Off course

I was walking along the other day, when all of a sudden I got lost ... just lost. One moment I was, and the next moment, I wasn't.

It was a dilemma I didn't know how to recover from.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my head has officially become too full. I can't think anymore. I have no space in which to store further thoughts and musings. But I can't stop thinking and I tried. How I tried.

I hate being categorized. I hateithateithateit. People who know me know not to do it. People who don't, look at one aspect of me and do so. I'm too tired to send out feelers of reconciliation. You don't think I'm good enough? You think I'm a spoilt brat? One word answers? Disappearances? Fine. I don't care. There's somebody, several somebodies out there who care.

I just wish I didn't rub myself raw on flatulent feelings which lead me on a merry dance back to my own circle which I didn't even draw closed. But even now, it's as if I swallowed a firefly and it's lighting me up from the inside.

Maybe I achieved nirvana whilst sleeping. Maybe it's all in my head and if it is, leave it be. I'm happy. My own sordid happiness mind you. And it has nothing to do with anyone except myself. I choose to make myself happy. I used to dance in the rain during thunderstorms. I used to climb on top of the loaded cane truck, get a gash on my arm, hit my toe on a stone and scream at the blood. I used to get stung by bees and hornets and not care. Be hot, sticky, dirty and utterly carefree.

My mother reminsces, often lately, about the time I almost died. How I turned blue and she watched me struggle to breathe, helpless. I screamed into my pillow, screamed at my brother, cried loudly at the indignities I suffered through the failure of my body. I never fit into any moulds. I still don't.

I used to hear voices calling my name in the middle of the night. The dark sugarcane fields where I'd play during the day terrified me at night. I don't have a favourite colour. My favourite fruit is banana.

I am so many things. Imperfect, flawed, me. Sigh. You may call it a reaffirmation. For myself. To remind myself of who I really am. I still have stars in my eyes. You just can't see them through the blanket Sorrow has thrown over them.