Skip to main content

Figuring out if I am cut out for this show business a year after everything in my minutiae existence changed for something else much surreal than I imagined it to be

What a rush. It's been a year now. Times have changed dramatically since then. Too much to ponder and the memories are slowing fading. Green grass, Victoria station, my bags were topsy-turvy and barely made a modicum of sense, having chips in a middle of nowhere, thinking my death was inevitable, and finally Edinburgh.

It's another month for the Edinburgh Fringe. It was where it all began last year. I just finished my studies in LISPA, this and that, prior to leaving the flat. It was heartbreaking. My father was telling me how everything was monumentally fucked up and he couldn't save it for the both of us. I clenched my fist, the Olympics was coming, Chiara and Gianmaria gave me enough money to leave, and that was that. I left without any intention to come back. Fuck the visa, I said. Fuck it all.

I got to the coach station in Victoria and had zero idea what was in store. I had with me very few supplies to last a month. I had booked a flat a couple of days ago in advance for £100 a week, and I initially opted to stay for only a week. The trip was one of those quiet moments of peace and release. That was the first time I had left London on my own, and with little money, surviving was the biggest worry. There were only a handful of people inside the coach, including me. For eight long hours we rode, and I barely slept the night before. I probably even didn't. It was daunting before, during, and after I arrived in Edinburgh. Spending what little of money I have was difficult. Even finding the flat where I booked from Gumtree was educational. Observing the streets and architecture of the town made me feel new and alive. It felt like a wave crashing down on me and all that cliché. Heads were rolling with all kinds of stories to tell. The Fringe was in full gear and my journalist persona was there. I had with me the lomo camera that I hesitated to buy from Liverpool Street. It was a rainbow mini fisheye, and it cost me £50 for a camera that size. Not to mention the 110 films are expensive as fuck, and developing it was next to impossible anywhere in Scotland. I didn't have any laptop, only my about-to-give-up iPhone and a spare Blackberry, my very important journal, and 24 shots of film. Perfect. That leaves me so dramatically incomplete.

I had to put on face to watch my former colleagues perform their gig. Those same wide-eyed people with their fake smiles and troubling politeness. I was there for my integrity as a faux-journalist, so I find to make some action and make every second count. What I discovered was less than stellar, ultimately rubbish and nonsensical.

I've been meaning to put a show myself since graduating, but there were not many interests in my skill, particularly because I gave everyone a hard time at the final moments of our glorious camaraderie. Figured I could probably pull out some characters, and some invites, and then a wee bit of stand-up comedy perhaps. Not long, just enough that I will entertain myself. I forgot which night it was but I saw one free act in front of Hunter Square. I loved free acts. It was the only time I could actually enjoy something without feeling guilty of expenses afterwards. But it's not necessarily free, per sé. Nothing was free. Everything wanted donations afterwards, so it's not technically free.  A terrible misconception. It was very hot indeed down there, and my pimples were boiling, and everyone's pimples were boiling, too. I went sitting on the back and beside me was someone, a man, I'm guessing Spanish, who barely speaks a word of English, listening to the stand-up, laughing to the jokes every now and then, and being laughed at as well for being lost in translation. The madness was killing me. There I was, in this new foreign land, friendless, solitary, and no care in the world. It was sad and fun at the same time. I never liked the feeling of being alone, but helplessly being alone for so long made it slightly bearable, looking back now. I've never had that sense of companionship then, and after having one now, for almost a year, the appreciation of the smallest details were excruciatingly liberating, and I ache for that same feeling as I did just because I could communicate with my soul with much pride and tenderness. I just needed a friend on that first week, 'tis all, but I didn't want to be locked on to that person, whoever it was. I didn't even know they were coming. They all came after me in droves. My life was seemingly complete. But now, a year has passed since then, and it was all for naught.

Popular posts from this blog

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Snippet: In her darkest days, Elaine (worldbuilding), unfinished

Voices of strange busybodies could be heard on the other side of the edifice. Elaine reckoned she recognised one of them. An old friend. Perhaps not necessarily a friend, or not technically a friend. A friend is a rare commodity for her these days. She could walk right past them and not blink an eye, but Elaine waited for a little bit more until the lot toned down. Having a group of opposites around her, poking her skin through their eyes, meticulously making sure she was an enabler who to them an abundant source of entertainment, was all the reason needed to convince herself to back away from the complexity of it all. Home is an awful lot more awful than this place though, Elaine thought, as she gripped her handbag tightly, hoping the ray of darkness from the moon would envelope her and shield her from the attention of the lonesome trail.
"This would not have happened had you only listened to me, Elaine," complained Darco. "Half the people out there would skin us both…

True Blue

Bits and pieces of things long lost have started appearing out of nowhere all of a sudden. Memories of people, places, and thoughts associated with my belongings knock at the door waiting to be let in, never to be left on its own accord. I am to be the master puppeteer of this cerebral construct, of nightmares I wish were forgotten, of people I wish to rid all manner of associations with.
Mother had surprised Miriam with a message for me. Of a very far-fetched idea on how to maximise my potential to become something which I totally am not. A preacher for a religion I have absolutely no faith of of all things. Perhaps as a way to once again fuck up and atone for the totality of my insufferable existence. Fortunately for me I now have total control of my destiny. Something of which has never brought me much satisfaction, in fairness, true, but still the freedom to be a clueless and monumental buffoon is much more satisfying than to be a scholar trapped in the confines of virility, prej…