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Playing Movies In My Head July 26, 2011

Posted by Nemuu in Stuff I Wride.
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Movie Reel

Funny thing about people. You look at someone: two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth; two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes. One body. And you think that’s all you’re seeing, really: just one heart and mind and soul inside one body.

For a while now, I’ve started to think that maybe this isn’t quite so true. There isn’t always just a voice inside your head – sometimes there are voices inside your head, crowding the room and making a huge mess in there. You could go mad trying to listen in on everything they’re saying.

It isn’t always a bad thing of course. I sometimes hear three; it’s like sitting in the director’s chair and watching three Voices on set. They argue, weigh your pros and cons and the like. Usually one of my Voices is Religion, who somehow has the ability to shut everyone else up because the other Voices know they’re not allowed to argue with what Religion says. Sometimes these arguments make it to the director’s cut (mine), and sometimes they don’t.

Anyway, here’s another way of looking at it: we aren’t always the same person around different people. Relationships are a two-way thing, so you can’t just behave the same way to everyone. You’d have to look at the other person, and sometimes even the situation. Some people are more sensitive than others, so you have to watch what you say a little bit more; others may be more of a heart person and they definitely won’t appreciate your bitching about… well, anything.

I often find that the most interesting revelations come out when people think nobody’s looking. Like a personal blog that the owner thinks nobody visits anymore. It’s no longer a two-way relationship, because now you’re only writing for yourself. And you spill the stuff that’s been dying to get out – no pretense. And that’s when you see what kind of person they really are: the thoughts that run wildly around their heads, leaving trails of stars in their midst; that one thing or the many things that speed up their heart rate. The kind of stuff that makes you think: “I wish I knew you” or “I wish we were still friends”.

But if and when you do meet the person in real life, they always seem rather different than what you expected. They laugh more, louder. They joke often and a lot. They smile effortlessly. Because everybody knows: wearing your heart on your sleeve, that’s only the way of fools.

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Take A Walk Inside Your Head July 19, 2011

Posted by Nemuu in Stuff I Wride.
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Emotion

I don’t think very many people notice or realise it. Everybody’s so busy, caught up and entangled in the drama of their own lives that we don’t really stop to take a look at everybody else’s. Have you ever noticed how every single person is full to bursting point with emotion? I stopped to take a look today and I couldn’t help but stare.

You think you know their story, but really, there are stories behind the stories. People never tell the absolute truth because there are some things we can never bring ourselves to admit. Sometimes we do it to protect others, or for fear or shame. Sometimes we can’t stand being vulnerable, having everyone else know and never look at you the same.

I took a look at a boy I thought couldn’t care less about anything, and I found him to care so much that it frightened him. I took a look at an old friend who seemed to emphasise her laughter so that it was all anybody would see of her, and I found so much pain and sorrow I couldn’t understand how she never got tired.

We go through the days, never really dealing with our emotions. Sometimes I think the only ones who do are the ones who end up losing it, because they have to deal with so much. What is it that keeps you awake at night? It’s probably only a fraction of what you have stored inside. You know how your body automatically tries to stabilise itself when you trip? I don’t know much about Bio, but unless I’m very much wrong, our body has its own self-defence mechanisms and when we find ourselves tripping in our own heads, we can’t help but deny access to some doors.

You know, sometimes I think I time-travel. But perhaps just my soul, while my body stays obedient to the time-space continuum. There are some periods of my life where I can barely remember anything. I have flashes and glimpses of being thirteen, but most of the year is a black blur. I’m sure things happened at the end of my fifteenth, and even though people have given me the information, I can’t for the life of me put a memory to those details. But then again, this could just be me with the overdramatics again.

And then there are some doors in your head that you deliberately never come near, that you tiptoe your way around hoping it doesn’t bang open so all those dark thoughts and memories you keep stored away don’t come rushing in, flooding the space in your head.

I suppose different people have different ways of dealing with things – for you, maybe, talking about it helps. But if I say no, don’t keep trying to dig out my secrets. What right have you? This is one of those doors I never wish to open, the one I can see out of the corner of my eye, but I know I’ll never turn to face it in full view. I think that people, for a start, need to learn to stop poking and prying. And above all, respect others’ decision because what works for you doesn’t always work for me. Getting a bit personal here, but I don’t wish to have anything more to do with you if all you care about is satisfying your own damn curiosity and ‘pride of knowing’ at the expense of everything I have built up again these past months.

You know, if I could liken myself to anything, I’d be a see-saw – two extremes, always on one end or the other, but never in perfect balance. That’s how it is with my character, my personality… my emotions. I either feel too much or not enough. But you know, maybe finding yourself isn’t about discovering whether I’m really good or bad, greedy or selfless, tolerant or impatient; maybe it’s really finally realising that I’m neither one nor the other, and certainly not a little bit of both – but a whole lot of both instead.

/Side Note: What I write here is basically the reason I haven’t been writing at all the past few weeks. It’s because I’m so often brimming with emotion, that I can’t not let it get in the way of my writing. In the previous posts, I hadn’t quite reached where I have now – not sure if my glass is completely full now, but my head, mind and soul are practically swimming in a pool of emotion, yearning adventure and chasing that zest for life that I might have had once with a renewed vigour. Take a second look, you’ll see it’s written all over today’s post.

Greek Romance June 16, 2011

Posted by Nemuu in Fiction.
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Greece

The ceiling fan whirrs slowly above me. In the dark of night, I close my eyes and dream.

Tonight I am wandering the streets of Greece. The smell of roasts burning fills the air around me. Music rains down and around, a whirlpool of voices and melodies. A woman is dancing in the street, for the amusement of another, sitting in a lonely space at the cashier’s of a small shop. She moves lightly, gracefully, almost impossibly. The two women laugh. Their mouths move in the same way – they have the same smile. But different eyes, different noses, different hair. Everything is different but for their smiles and the look in their eyes. They must be in their early twenties, but looking at them, one would think a hundred years had passed in which they were never without each other.

Across the street, a young man sits alone at a coffee house. He pretends to drink the poorly-brewed coffee, but really, he is watching the girl who keeps shop. Something about the way he sits, his posture and the convenient angle of his seat suggests this is not his first time here. His eyes never leave her. He seems to be waiting for something. Her friend to leave? The perfect moment? No. No, he is waiting for courage to come knocking on his door. I can almost hear the frantic beating of his heart above the mix of song and noise.

From the roof of the coffee house, a small bird flutters down to land on the man’s table. It cocks its tiny grey head to one side, then takes a step forward, two. The man notices nothing. So fixated is he on the cashier that the bird gets away with a large chunk of his bread.

Farther ahead, a little girl is running up the footpath, her white dress only managing to stay down for the small rucksack on her back. She trips over an empty drink can that someone has carelessly thrown over their shoulder. She stumbles; then falls. Her ordeal almost goes unnoticed but for the cyclist behind her. He is too close; he does not have enough time for the brakes. He swerves but he, too, falls to the ground.

All eyes on the street turn to the pair now. The child, having picked herself up, now rushes to the cyclist to help him and apologise. Her white dress is stained with dirty greys and browns, hands and knees scratched bright red from the fall. The woman in the street has stopped dancing; she, too, rushes to aid while her friend stays, helpless, alone guarding the shop.

The cyclist’s face is flushed. Flowers from the basket attached to his bicycle lie strewn across the pavement, even to the road. Luckily for him, it is a small road that very few cars trudge along. His flowers – lilies and daisies and orchids – are safe. Woman and child pick them up while he picks himself up off the ground and rights his bicycle. The rest of the street resumes their play button.

All the flowers are collected now. The woman moves towards the cyclist to return them – then startles. It is a familiar face that averts her gaze – red, but familiar. She knows him. He dares not meet her eyes; the flowers were meant for her. Weeks and weeks of planning and summoning his courage – wasted. He wishes she would not see him, but right through him instead.

Quite surprisingly, the child has managed to pick this up. She cannot be much older than ten – twelve at most – but I suppose sometimes children see things with greater clarity than even the best of adults do. She smiles, puts the flowers in her hands back into the basket, then appears to be rearranging it. She looks up at the woman and gives her a suggestive wink, then runs off in the direction she was originally headed.

The woman glances down at the basket. A card is nestled comfortably in the middle, facing up towards her – ‘For You.’