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Sunhill
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Posts by Sunhill
Goodbye Mr O
May 6th
When I think of Bin Laden, and over the last decade I’ve been forced to think about him quite a lot, I always imagine him to be unreal. A made up character like Santa Clause without the giving nature of course, come to think of it Mr Clause doesn’t have much of a giving nature either, he tends to let our religious differences divide us. Anyway, back to Bin Laden. Ever since his departure from popular culture, I’ve had a strange kind of feeling. It’s as if something quite close to me has gone missing. It’s a little difficult to explain and a little strange but through all the thinking I’ve done about him and his crew, Al-Qaeda, I’ve somehow managed to make him a part of a family.
He is/was the hated Uncle, Uncle Osama. A bit of a black sheep, what with all the nuisance he created and the threats he would post in that calm almost soothing voice, there was clearly a soft spot for him. Even the children of Osama, not his actual children but mind you some of them could well have been, but the children of the Osama years. Those who were born when he first hit the popular culture scene, they too seem to share my strange love hate feeling. It was clear from their ‘Find Osama’ games that there was a bit of love for him. He hardly ever suffered the play death that so many other playground characters have to go through.
And now he’s gone, in a very anti climax kind of way, and I’m left wondering whether or not his replacement, and I’m sure there will be a replacement, will be just as much fun interesting.
The Truth – 3 Caged Birds
Nov 23rd
And then it all ended. Every luxury was locked up, every bit of independence monitored and every emotion scrutinised. Nothing was spared, phonecalls were no longer allowed to be made so we lied to friends about not having time. No phonecalls were allowed to be taken so we rushed every call with hearts thumping and hung up as quickly as possible. Friends soon learnt not to call. Hair was no longer allowed to be styled so we covered it up. Western clothes were banned, branded items taken away and affection was no longer a God given right. There was only one way to earn it. Follow the rules and so we did.
We learnt to hide every part of our appearance and personality that may have made us attractive. We didn’t want to fall into her footsteps. Her actions made them do this. We wouldn’t make the same mistakes as her. We didn’t want them to think we would do the same and so slowly each one of us developed a double life. We learnt to speak without words passing our lips. We wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving a bag in the washing machine like she did.
How not to be married
Oct 6th
With the prize finally in our hands we do nothing but boast. No amount of modesty can hide the smile of achievement forming itself on our proud faces. We forget the turmoil it took to win. We forget the love we swore we would shower upon it. We forget the harsh lessons we had to learn to succeed, especially those that we swore never to forget. Instead the glorified prize sits in the display cupboard, talked about and dusted often but the significance of it is never really remembered and very rarely celebrated.
Changes
May 23rd
I like the idea of a revolution. Every now and again I like to talk to the people I love about the changes I want to make, aspirations I want to achieve, lives I want to touch and heal. Every now and again I’ll take a step closer to these dreams, a very minute step but a step forwards is a step forwards even if you do end up taking a few steps back as a result but only every now and again.
It makes me wonder if I had those talks, those thoughts every single day maybe I would achieve a lot more but instead I have an ongoing internal dialogue. I talk to myself. About my world. Non-stop. I talk to myself about the things I need to do at work, the things I need to do at home, the things I want to do for my lover and so the day passes with this internal dialogue centred around my world. More often then not the choices I make in this internal dialogue are the paths I end up choosing for my life. It makes me wonder if I could stop the internal dialogue maybe I could make progress at a faster speed?
What if I changed the thought of thinking about what I want to eat to a thought about feeding someone else (aswell)? Someone who is in great need of food but in short supply of cash. What if I changed the thoughts that constantly replay moments with my lover to thoughts of people in need of love? What if I changed the thoughts of buying tomatoes to ones of growing my own? What if…
The End of Innocence
May 16th
I’m sat dusting a very small collection of framed photographs. They are all similar in pose and background. I try to remember the story behind these faces of Grandparents I never had the chance to meet.
They had been forced to have these pictures taken and that’s all I remember. One, lone fact solely because my brother had interrupted the story with ‘so that’s why they all look so moody’ we had laughed and the story had come to and end. I smile at the memory and continue dusting.
I’ve saved my favorite picture till the end. The only picture in colour, my mum’s mum. The only Grandparent I had met. I stare into her big, blue eyes, the camera really hasn’t captured the depth nor the colour. I ponder the same question, why were her eyes so blue? And then it all clicks into place. The overheard conversations, the stories, they all begin to make sense. I remember snippets about a war in my Great-Grandma’s time, how there was always a presence of white soldiers there then, my Grandma’s fear of the white man when I had told her my teacher in England was white and male.
I stop dusting, put the picture back and ponder, could it be?
The end of innocence is a blur for most it occurs somewhere between the ages of 12 – 16 but to pinpoint it would be impossible. It seems a variety of events and experiences, combined, end the age of innocence. For me it was this one event, which truly shook me awake and hurled me into reality.
The Truth – 2
May 8th
I’m now sat opposite you, leaning against a plain blue wall. I can see you maturing before my eyes. Your face has aged since we started talking, since I opened up to you. You let out a deep sigh and rub your chin just the way our Dad does. You want to know about the scribblings in my notebook, are they fact or fiction? It’s the fourth time you have asked me. We keep coming back to the same question. You know all the problems, you’re surprised I know so much about the deeper family issues yet you still can’t understand the pain it’s causing me.
This time I get up from the bed, turn off the lamp and switch on the light. I feel the stress of the night hit me with a wave of exhaustion. Sitting back down, I roll up my pyjama bottoms to give you a clear view of marks left behind from the blades. The red, sore lines criss-cross all around. Some are beginning to heal and the depth of some will leave scars for years to come. A small price to pay for the relief my private activity causes. You stare at the answer to your question. Your jaw clenches up and you run out of the room. You don’t make it to the bathroom, I hear you retching as you throw up on the landing. I switch off the light and climb into bed. I’ve had enough of vomit for one night. As my head hits the pillow, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep forgetting about the bag I left in the empty washing machine.
The Truth
May 3rd
Outside my window lies freedom, outside my window lies a world which I help to rule, outside my window I belong.
I barricade my door and my heart begins to beat the well known rapid rhythm. I smile to myself, bite my bottom lip and crawl under my bed. It’s somewhere here I know it, I gasp for breath as my movements upset the settled dust and cobwebs. My elbow nudges into something bumpy. I feel it some more and then smile to myself, I have my bag. I pull out of the bed with my hidden treasure and sit silently on the floor. All my senses have peaked, waiting to catch any signs of disturbances. Nothing detected I climb onto my bed and hide myself and my bag under the duvet. I manage to contain an uncontrollable need to giggle.
I still have an hour but it’s been so long since we did this that I can’t seem to keep to the rules. My rules. I know it’s risky, if someone was to walk into my room right now it would be the end of everything. Yet that thought just ignites the excitement, blurring the rules some more. Lucky for me no-one walks in. No-one notices the odd bump my bag is making under the duvet and I don’t notice the notebook free itself from my bag and hide itself into the hills of the duvet. Continue reading “The Truth” »