I admit it. I have been an absolute horror, leaving my once-beloved blog to waste in wordless tedium.
But I’m back, writing to you after all these months of inactivity. And boy, this will be a soppy read, perhaps another symptom, a pockmark associated with my aging.
As the years flow, so too do my memories. I find myself staring at the ceiling, trying to remember. Remembering the laugh lines that swerved about my friend’s honeyed almond eyes. Yearning to feel the capillaries of wonderment and curiosity that throbbed beneath the tapestry of my days at high school, university. Where once I gasped, I now sigh. Where once I was lit with hope, I now expect whispering embers. No more tears, no more spitfire tantrums. I have the non-benefit of hindsight now.
This year, I’ve enjoyed the unusually pleasant humdrum of office work, the makeshift dinner plans with friends, and the long walks home beneath towering crusty acacias and ashen eucalypts.
I learned a lot about human nature too. Kindness may be rare but it can be given in large amounts. Self-preservation is caustic, and cannibalistic at worst, in the man-eat-man environment we find ourselves in.
I have been fascinated by the development of modern conflicts and world markets. I confess I enjoy staring at financial index and shares charts – the swings upwards and downwards resemble too much like a sometimes hopeful, sometimes despondent young child jumping for candies. However, unlike the lolly shop and child scenario, there are no winners in the trade market, for all its manic bullishness and inevitable bearishness. It’s a zero-sum game.
So too is love, in all its shapes and misshapes. Why, you ask? When I devote my attention to something or somebody, other things and other bodies must necessarily be neglected. Time and attention are finite things.
We are not all Hermiones with Time Turners.
The only cure is awareness and to perceive and experience all things with middling or no intensity. The only cure thus, will strip us of that which makes us, us. It is akin to character suicide. No, I learned by observation, people would rather suffer the drip-drip-drops of maddening cruelty than to towel themselves dry of their irrational, easily-fixed troubles.
I like to think that I’ve been independent all year, an adventurer who sometimes get a little side-swept by the undercurrents of society’s fads and thus lose a little of my capacity to think for myself – be it advertisements jostling for my attention (the beauty industry is quite effective in this regard!), media peddling paranoia, the wink of a besuited young chap with an unfastened tie about his neck…
Now to the good bit. New Year resolutions!
This New Year, I’d like to keep it sweet and simple. I won’t publish my specific resolutions in this online free-for-all-to-devour space. However, I’ll say this: I want 2016 to be a year where I will be stronger, more resourceful, and more alluring than ever before.
I will begin by moving out of town for work and a change of scenery.
So goodbye, my hometown, my thousands-night cot. Farewell, decades-long cradle of my joy and woes.
The capital is calling.
A tune to reel in the New Year, sung by the inimitable Elton John: