So. Who am I: Teesee, a collective of experiences, some good, some bad and some bloody awful. I’m funny (no really, just ask Peter, who'll supply the references, quotes and one liners I tend to exhale on a bi-millisecond basis) and I live to write. Someday I hope to be able to write to live, but until then, you’ll get my ramblings for free. I’m cool like that.
Girl 1: I need to loose weight.
Boy 1: Seriously, if you want to loose weight, go for a bloody run.
Girl 1: {Goes on about using an exercise ball for a few moments}
Boy 1: You’re driving me nuts. I’ll buy you some trainers.
Hahaha. Stupid girl. Men don’t like you keeping on. And neither do I.
I was sitting in my corner of the office today and again overheard a golden nugget from the girl whose boyfriend dumped her because she didn’t have sex with him (although she since swears he dumped her because she’s put on weight, apparently…).
Girl 1: [to Boy 1] “You didn’t bring me back any food?”
Boy 1: “No I didn’t. Aren’t you supposed to be looking after your figure anyway?”
[I recoil in horror at hearing this. You do not remind Girl 1 about her figure, she will bite.]
Girl 1: “Well I am but It’s not working is it?”
[Duh, the amount of crisps and chocolate I see you eat at your desk isn't exactly helping is it?]
Girl 1: “But don’t you think I’ve slimmed down, just a little bit?!”
Boy 1 looks at Girl 1 critically and then proclaims: “No.”
Girl 1: “No? What do you mean no?”
Boy 1: “I mean no. I see you every day don’t I? How am I supposed to tell if you’ve slimmed down?”
Silly woman. She eats because she’s upset about her boyfriend (and just eats a lot in general) and then complains that her boyfriend calls her fat… vicious cycle. No wonder you don’t hear men going on about this stuff. They don’t eat when they get depressed, they drink!
I went out tonight. Sang some songs at the pub, had some drinks, had a joke, shared a little love. But I didn’t enjoy myself. I was completely and utterly disinterested in the whole situation.
Friendship is supposed to be forever. The private jokes shared, wasting the day away, creating memories that will last a life time. It promises so much and you take it for granted because friends are always there. But one day they’re not. One day they don’t call. One day you don’t answer. One day you meet new people and all the was is just a distant memory in the “good old times”. One day you’re confident, funny, popular and then next you’re alone, not very popular and desperately seeking friendship.
I just spent the evening with my best friends, but they weren’t. I’ve just shared the evening with people who I know everything about and at the same time, absolutely nothing. I haven’t seen them in about two years. Fuck knows why it’s been that long. I didn’t want to lose contact with them, you just forget to call one day. One day leads to a week, week to month, month to year, year to two. It’s so easy to forget you had friends when you’re caught up in your own life. So very easy.
I tried to pretend that missing the last two years didn’t matter, but it did. And I couldn’t forget. I was stuck in the past, I still am. I felt out of place, distant, like a stranger. I was asking questions two years out of date. You’d think that’d make you have a lot to talk about, catching up, but it doesn’t. It makes you feel like you’ve lost time which you can never get back and that it’s too late.
And I know it’s too late because you can’t change what you’ve missed and I can never get that time back. We’ve all moved on in completely different directions and the only thing which has remained constant is the ever widening gaps in our friendship. And I hate it because I know it’s not really my fault. I made effort, I rang on birthdays, christmases, random days… but in the end it doesn’t matter. Because some people just don’t care enough to keep in touch. And I don’t care enough to keep chasing.
But I do really. And I always will. But don’t tell anyone.
Last night seemed normal. I switched off my laptop, did my nightly ritual of cleaning my teeth and washing my face and slipped into bed. Paul was already in there so I snuggled up behind him and gave him cuddle. Men like cuddles really, don’t let them tell you any different. I was lying there thinking about how lucky I am, how happy I am and how utterly content I felt. I turned over because really, I’m the sort of person that likes facing towards the wall when they sleep. As soon as I did, I let out a sob. A vivid memory from my childhood, for no reason what so ever apart from probably wanting to ruin my happiness, pushed its way up into my conscious.
Crying, howling, bawling my eyes out. I was four years old, perhaps five. I can even remember the wallpaper; slightly raised stripes, similar to an artex pattern, but less swirly and more straight. I had just witnessed my mother walking out the door. This was a weekly occurrence for me but it never got any easier. I was brought up by my grandmother for a good portion of my childhood. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandma dearly, but you can’t replace a mothers touch, can you? I was told to stop crying, but I couldn’t. Why shouldn’t I cry for my mummy? She’s mine. I want her. I couldn’t comprehend why she had to keep leaving, I didn’t understand.
I was allowed to spend Wednesday afternoons with my mum after school and that was it. And when it was all done and dusted, she left. I hated it. I remembered feeling angry, I was four years old and I was fucking angry. My friends got to spend time with their mum’s, after school, in the mornings, at the weekends, just before bed, every single day. And all I got was a few measly hours on a Wednesday afternoon.
So there I was in bed, seventeen years later and having a suppressed memory suddenly resurface. I cried, silently, I tried to stop but I couldn’t. Every time I thought I’d stopped crying, I’d cry harder. Silent racking sobs, I didn’t make a sound. Paul was unaware next to me, I couldn’t bear to wake him up to tell him what I was feeling. How can you explain to someone how it feels to have their mother stripped from them week after week? Pain lessens after a while, but it didn’t for me. I had to relive it weekly and I did for several years, until my grandma died and no one could look after us anymore and my mother was given custody rights again by the courts. I hate talking about my past, I hate complaining but some things just have to come out. And it did. And it felt good.
My head throbbed, my nose was blocked from all the crying, my face a salty mess of tears and my eyes felt sore. I couldn’t sleep for a few hours, I just kept reliving every single detail, every emotion, every little bit of joy at seeing my mum again and then having it all ripped away from me. I remembered all the other stuff too, what came after. And finally, after some time, I drifted off to sleep. And the next morning I realised I just put a demon to rest. I’ve prided myself on being strong for so long, it felt good to cry. It felt good to let go of those memories. It felt good to grieve.
It’s just gone one in the morning, I’m sitting on a balcony six storeys high in Vancouver; stealing wifi from somebody to get online and below is a medley of noise. People are screaming and shouting, car alarms are going off and everyone seems to be doing something. This town never sleeps. I was up at five in the morning yesterday and there were still lots of people about.
Honestly, Vancouver is nothing like I expected it to be and I mean that in the nicest way. Yes, the town has its flaws; just go downtown to Hastings and everywhere you look you’ll see a crack head jacking up in the alleyways or some woman selling her body. The street stinks of piss and you really can’t believe just a few feet away is a beautiful backdrop of mountains and sea.
But the city also has another side. Amazing high-rise buildings, beautiful views of mountains, forests, lakes and wildlife. The two sides coexist and it’s an incredible sight. I can understand why people don’t want to leave once they arrive. It’s a world away from London yet utterly similar at the same time.
I’ve learnt something profound since I’ve been here. I’ve been put in situations I haven’t been a hundred percent comfortable in but enjoyed once I put my fears aside; I’ve met family I’d never known before, I’ve learnt so much more about my own family which has been very emotional for me for a number of reasons; and I’ve discovered the joy of living for the moment. Which is a foreign concept to me as I’ve always thought about the future and an awful lot about the past.
I’m here, right now, sitting outdoors in a country I’m not familiar with, all by myself and loving every second. Nothing is impossible for me at this moment and all I have to do is believe. The air is filled with possibility and all I have to do is breathe it in and live.
British Columbia really is a beautiful country.