Remember

Apparently, I turned 29 today. I had completely forgotten.

Had it not been for dad marking the calendar on the fridge before he left, in big red marker no less, I would’ve remained completely oblivious to the fact. I’m not usually the extravagent celebratory type  (let’s face it, I’m in no position to be anyway), but I decided it was high time I took a bit of time out and relaxed for a bit. I’ve spent the last few days scouring the Earth for ATMs and not talking to super market clerks – I was clearly of the conclusion that I deserved to enjoy myself – at least for one day.

Dad and I always did share the same love for the vintage. It came as no surprise that he still had his old 8-track players in the sun room. But more to my interest, he still had the old VCR. We’re not talking one of those DVD/VHS combo player’s. We’re talking National Panasonic G7 tape decks back from the 80s, kept in mint condition.

And of even greater interest to me? The first three seasons of Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, recorded off TV. (The original seasons – none of those awful follow-ups) It’s always been an odd thing that I was so consumed by a children’s show at the age of 14. It’s even more peculiar that the intro music still gives me shivers of nostalgia. It wasn’t just the engaging rock music combined with martial arts and giant robots that tickled my fancy. I was fascinated by the idea of individuals, teenagers no less, being chosen out of the blue to become extraordinary, with no strong rationale ever given for why they were chosen. I guess it was a sense of empowerment as a teenager. I loved the idea of becoming something more – even though there was no reason to think I ever would.

I kicked back and watched a few episodes, finding that my fascination now held more relevance than ever. But to me, I was more like Tommy, the Green Ranger. I too, had become extraordinary, but as an agent of destruction. I just hope there’s a group of rangers to destroy my Sword of Darkness.

I’m glad to say that through all that drawing of applicability, I managed to have a bit of fun.

Three cheers for 90s TV Themes, Martial Arts and Giant Robots. Oh, and the melodramatic scripts.

Intermittently, and without reason, my mind kept returning to that woman I had seen in the park. I hate the fact that I refer to her as such. So I shall call her Naomi, for lack of a better name. That, and I thought she should be named after a movie character about whom not much is known – as that is how she is to me: a mystery. I chose Naomi as Joel Barrish doesn’t tell much about her in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. While he seeks to erase Clementine, she is the one who is truly forgotten.

Naomi haunts me. The image of her both haunts, and saddens. Over the past few days, I’ve stopped several times to wonder about her at that exact moment in time. The bruise sticks out in my mind. I hope that it is still the only one, soon to disappear. But a nagging feeling in the back of my mind causes me worry. At times, I visualise her in some terrible emotional predicament.

I imagine her conflicts. I worry about her.

(And then again, I’m thankful that conflict is no longer an issue for me)

I headed out for a long walk to clear my mind, as well as to stretch my legs. Power Rangers is awesome, but I never was much of a couch potato.

Finding things to do is a chore unto itself. I’ve become quite accustomed to spending entire days travelling to ATMs, grocery stores and self-serve outlets to ensure my continued survival. Now that I’ve created free time, it’s impossible to find things to do.

I walked into another grocery store, for lack of a better idea. Curiousity led me to the bakery where I picked up a large vanilla sponge cake. I wasn’t going to eat it all, but it was nice to know it’s there. I took it up to the counter and did the usual routine, placing it before the store clerk and rummaging for my wallet.

“How are you today, sir?”

My expression reads:

Listen, I am way too tired to put up with your condescending small talk and the farse that you actually give a flying fuck about how I am today. Just overcharge me for this cheap cake and let me leave.

It works. If all I do is remain silent, cold and hand over money; all she does is remain silent, cold and take my money.

Sounds like every relationship I’ve ever had.

Almost.

Finally, we come to the highlight of my day the last few weeks.

I had disembarked yet another train and proceeded to leave the platform and head towards another to make my way home. A running figure was bolting towards the platform I had just come from, and in her haste, ploughed into my shoulder.

We just stared at each other, for the briefest of seconds. Her look was gentle, her hair short and black, her skin fair. She had a mature air about her and her eyes were nothing special, save for that gaze that indicated a different perspective on the world. A poet.

She was nervous, stressed – she said sorry. It was adorable.

That moment was difficult. Despite my prior self control, my desire to say “It’s alright” had never been greater. I wanted nothing more than to say it, and ask for a name to this face – and not create another Naomi.

It seems that cold-discipline has become my soul.

But, I smiled.

She bolted off in the other direction, another nameless face. But that moment where we stood there felt as though it had lasted much longer. Long enough for me to take a deep breath, feel a deep warmth and feel free. Eternity in a moment.

For that long moment, I felt close to somebody again. I felt taken with someone.

It was nice to remember how that felt.

Happy Birthday Jeremy.

Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.

- Samuel Johnson, narrator 18/08/08

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