Kryptonite

Its not easy being different. It means that no one understands. No one can listen. Really listen. Especially when its something that everyone knows off. Its like the sun to us mortals versus the sun to a blood-sucking, fang-bearing creature of the night. Its like a haircut to the average guy versus a haircut to Samson. Its kryptonite. My kryptonite.

I know how to be strong. That’s how we were brought up. Be strong, they said. Don’t cry, they said. And so I didn’t.
I know how to be unmoving. Grounded firmly on cement-block values. There’s no going anywhere without them, and at no careless speed.
I know how to fly, to navigate shark-infested waters, to save the world in one blow. But.. but.

Even Superman wasn’t quite as super as he thought himself to be.
A rock. Imagine that! A simple rock brings him to his knees. Reduces him to less than a man, tormented by an unexplained pain.
Kryptonite. My weakness. My Achilles heel. My unraveling. My rock, and my hard place. My edge of sanity. My undoing. Mi corazón.

Advertisements

Tales of an Old Maid

Its been quite a long day. First, I made the grand discovery that I, am old. Ancient. Mummified. Soon to rise from the dead. 
I no longer identify with the ‘younglings’.

I sneer at their verbal t-shirts, and their colorful shoes. Their gigantic caps are beyond me! Fashion, you say? Pah, I reply with disgust.
This language they speak … English? Nay! Jamaican English.. what does that mean?! Don’t ask me; I’m old.

Apart from the chalk-on-blackboard kids, life is grand.

This is the part where I’m supposed to go off about my new beau or new crush, right? Well, not today, and not for a while, either.

Quirkyalone
I came about the word a short while back and oh, the joy! There is an actual word for it! I am a degree less weird because I can identify it with something that didn’t originate from my head.

It being, the state of being single and happy. I hear your collective groan but I ask you to just keep an open mind.

To some people, relationships come naturally. Like a dog to water, they paddle through it like they belong. For some reason, everyone is expected to take to the water, which is quite unfair, don’t you think?     

Some of us are cats; we might as well be allergic to water.  We’re just a match not meant to be.

That’s not to say I’m completely opposed to dating; it’s just best taken in measured doses. If at all.For everyone’s sake, of course. The one time I tried, I crashed the car into the first wall I saw so I guess that tells you something.

For now, I am blissfully single, enjoying the benefits of time for introspection and watching the game from the bench.

On behalf of fellow quirkyalones, I will say that yes, we are quirky. Mainly because we refuse to conform to this standard mould that is expected, and also because we are quirky in the very sense of the word. 

But lets face it, quirkies are like the best people ever! We’re kooky and are not afraid of making a fool of ourselves from time to time, so laughs ahead! 

So if you don’t mind, let me get back to playing bridge and knitting sweaters.

The Illusion of Happiness

image

She walks into the room and time stops. All form of conversation is suspended. All thought, forgotten, except her, the elusive creature. She is a vision in her silk champagne gown. It flows gently against her caramel skin. The room sighs longingly.

Elegant. Graceful. Hearts clench in their chests as her lips curve into a captivating smile.
Ties are fastened, breath is checked, dummy conversations are carried out with adjacent mirrors. Here, everyone has a chance to meet with her. Court her, perchance.

Toasts are made and everyone gets a chance to spin her around the room. They make all attempts to charm her and she smiles and giggles into the arms of another.
No one hears her say a word, but in earnest, they don’t even notice. A chance to hold such a diamond, even for a split second, is more than they had ever dreamed.

I sit in a corner and watch them as they fall over each other, trying to impress her.
‘Come home with me,’ one says.
‘Forget him! I will make you the happiest woman alive ‘ another one said.
It was amusing in the beginning but now, it was just sad.
They saw the glamor and promise of grandeur, but they were blind. Literally blind. They were slaves to their own imaginations.

They made cat calls at her, the waitress, which she obligingly responded to. I admit, her dress was quite lovely, but far too tight for a lady her age. Her face was pulled back so much that she had a constant look of surprise! Her skin was so stretched out, you could see the veins running through it. She was indeed a vision; a vision of what a zombie would look like.

But not to them.

I envied them. I really did. They had hope, albeit born out of ignorance, but hope all the same. They saw rainbows, I saw rain. They saw butterflies, I saw flying caterpillars.

I walked out before I crushed their dream. Let them have tonight. Let them hold onto it. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. No one wants the truth when they can have happiness.

Hello August.