The Beauty of A.

I know a woman. She is beautiful. She likes to be reminded that she is beautiful. And by aknowledging her beauty, it is as if there is a connection, a sacred tie between her and I.

In her absence, I cannot comment on her beauty. Or if I do, by writing words down and trying to make things clear, I am only really commenting on my memory. I cannot smell her scent or taste the flavours of her company. The light that travelled between us, travelled light years ago.

In my absence, she has found herself a man. He can be with her and remind her of her beauty. There is no jealousy, just a joy tinged with sadness - for I know she can now be happy.

On the day that my mother left my father, I am still thinking of her.

Memory

Memories can be both a curse and a blessing. If you have suffered some tragic event in your life, this can be replayed so many times. You can analysis what happened, make a judgement about how your attitude was faulty then live with the consequences of such a response.

Of course, memories can also work the other way too. At this point in my life I am frustrated with my circumstances and I want to move on. I work ten hour days in a call centre trying to sell to anyone who happens to come into contact with me. It has been a year and a half since I completed my Masters degree and nothing much has happened. I have been applying for jobs in London. I hope to relocate there once I find a job. The plan is to write a steady five pages a day and work at becoming a decent writer.

I still write on my days off, this is something I need to do. But the ten hours on the phone seem to be killing me. I am becoming more and more anxious and I really need a change!

There are places I can still go. I can remember special occasions, like the time I wrote and recorded an EP with two friends. Then getting airplay on Cool FM! That give me a real sense of achievement and purpose. It also give me a chance to express myself and to be taken seriously.

One day, this moment in my life will also become a memory. I will be able to look back and laugh! There will be a distance between my future self and the person I am now, just as if I was watching someone play me on the big screen. It will be then that I won't take myself too seriously!

An early memory.

One of my earliest and happiest memories was of my great grandfather's funeral. I remember my older relatives talking about me as if I wasn't there: "He is not old enough to understand." The irony is that the same relatives would make daft statements like, "He looks as if he is at peace now."

My greatgrandfather had a big family. He had twelve children and I was three generations removed, so you can imagine! I used to visit him once a week. While I can no longer remember what he looks like, I do remember some small details. He used to have these big bottles of lucozade that were made of glass. They came wrapped in crinkly paper from the chemist. He would pour me a small glass and I felt that a special honour was being bestowed upon me.

That day is significant because of the happiness that I felt. I remember running about with other older children that I will never meet again. My maternal grandfather, who was related to my greatgrandfather by marriage, kept sending us off to the shops with money when something significant was happening. I was never so spoilt in my life.

People, of course, find death very difficult to deal with. What makes matters worse is that people are expected to behave and feel in a certain way. There is also the awkwardness of how to explain to young children what has happened. This was my first funeral and the one that has made the biggest impression. While I probably was too young to feel great sorrow, I was still able to feel delighted that I was related to and loved my such a significant man. There is a lesson here: sorrow is secondary. Happiness is our most natural inclination.