I write a lot, mainly for work, but also for myself – mostly to keep sane. You see, I was born with one of those minds that just won't let you be…and, if I don't empty it onto a page or through a discussion, life's angles get a little hazy.
Seldom am I able to take something on face value, and as far back as I can remember I was challenging the status quo, pointing out the discrepancies in the rule book and asking too many “but why mum” type questions. I always enjoyed putting the world to rights, and at one time I aspired to be a politician -Margaret Thatcher even wrote back to me once, and I showed Michael Portillo around my junior school.
As the years have peeled back I have managed to find my voice on the page, occasionally penning things people like to read, like some of the posts on this blog for instance. One of my dear friends calls me “a great writer”, for which I am grateful yet slightly shy, as to be honest I feel like a fraud each time my elder brother points out the “school boy” grammatical errors in my work each week. It was in fact my brother who (or should that be that :)) got me into this writing lark. He asked me to review a drum and bass compilation which had been submitted for review to the Mancunion; the university paper he wrote for at the time. He heavily edited my adolescent attempt for publication and my foray into the field of writing began. What's strange is that my brother should have been a writer, not me. He would have made a great journalist. Instead he became a lawyer, which I imagine involves a fair bit of doodling here and there. My English teacher Miss Bayliss once commented, “If you could use apostrophes you could be a good writer”. Well here I am 17 years later and still struggling.
It's alternative thought processes that come naturally to me, not words. Yet learning to write wasn't a choice for me, it was a necessity to help keep my mind at bay and release all these thoughts imprisoned in the cavities of my brain. There is nothing worse than really wanting to get your point across but not being able to articulate yourself properly. Being able to write to a half decent standard has not only released me somewhat, but also helped with my conversation and debating skills.
What motivates me to keep bettering myself with the keyboard is the hope that one day something I think might touch someone through something I write. In my wildest dreams I'd like to write something on a par with Robert Fisk or Arundhati Roy. Occasionally I go beyond blog post and articles and the little green men in my head dictate that I write something a little more profound. And that was the intention of something I penned a few weeks back.
I was walking home from the gym when I saw something that triggered three minutes of typing away into my phone. A girl going to work in a place I wish she didn't compelled me to write a song. I sent it to a famous singer/songwriter ater writing it to a melody of one of his songs, but he didn't reply, so I guess he wasn't even remotely impressed – what did I expect, it has no chorus and without music it kinda looks like a lame poem with childish rhyming. Anyway, rather than have it sit on my hard-drive forever, I thought since it was written in Thailand it should be published here. It's a little short, but I think the visual is powerful.
I was kinda hoping she wouldn't walk down that street, but then again there was something about the way her heels didn't quite fit her feet.
The strange thing was, we were all coming home from work, yet she was just starting, so how does that work?
I stood on that bridge from about 1oo feet, and like a rabbit caught in headlights she crossed the street. In hindsight I kinda wish I'd gone straight home, but by now my eyes were fixated and I had to know…
I longed for her to take a right, or at least just think about it for a while, but in this city, you can always tell a girl… who's walked the country mile.
Sadly it was her skin that gave it away, or maybe the vest or the tired nonchalant sway..she dipped past the bus and round a few bikes, stepped on a old guy's foot and disappeared out of sight.
Well I guess I coulda tried to stop her if I had the soul, but I had to tell myself I was too late… life had taken its toll…