The Utterly Complicated and Unfortunate Life Events
of a Slightly-Corrupted Sapiosexual Androgynous Oxymoron
(A pseudo-fictional autobiography -lulz-)
by:Kah (Date started: 8/08/12- on going)
Fair warning: Content reeks of sarcasm and nonsense proceed with due caution. Tight-lipped squares with telephone poles up their hinnies need not advance.Forgive the profanity.
Miscellaneous Musings
They say life begins at forty. Well fuck, what if I died today? Does that mean I never lived?
Sometimes I wonder if anyone out there is ever living out their potential. I’m probably doing this half-assed. Nobody ever hires an amateur artist-adventurer-explorer, self-proclaimed inventor, weirdo scientist, expert daydreamer or the world’s best reader.
Sometimes I wonder if people are just trying to make me feel better by saying how sorry they were and how much potential I actual had and how promising I seem and that I really should be doing this or that. I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted to lie to make themselves feel better. Totally unnecessary, I just broke new ground as a musical artist who discovered the sound of silence so I’m sure my career will take off soon.
Seriously though I have too much time on my hands to ever be anything and yet here you are reading my crap.
Unbroken Childhood
I like tree houses, we never had one. I doubt anyone I know had one. Well actually I don’t know a lot of people. But I know I’ve never seen a tree house. Instead I made do with cardboard boxes and built forts in our backyard- not actually a backyard but a small, empty, cemented space-behind-the-house.
I would cut the huge boxes, set up the walls, and pretend I’m on a starship blasting alien enemy ships. Starships are fine but what I really wanted was a tree house. Mother said I would break my neck climbing a tree. That’s when I knew I will never live on a tree house. Ever.
I never knew who my neighbors were. I’ve probably played with their kids once or twice. I just figured they wouldn’t understand how play worked for me which involved a lot of daydreaming starring a solitary protagonist. I wasn’t selfish or anything they just lacked the necessary imagination to begin with. And I feared recruiting them will compromise my intergalactic missions. I smelled mutiny among the ranks. In the name of universal peace and order I had to let them go.
My parents never let me out which was fine since strangers scare the crap out of me. Being xenophobic was one of my more charming traits, which indubitably explains why I hate all my friends before I knew them.
Even in school I’m the kid who didn’t quite fit in. I was the “spare kid”; you know the one who gets to join a game because one team lacks a member or because your friend vouched for you. Oddly it never bothered me not to be a part of any game. I consider running around an empty lot a waste of energy. It also lacked creativity. The goals were so elementary that I cannot fathom how joy can be derived from such an unimaginatively droll activity. Chase-tag-reverse roles- repeat. Hello, I own a freeze ray?
Although, I must admit that the preliminary phase prior to the game proper was very interesting. The ritualistic chanting, despite being paganistic in nature, provided some unwritten pretext for the true objective of the game. “Langit, Lupa at Impyerno, saksak puso tulo ang dugo…?”* Like I said, interesting if your planning to be the future Anti-Christ.
But I can tell being vouched for by a friend had its benefits. The more friends you had the better chances you get to join a game and not get picked on.
I think I was pretty popular because I got picked on quite a lot. For some reason I was just the convenient kid to bully. I never fought back because I’m about as formidable as a string bean. And I’m really the non-confrontational type. I’m more passive-aggressive. That and being a klutz spells doom for your science project.
So when I took out my anger on the wrong kid-ONCE- the teacher did not understand the pent up frustration behind it and I had to spend recess in the corner -pretty lame punishment. That ended my one and only stint as a bully. Some kids are just born to be bullies and others are born for the other part- whatever that part is exactly. Great casting up there!
I never really questioned it though I just thought it was how the world works. Like when you accidentally sit on a burger and walk around all afternoon smelling like the onions in your butt- burgers happen man, burgers happen.
In time I didn’t want to have anything to do with the world. It can go fuck itself if it wanted to, I would have no part of it, I had better things to do, like build a time machine. Eventually I would realize Science isn’t all it is crapped up to be and that the world wouldn’t let me off that easy.
It doesn’t help that I’m perpetually withdrawn, even librarians scare me and to think I love reading. I never spoke unless spoken to. I can hold my tongue for hours if I have to. Actually I never recited until I graduated elementary school, unless the teacher called me out which happened often, which is why I decided for everyone’s benefit to skip class. Did I mention I graduated?
I don’t remember studying. Not that I was lazy, I just never really knew how. All that my mother said the very first day of kindergarten was: “Now, behave yourself and listen well to your teacher ok?” So that’s what I did from day one onwards. Behave and listen. Even when everybody else had recess outside I was glued to my desk eating my sandwich like a trooper waiting for the teacher to get back. It was the birth of a neurosis.
Behave and listen. But you know it couldn’t have hurt if she added: “…and if some wiseass tries to step on you stick him in the eye and let him know who’s boss.” Of course my mother would never…well we can’t pick our parents the same way parents can’t pick their kids. These are the cards we are dealt with. So, we deal with it.
About the time machine, yeah I built it. I was nine and ambitious. I used my uncle’s High School Science book as a guide. It was incredibly awe-inspiring to read! I didn’t understand a word of it. It was also a Chemistry book. Still Science.
My imagination thought otherwise and by the end of the day I was in the backyard hard at work. I dragged all my materials to the “lab”, dismantled an old broken fan, plugged in a few random parts, taped some other random knick-knack to it and got myself a fancy time-machine.
It worked pretty well in my head. I would tell you all about my adventures except I made a pact with a bunch of historical heroes that I would never breathe a word about it to anyone. Suffice it is to say that history is one ginormous fabricated malecowfecaloidmatter–forgive the Latin. But no one needs to know the nitty gritty.
Owning a time machine was hazardous to freedom. I got grounded without parole. How was I supposed to know that that fan wasn’t broken? It being broken wasn’t the reason for punishment, I just skipped naptime. After much consideration I eventually had to take it down. I almost shed a tear. But then I had space aliens to deal with and the parts made for a powerful DeathStar version 3.0. Camelot would be very proud of me. (Good grief I am not making sense anymore!- this was me as a kid).
If only I’d known how broken I’d get in the future I should have kept the blueprints. I could use some time-fixing about now. My teenage self could use a hard smack on the head-with a lead pipe- too. Regret is the price we pay for not building time machines. I just thought the world ought to know that. But like I said the world is about as dependable as a handkerchief under a monsoon.
Birds&Bees
We’ve all had that childhood crush. That secret “puppy love”. I never called it that. His name was Alex, he had the face of a cherub and he was my destiny. We were star-crossed lovers who previously shared a life in the middle ages. He doesn’t remember me, naturally, being gone for so long he has forgotten of our ill-fated love. But I know him. I would know the back of his head amongst a throng of kindergarteners.
The teacher knows it too; disregarding the alphabetic arrangement why else would the universe conspire to have me seated next to him? And him not next to Angela (name congruent with face incongruent with nature) or me not next to frog-faced Jesse (I swear to god that kid was sick)?
Oh the many days I spent sitting beside Alex like a frigid popsicle. The many tender conversations we’ve exchanged in my head still warm my heart. But Alex transferred school before we finished second grade. Oh cruel fate. He never even knew my name. I never knew his…everything.
Some girls chase their crushes. Not me. I’ll avoid mine like the plague. And maybe stay heartbroken for many days when they disappear off the face of the earth.
I swore never to love again. Well not until Damian, Jason, Gregory, Raymond, Stephen… apparently I had a lot of soulmates. What can I say? The years were long and the fish were plenty. But fate was never kind. And although I was a one man woman I discovered I was a very fickle lover. Forever alone.
In summary this is how I would shower them with affection: I would stalk when they aren’t looking and when they get suspicious the jig is up and I drop everything. Goodbye.
This is how drastically I change my tune. It would seem at an early age all I am about is the thrill of the chase (or stalk). Whatever the case my crushes were as definite as the latest sticker tattoo on my wrist.
But then fate decided to be extra funny. I met Alex again two decades later. I wanted to believe it was all serendipitous the process of finding each other accidentally after two decades was potentially chick-flick plot material. But since this is my life and not a chick-flick that idea didn’t last long. My beautiful cherub turned atheist drug junkie. I have nothing against atheists but he was obnoxious about it.
The most romantic we’ve gone was when Alex tried to solicit morphine prescriptions. He smiled through nicotine-stained teeth and I bared my fangs behind orthodontic devices. He mistook it for a grin. Yep, the world hates me.
(to be continued…)
* Lyrics to a pregame song of the Philippine version of tag. Translation: “heaven, earth and hell…stab the heart, blood is dripping…”. I can’t really recall the whole song, but who ever the finger points to at the end of the song is “it” (one syllable per person). Morbid, I know.
wickedwit13 