthday card. I place it on the dressing table. I reach for my signature lipstick. I apply it slo-w-ly. I take another look at myself. I smile.

I am a year older today.

Where do you go when you want to hide from yourself? Do you look in all places, search for a safe asylum, a place that lets you breathe, that lets you feel, or simply lets you be?

And when you’ve found a sanctuary, and turned it into your third space, and revelled in its comfort and peace, you’ve suddenly grown weary of it, and it begins to lose its lustre, where do you go to hide from your from that faded haven?

Where do you go to be yourself?