What would you say in the face of greatness?
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I think for the first time in my life, I wanna tell you what it grew up being me was like. Not that it's anything special, but cos you bothered. And I'm bothered.
So we rewind about 2 decades plus.
Growing up in a family with some excess was fortunate. I remember having the luxury of a nanny even though mom's a stay-home seamstress; the extravagance to be picky over food; the freedom to be out with my playmates; it's all good - I remember being picked on by my elder siblings cos life was just to cushy for me.
I learnt my first heartache in pre-school - my best friend moved house and switched schools; he was the guy who sat beside me on the first day cos I cried out of fear, comforted me and drew me Donald to cheer me up. We lost touch cos the telephone was a sacred thing then, and mom wouldn't have us travel alone.
In primary school I had my first crush. She was pretty, smart, and chatty - the princess anyone could have yearned for. But we lost touch cos I was too shy to tell her how I felt. 10 years later, she got married and had a baby. I never saw her again.
The world had always been a dark and gloomy place - my brother pushed me around, my sisters were too annoyed by me, my parents fought just about every other day. Life was a big question mark - and I just indulged in my own fantasies and playthings.
Primary school was also my first taste of betrayal and doubt. Secrets that were not kept made me the ridicule amongst peers; vicious finger pointing made me a rebel. I was a smart kid I think - I scored for my tests and excelled in my exams. But I decided to turn stupid.
Secondary school was a time of changes - friends who entered the same school became aquaintances, new alliances were formed and fun became the order for the day.
I slacked totally so that I could fit in and rebelled in the name of freedom. Home became a no-return zone, and friends became an addiction. But as soon as it happened, I got more confused than before - my grades were hanging by minute points and the future seemed bleak. But who cared about the future when adding zinc to hydrochloric acid or knowing how many times a ball pendulum swings made any sense. So I withdrew into myself. I didn't know what life was anymore.
At 16, I made a discovery - music healed my soul. It quenched my thirst and made me cry. I would tune in to the radio and cause a ruckus with my sing-alongs, and blast the cassette player till I was forced to unplug. Life, then, was all about music.
But it soon became apparent that there would not be a song that would describe me, my life, my emotions, at any one time. So I decided to write my own songs.
When I got into JC, things were finally crystal clear - if you're not in, you're out; if you're not staying, better leave. When enormous hopes were pinned on me to become somebody, I chose the chosen path, even though it was not chosen by me. That was despite having explored my artistic inertia during Secondary school days and I liked it. I drew endless mountains and skies, weaved enormous ratan baskets, painted bright decorative flowers, made aplenty in handicrafts; but I had to become. Somebody.
I played rugby thinking I could ramp myself dead; joined the school band so that I could turn deaf; stared at the lab computers just so that I could be blind. But it didn't work. I was still alive. And I thought I fell in love with a guy.
I met Jean during that time, and she became my only friend.
Then I joined the army in a rush, flopped my exams and busted my university entry deliberately. I hated school cos it was painful. It had no purpose. And I just wanted to become some junkie rock star.
The military was the exact life I was so not looking forward to - endless routines and torture. Yes, it was a fact - we paraded near naked at 3am in the mornings and got the brigs cos we fell down. Those were real abuse that never saw justice, and finally range came, and I pointed the rifle at my throat, although I never pulled the trigger. Becos of HK and Irwin.
They were my next best friends.
It was during this time that the family business fell apart. Education weren't thrown away - education became a dream. When I got out of the army, my sister enrolled me in a tertiary instituition teaching media. I had one last shot at getting an education, and fought like a lion ready to be shot.
I met many young people who weren't interested in their lives, but I met Jaz. She knew of me back in JC, but I never met her. She was like a fragment of societal norms, torn just as I was. We became good friends.
A young man appeared about this time, and I thought it would be wonderful to have a brother just like him - cool, funky, intelligent, and thirsty for success. I teamed with him on many projects and worked hard to excel in our work. We created a storm in our time and carried on a legacy that is now thwarted. By ourselves.
At this time, I finally trusted people. I found Angel. She became my soul and my support. She was happiness in this hated world.
Just before graduation, I wanted to become a musician, to be professional and be good at what I do. I wanted to write beautiful music to remember my family, and write songs to tell Angel I love her, to write words that would shower my best friends the best praises I could think of. But i couldn't afford it. And came back out to the world.
For many years I strived for a living, starved for success just so that I could live a better life, a life worth living. And the day came when I got a shot to call a place my own, work on works that were of my own.
[LINE]
And in the end, it all fell apart, like the leaves that stood the many storms that were ripped off the trunks in a single blow.
And blow after blow the leaves fell, singing the death song of the wretched leaves and dying tree.
I have walked in the shadow of the valley of death, yet life persists in natural burns. Born is a hope that the light is dimmed, yet that light proves too tempting to let go.
[LINE]
Sometimes it's not how fortunate I have been. Sometimes, it's how tuned I am to the norms. Yes, sometimes, ignorance, is bliss.
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