I would be ashamed and embarrassed if I posted all my affairs on here. For instance if you knew me, in the real world, how would it feel to be informed about the changes in my life by reading my blog? It would be really impersonal and I am fairly sure that my mum would find it offensive. Especially as she’s one of my two subscribers. If you check the sidebar on the left you’ll discover that the ramblings of a mad man Afam has three subscribers, my mother, Zephia and myself. It’s vaguely reminiscent of the times when I’d buy myself a birthday card because I was fairly certain that none of my friends would. However when something as monumental as this happens it’s impossible not to write about it. My whole world is engulfed with it. Surely you can see my dilemma, how do I talk about it without talking about it? Is such a thing possible? I suppose I could write it story style and give my story to someone else but that would be incredibly obvious. The only thing I can do is to try to deliver the essence of the feeling in the order in which it tends to occur without being too obvious.
Typically you walk around in some sort of mist. It’s not really a mist but that’s the best way to describe it I think. You’re like a plug without a socket. You go through the motions and live life ordinarily, but you have an inkling that if you could find someone to groove with everything would be that much better. Someone with whom you could share the most secret parts of yourself. Someone that could see through some particularly odd thing that you do and discover that the reason behind it wasn’t all that peculiar. We know on some level that this person exists. We have no means of divining their whereabouts, but we tend to look for them in everyone we meet. You look for the signs in everyone.
You’ve got your headphones in, you’re on the train heading back to school. You probably have a book in hand. You aren’t really reading it, you’re merely keeping up with the story and you spot her looking your way. Your eyes meet. You find that you’re amused and intrigued at the same time.
You’re at a gathering. You’re going through the motions. The hellos and how are yous that our current society seems to be obsessed with. It’s fairly similar to religion as the exchange is singularly uniform?(can I say that?). It’s likely that at some point you’ll come across someone whose answer shocks you. I mean literally shocks you. The reply sends delicious tingles along your hairs, like the goosebump of a goosebump.
These things confuse you. In reality I don’t know that they do. But it seems natural that you be confused by the sudden intrusion into your world. The place that no one gets to, not usually. It doesn’t mean that the person actually does, it’s that you sense that given time they might be able to and this alone is enough to disturb your inner zen.
Glances are exchanged, secret words are said. The feeling that you’re finally waking up from a dream, or a dream of a dream. Everything becomes more vibrant, more exciting. In all honesty it’s a drug. It’s equal portions of passion, obsession and desperation. We’re either on it, about to get on it, recovering from it or wondering why we aren’t on it. There’s not a day that we don’t think about it.
Happy Days,
Afam
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