Sunday, May 09, 2004
Creature of Habit
Every bone, every fiber in my body recoiled as I lifted the strap and slung it on my right shoulder, diagonally across my chest. The offending receptacle came to rest against my left hip.
Wrong. This feels wrong, wrong. After twenty-eight years of slinging bags to sit by my right shoulder/hip, this feels alien and unnatu... hey! there's a pen-pouch on my right shoulder. cool!
*****
All in the Mind
(The mislaid words)
What is it like?
I may have borne silent witness now, many more times than the average layman might have done. But the depth of emotion never lessens. Every individual is unique.
I used to say a silent prayer for the departed; occasionally, when not being rushed off my feet, I still do.
I remember one of the first, well. To be honest, if I pause long enough, I can still remember them all, well.
But one of the first... she was my friend. I'd learnt to love this familiar figure that I saw, day in, and day out. I'd bought her a book on the sly.
When she died, the ugly questions that reared their heads - could we have done something more? could I have done something more? haunted me for a while.
Now, in the retrospective calm and peace of mind afforded by time and wisdom (don't say nuffin!!), the answers are clear. Yes, we could have. But I could not have acted alone - I was too junior in the field.
Standing there, my hands locked, compressing her chest for all I was worth, I felt only despair, then. Why had we chosen to ignore the signs?
And then, stepping out of myself for a moment.
What is it like?
What could it possibly have been like, to have walked the path of that geriatric, messy-haired old goa... knight? Alone, he must have birthed and buried most of that little countryside village he lived in; cared for them from the cradle to the grave. Stood over countless burial plots. And cried each time.
If the career back home was half the honour it is, here in the "developed world" (and even here, it is a fading light) I I'd have known what I wanted to be doing with the rest of my life, in a flash. Now, instead, I find myself choosing the lesser of two evils.
I will never be that dignified ancient knight, that intimate stranger. There is no role for him in Shiny, Sunny, Saccharine Singapore, anymore.
*****
Excuse Me!
I am Not terrified. So there.
Harrumph!
(okay, perhaps slightly ill at ease. Or maybe faintly disquieted... minimally unsettled...)
*****
Click
Neil Gaiman.
Sandman. Oh. Oh... oh.
... intrigued.
Wrong. This feels wrong, wrong. After twenty-eight years of slinging bags to sit by my right shoulder/hip, this feels alien and unnatu... hey! there's a pen-pouch on my right shoulder. cool!
*****
All in the Mind
(The mislaid words)
What is it like?
I may have borne silent witness now, many more times than the average layman might have done. But the depth of emotion never lessens. Every individual is unique.
I used to say a silent prayer for the departed; occasionally, when not being rushed off my feet, I still do.
I remember one of the first, well. To be honest, if I pause long enough, I can still remember them all, well.
But one of the first... she was my friend. I'd learnt to love this familiar figure that I saw, day in, and day out. I'd bought her a book on the sly.
When she died, the ugly questions that reared their heads - could we have done something more? could I have done something more? haunted me for a while.
Now, in the retrospective calm and peace of mind afforded by time and wisdom (don't say nuffin!!), the answers are clear. Yes, we could have. But I could not have acted alone - I was too junior in the field.
Standing there, my hands locked, compressing her chest for all I was worth, I felt only despair, then. Why had we chosen to ignore the signs?
And then, stepping out of myself for a moment.
What is it like?
What could it possibly have been like, to have walked the path of that geriatric, messy-haired old goa... knight? Alone, he must have birthed and buried most of that little countryside village he lived in; cared for them from the cradle to the grave. Stood over countless burial plots. And cried each time.
If the career back home was half the honour it is, here in the "developed world" (and even here, it is a fading light) I I'd have known what I wanted to be doing with the rest of my life, in a flash. Now, instead, I find myself choosing the lesser of two evils.
I will never be that dignified ancient knight, that intimate stranger. There is no role for him in Shiny, Sunny, Saccharine Singapore, anymore.
*****
Excuse Me!
I am Not terrified. So there.
Harrumph!
(okay, perhaps slightly ill at ease. Or maybe faintly disquieted... minimally unsettled...)
*****
Click
Neil Gaiman.
Sandman. Oh. Oh... oh.
... intrigued.
