Call Denied

This post is probably best read whilst listening to a loop of 'Best Laid Plans' by James Blunt. I know I certainly was listening to it while I was writing! Words sum up perfectly everything I'm trying to convey through this post. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jWW0-Run_g

You could say this post was a direct result of the Blog Roll having 'a calling' as one of their current topics. You could say this was an easy post to write. It would all be a lie. I've written and re-written this opening paragraph a dozen times already, unsure how to word it, and to be honest, I'm not even sure this is what I'll end up with.

A reminder of a past sorrow came back today, and I needed to let it out on paper for reasons unknown. Sometimes sadness is too great to be kept inside, and when you haven't put brush to canvas for far too long, keyboard to pixel is often the best option for one's sanity. The guise of 'a calling' was probably the only way to deliver my thoughts cohesively, but really, it's nothing more than a slim cover for the hurt that I'm feeling right now. The only real truth I know that can sum up this post is that the one calling I want, no, need, of all the others, is the very one I can never have.

Have you ever wanted something so unwaveringly that every second you don't have it feels like you are strapped to a torture chamber, enduring the most heinous debasement, endlessly? You struggle at first, screaming and thrashing, disbelieving that such a terrible fate can be befalling you. Then after a while, you break. In the back of your mind you'll keep the desire to escape alive, but your body slowly goes through the motions of acceptance. Before long, even your mind has begun to fade and the dream of what you once had are long distant and clouded.

It's dramatic for certain, but it is exactly how I feel when I think about my two cousins. They're aged, well, I don't really know any more. The last time I saw them was many years ago. Boy have those years flown, each a measurable monument to the growing gap in my life caused by their absence. For reasons too complex and lengthy to dissect, I am no longer allowed to see them. You could say my relationship with them was nothing more than a chess pawn in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the decision made only to hurt and alienate.

I remember the very first time I held my cousins. The first when I was about eight perhaps, the other when I was older. I've never loved another being so much. I don't plan on having children for many years yet, but I'd imagine the feeling of love and caring I felt for them in that instant is as close as I'll get until such a time. From that first moment on, I knew it was my job to be their guardian in life. A role model and protector. We grew extremely close. I'd write them notes on how to be better people and look after themselves. I'd spend hours playing with them, teaching them, although I probably was the one who learnt the most out of the relationship; they matured me as a person in ways that nothing other than responsibility can teach. I'd never have thought that I'd know the day when I'd barely remember their faces, let alone struggle to imagine what they would look like now. The only thing I have left is that feeling of responsibility and love. The one that resides in me still from my time with them. A small nugget that keeps me going.

The goal has always been pure. To be there for them and to be a positive force in their lives. Nothing remains now but memories and this faint, nostalgic will I have to still be there for them, despite the miles and years that have transpired between us. You could label it a calling. An unbreakable bond I feel to my role as their guardian. I bide my time, but through the fog of positivity and hopefulness, I know it will be many years before I'll ever seen them again. When they're old enough to come find me of their own free will. Many years, many chances I've missed to be there for them.

I sometimes lie awake at night and sit watching a passing car's lights dance on the ceiling, thinking about how their day has been. What young men they are turning into. Sometimes I get sad. Thinking of the day they were bullied and I wasn't there to pass on the experience and reassurance I learnt when at school. Or when their pet dies and they need someone to confide in. Sometimes I get angry. Angry at the situation. Angry at how it's not fair. Angry at it all. Other times I roll over and go to sleep, apathetic in the knowledge that no matter how I try, we'll be apart.

When I was younger, although it still happens from time to time now, I used to get extremely excited when waiting for something. Not a thing or treat, but something to return. Our back door would be difficult to open, so dad would set me the task of opening it when he returned with another load of shopping from the car, or an item from the garage. I'd sit there, staring at the door, jiggling with excitement. I wouldn't know when or how or what would come through the door. But I knew it was coming. That moment of realization when everything slots into place, and the lifetime you felt standing there crashes into the present and you can see it all. The excitement I will feel, when finally I can fulfill the promise I made to my baby cousins, does dilute the weight I bear of the separation, making it easier to digest. Every day I carry on living, but in the back of my mind there is that metaphorical egg timer I know is ticking. I don't know when it will go off, but I know the day will come. And when it does, I'll be able to resume the calling held on pause for so long.

You may hear me say this a lot - and it's only because it is entirely true and something I live my life by - but you only have one life. One tiny blink of a life to make the changes and do the things you have to do. I have a large list. An infinite list that I know will never be completed. It pains me that the biggest regret, the biggest failure, happens to be the one thing I can truly call 'a calling'. The one thing I want more than anything.

One day, I think to myself whenever something reminds me of them. One day. And then I carry on living. I feel guilty, but I try and convince myself that when they find me, if they even still remember me, that they'll know I tried my hardest and forgive me.

One day...


Well! Hope nobody has hung themselves yet lol. Just had to get that off my chest. Two birds with one stone and all that jazz...

Burning a Hole in My Pocket

Ever feel the sting of a coin in your pocket as you walk through a street? You pass a busker, a homeless man, or more than a few sale signs. Like a kindred spirit, it yearns to be free. Sometimes you'll chuck it in any adjacent guitar case, but more often than not, it'll sit in your pocket. As you walk, it'll get heavier. The heavier it gets, the more excuses there are not to give it away; it may have become a lucky penny or destined for a function you'll never use it for. And there it will sit.

Blogging for me is like that coin. Being an extremely artistic person, who wears his heart on his sleeves made of open wounds and emotion, expressing myself comes very naturally to me, especially in the written form. I've always wanted to blog seriously - at one point I did to some small success, but they were from darker times in my life - but there has always been an excuse. I can feel the sting of needing to write down my thoughts, my fears, my words, but there has always been that fear factor residing in my mind, stopping me from doing anything more than a journal.

And then came along the Blog Roll. I watched it for several weeks, if not months - a group of friends blogging on topics and discussing their thoughts. My previous blog was anonymous. I enjoyed the free reign of being totally open with another being possibly sitting at their computer, reading and thinking about my troubles, knowing that someone out there heard my plea. Although a journal is great, there is something profound about blogging to an audience.

Over the years I've grown. Matured. I'm still in that process. It wasn't until just now that I decided to take the plunge and blog for real. No masks, just me and people who knew me. The risk is higher, but the reward too. I didn't come to the decision lightly. More than ever, I am aware that anything on the internet is public. Once it's out there, there's no taking it back. I'm at a point in my life where people know me. People from my career, my life, my friends. Not all people I expect to understand who I am or why I do. And there in lies the rub.

I, like most artists, work well when I'm emotionally attached to my work. Writing is just another form of that art. Writing relaxes me. Helps me work through my thoughts and understand myself better. It is an extremely personal and internal process. When you share yourself with another person, your emotions and fears and the reality of yourself, you are so very vulnerable. So you can imagine the surge of fear knowing that all this was being released like a torrent onto not anonymous readers, but possibly people I know. I nearly backed out of writing this. Like a coin I was attached to, I nearly shoved my hand back into my pocket and turned away. If I can't write from the heart, then it's not my writing; and yet that very passion is the thing which often gets me burnt. Not everyone sees the world with the same eyes - I'm not special in that regard - but in a way, it's time I liked it.

So here is the result. It may very well turn out that nothing more than bland posturing fills these pages, far from the suicidal and left wing ramblings you're probably expecting after reading all that (!), but at least I've taken the first step away from fear and towards a place where I am unabashed in expressing myself. The training wheels are off. If people do not like who I am, then they are not worth my time trying to convince them. I know who I am and am not ashamed. Expect to see my musings and thoughts on both the topics given by the Blog Roll, and on issues and events in my life. Maybe some of my work or anything I feel fits. However you won't see anything watered down. Edited and redacted in case someone I know might see it and disapprove. It wouldn't serve the purpose of my writing and I won't put you through that - I'd make for far too boring a read! People have always said one of my best traits is that I'm honest and they know where I stand. No masks, no lies. This blogger has seen far too many of those in his life and this is not a time to perpetuate them.

So let's go give that busker a coin. You don't need it any longer.