Spring Cleaning.

Another unused Public Speaking Tournament Speech.

N.B: It's somewhat, well pretty much, entirely fictional (I guess, I think, I know). To be honest, I'm not entirely sure which parts are true or not. Therefore- please don't ask.

        SPRING CLEANING.

Spring cleaning is adding and deleting with extra deleting. You remove rubbish, you add a bookcase. You remove one set of bed-sheets, you add another. But Spring doesn't exist in Botswana, so it is early December when I am cleaning my room. What do I find under my bed?

-old chip packets of various and once tasty flavours

-a dirty old plate with shriveled up chicken bones

-a few books I should have read

-a few books I should not have read

- an uneaten chocolate bar, melted of course. It's hot.

-a 2nd Place Public Speaking medal from last year's tournament.

-a barbie doll, I have no idea what that's doing here.

-a couple of teeth, with splotches of dried blood and gum, that I had to get removed in order to get my braces.

- a few more books I should read

- a few more books that I should not read

and finally...

-two unsent love letters to someone we don't need to talk about

So, as I begin to toss whatever I don't need into a big, black, industrial-class bin bag I think about how we're constantly adding and deleting things in our lives. We delete old clothes and we add the freshest kicks to our wardrobe. We delete ex-girlfriends (and/or boyfriends) and we add more books that we haven't read yet... But in this process of adding and deleting... do we remain the same person? Am I who I was yesterday? Does the mere act of Spring Cleaning change who I am forever?

As I am cleaning my room I also check my Facebook- his father has messaged me through my his [my friend's] account... Of course I freeze. He had told me that if I don't receive a message a few hours after his operation... I should assume that he is dead. 

One whole day had passed since he had last said goodbye. One whole day where I occasionally bomb his inbox with messages like 'Oi. Wake up!' or 'Dude, what the hell are you still doing?' One whole day in which my mother tells me that my Aunt in Canada is getting one of her breasts removed. One whole day in which I don't tell my mother that my friend was getting his head opened up for the exact same reason. One whole day in which when I woke up and did not see a message from him, the first thing that popped up in my head is that "mornings...are carcinogenic."

So one whole day, where my friend is both dead and alive in my mind.

His father tells me that's he's fine. That's he's alive. That's he's lost all of his memory as a result of the operation.

Oh.

So... Spring Cleaning... 

When we delete things, memories, people, parties, girls, boys, adventures, school grades , I love you's, I hate  you's, movies, songs, books and even friends...  

And when in place of these we add things, memories, people, parties, girls, boys, adventures, school grades, I love you's, I hate  you's, movies, songs, books, and even friends ... 

Do we still remain the same people we were yesterday?

I ask myself this as I tell him my name.

Art From Afar.

While I continue to pass-not pass French, our school has received a few exchange students from France this year. Being somewhat an opportunist of sorts, I've managed to have a few conversations with one of them. 

Her name is Bianca and for whatever inexplicable reasons she likes a lot of the same things I do. This proves to me that perhaps yes, God probably does exist. 

Though let me not waste any time with my words. Here's two of her drawings:

In absolute shock and awe (and perhaps...envy) , I then asked her how long they took here to make:

"The first one took an hour and a half (I have it on me it's quite small) and the second one took an hour I think"

Wait, what?!

"Haha or maybe a bit more"

Okay.

P.S  I was also introduced to some Rimbaud, who's a very awesome French poet. 'Roman' is worth checking out... but don't worry, there's an English translation: 

http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Romance.html

A Certain Story.

This week's post is dedicated to a certain Pixie whom I owe an adventure.  :3 

***

    A Certain Story


The scene is a certain school courtyard, full of certain adolescents. Boys and girls are criss-crossing haphazardly and are bustling about, caught up in their respective little lives. They go in, out, from and to their tiny and certain daily adventures. 

A certain boy and a certain girl look at each other as they walk,  their eyes meet.


CERTAIN BOY: 

When I look at a girl in the eyes, I imagine both of our lives up until the singular moment of iris and iris, me and her. I imagine us somewhere in the beginning of a little chick flick movie of sorts.  Or the starting line of a flowery poem. Or the prologue of some great literary novel... Though that moment of pupil and pupil is the first climax in our mini romantic comedy.

I can see the whole story being laid out:

The nervous greeting, the fruitful giggling, the blossoming smile. Then the shy hand-holding, warm hugs, the sweet first kiss, the lusty grab and tag and rustle in whatever shadowy make-out spot in the school. Followed by commitment, sentiment,  "I like you"s , "I need you"s,  "I miss you"s, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life and I don't wanna lose you"s and finally- "I love you"'s.

And then of course the inevitable bored, lifeless, un-innovative, sad, miserable, heartbreaking and mundane conversations that happen once the mysterious honeymoon period disappears. The under-appreciation and the desperation and perhaps some cheating, but more likely to be found is loneliness.

This then ends in a 'break' or break-up, which are essentially the same thing.

However that may not be the end just yet, they might just get back together. Maybe. Maybe not. But no one has that much time to worry so... On to the next big thing.

But-

I can already see that whole story being laid out:

The nervous greeting, the fruitful giggling, the blossoming smile. Then the shy hand-holding...



CERTAIN GIRL:

Why... why is he looking at me like that?

End of scene.

Image from 'Blue is The Warmest Colour' by Julie Maroh. Read it. It honestly might just change how see people. Plus, it's ridiculously beautiful.