“You’ll think this is a bit silly, but I’m a bit–well, I have a thing about birds.” “What, a phobia?” “Sort of.” “Well, that’s the common term for an irrational fear of birds.” “What do they call a rational fear of birds, then?”

“I wish I were more of a person and less of a bird”, I say out loud in the dark. My cat moves on the pillow next to my head so I stroke the space between her ears. She makes a sound that resembles a melody from my forgotten country and falls asleep again. I think about departures and running away. For a moment, when the cat pushes her paw into my neck, I think about her and how I am not such a great care-taker: how I don’t carry her in embrace and rather on my shoulder if at all; how I don’t play with her much apart from the time when I throw my pens across the room. On the other hand – it seems she is all right with that – she doesn’t like to be held or baby-talked to. Nurture vs. nature, I guess. Her tail lands on my face so I move away. It’s a big bed, double I presume, and there is two of us – there is enough space to sleep together yet apart. I am sure I must smirk when I try to imagine an extra person sleeping here with us… However – maybe they could reassure me I am not just a birdy and more of a human. Maybe there would be someone to stroke my empty bones and tickle with the fallen out feathers… I sigh and that alone makes my cat change the position once again. I stare into her black paw but don’t do anything this time. Seconds then minutes pass. I sigh again but nothing happens. Suddenly I think in panic that it’s already winter and I haven’t migrated south. When the morning comes it’s just empty shells and fallen out fur on my bed. I imagine I’m no longer.

“Your silence will not protect you.”

So I’ve been silent for a while – there are actually reasons for that, however every time I’ve considered writing why I am not writing I have either found myself lost in my own sentences or simply decided that I don’t want to.

In the most vague way it’s possible – my absence here was caused by the fact that I am no longer completely anonymous. Those who know that THIS IS ME are a handful of people really; less than the number of fingers on my hand – yet – an index finger too many. An index finger that points at me and with its fingernail scratches the inside of my skull…

So I have become silent (yet again)  – my middle finger to the world so to speak[1].

I might still be showing the finger, nevertheless – I have realized I no longer need to stay silent (after all – it’s always silent under the water). Ready or not, here I come…

fuck

[1] Or at least part of it.

“‘Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?’ ‘That is the only time a man can be brave,’ his father told him.”

“Be brave”. That’s what stayed with me after the last night. It was a long, very much pointless[1] and most of all a multi-layered and complicated conversation. Initially it was said – be yourself. Another bullshit, right? But maybe – be brave enough to be yourself. Be brave enough – and if that’s not enough, if that doesn’t work – be brave enough to hide behind your strengths, and not behind your weaknesses… Be ahead of the game – just like in chess – to be ahead enough to recognise when the game is about to start[2].

Be brave. Maybe it’s just a different way of saying well-known clichés. Maybe it’s something more…

[1] pointless as on the one end there was drunkenness, on the other – innate avoidism (i.e. me).

[2] and this is when you can stop; this is when you can retreat; this is when you can choose not to play.

“In this world, it is too common for people to search for someone to lose themselves in. But I am already lost. I will look for someone to find myself in.”

You say you are not yourself – who are you then?

It seems that recently so many words are trying to pierce my skin and get out. They are jumbled and I can’t even recognise sentences they once used to be part of. I open my mouth like a fish; I try to write them down (one by one) on the Tesco receipts and old train tickets from my pockets. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t lead anywhere. I surrender. In silence – with nothing to lose because everything has been lost already.

“I wondered what happened when you offered yourself to someone, and they opened you, only to discover you were not the gift they expected and they had to smile and nod and say thank you all the same.”

OK, so probably there might be a reason[1] why, at the age of one of the prime numbers, I am still single. Read with attention because this is probably what you shouldn’t do…

[disclaimer: I love a good pun. Most of my tattoos are silly jokes or potential puns that one day – I may or may not – use. I think that a good story is much more important than the real (and grown up?) shit. I guess – it is more than probable that this is the core and the reason of the most of my misadventures…]

  1. Musical chairs date(s)

The way it sometimes happens, it appeared that two friends of mine and I are having a date on the same day. As all of them were the first dates we have come up with the new game.

What you need are more than two players (check!). Each of them is setting their first date at the same place at the same time[2]. After a half an hour each of you is making up an excuse and you go to the toilet. You exchange all the information one may need. You re-enter the scene – though – you make your way to the table with your friend(s) date. You pick up the conversation where they have left it…

Obviously – the aim is to make as many switches as you can. Obviously – if they don’t find it funny – it’s really not worth it. Word.

  1. Marry me![3]

Recently I was asked to go on a date. Just before we were about to agree on place and time he texted me what are my long-haul plans. “See what happens” – that was my answer. As a reply I have received a following message: “ahh shame, I am looking for marriage by the end of the month x”, followed by the three days of silence. Yesterday a text came stating that – obviously it was a joke[4].

Today UK citizens were voting about leaving or staying in the UK. I am the foreigner (sort of obvious – right?). Part of me (the p/fun loving one) is hoping all of the Brits voted – LEAVE! – because only then I’ll be able to text back: “I really don’t want to leave – and marriage is my only option!”, followed by the list of close-by registries…

  1. Hat Thing

Along the weird sunglasses and masks – I collect hats. I have some that are simply cool, there are few with great stories – but let’s be honest – most of them are pretty dumb. Amongst them – I have a chicken hat and my thinking cap[5].

The game is – you go for a date and once they leave the table for a moment[6] – you put on the first stupid hat. They come back. There are probably three options. They do not react. They find it amusing[7]. They make big eyes and say something. This is exactly the moment when you need to keep the straight face and exchange the hat for even more stupid one[8] – “Does this one work better for you?”..

 

I dare you – try to date my kind…

[1] I should say “reasons” to be correct. But putting aside my social awkwardness (retardedness?), commitment and trust issues, and (obviously!) all of the abbreviations that – put together – just like in the Captain Planet – make me – there is something else…

[2] easy enough, right?

[3] works only HERE & NOW!

[4] this three days in between make me doubt it…

[5] with a propeller – and all the shit.

[6] bar/toilet/whatever…

[7] that probably means they are your kind of a person (just saying).

[8] if they don’t find it funny, I believe, you may as well simply leave. No fun WHAT-SO-EVER.