The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

Personal true story (5-minute read)

“Oh my god, did you read about the winner-chill on the innernet?” one of the girls shrieked. “It’s like the biggest one of the error. Apparently the chill is even hitting eye-rack this year!”

Winner-chill? Innernet? I felt like they were speaking another language.

What was a winner-chill? Honestly, I thought it was when someone wins a victory and then gets to chill afterwards.

And innernet, as if there was an unconscious net on the inside of us, catching our thoughts and dreams.

Biggest of the error…eye-rack…alright, they’d lost me there. Lost as I felt, I kept listening to the conversation, hoping to pick up more clues as to what they were on about.

After about ten minutes of back and forth, I finally understood they were speaking about the cold spell that they’d read about online. It was one of the coldest of the century; even some generally hot countries in the Middle East were having an unusual temperature shock!

Winner-chill… winter chill. Right.

Innernet… internet. Oh goodness, I had a lot to learn.

Error was apparently “era”, and an eye-rack was not, in fact, a rack where people placed their eyes. It was a country, Iraq.

I felt so dumb.

For me, the English I’d learned was either through reading or watching legitimate news channels. You know, those channels where people sound “pretentious” just because they communicate to be understood. They don’t speak just for the sake of expression, rather their words have meaning.

In this situation, the language my schoolmates spoke was known as “common tongue”, a form of syntax and pronunciation that met the bare minimum requirement for English verbal communication.

At the time, I had not yet been educated in the use of this language, having come from a background where the English I’d learned at school was a watered-down version taught by teachers who’d studied it as a second (or even third) language.

At home, I came from a family of high-achieving academics who refused to “dumb-down” their vocabulary. I had no choice but to raise my standards lest I be sorely misunderstood by those in my physical vicinity.

At that age, my written expression had far outpaced my verbal ability to articulate. I would write about advanced phenomena that my conscious mind didn’t even comprehend, yet my mouth could not accurately convey what I knew I wanted to say.

Finally, by the age of twenty-five, a linguistically-gifted friend observed an interesting occurrence within my syntax: all my life, I had been speaking “translated English”. Every word I wrote mirrored the language used in textbooks translated from European languages, and those I spoke actually made more sense when reworded in another language.

It had taken me twenty-five years to realize why I’d spent my life misunderstood and displaced…

Language is like art, or music. Just because the creator (or speaker) knows the meaning behind what is portrayed does not necessarily mean that those on the receiving end can digest it.

You might like your drawing, or your symphony, but to someone else, that drawing might be a scribble; that symphony may be a cacophony.

Why limit ourselves to expression when we can work towards communication? If we are misunderstood, chances are, we’re using a different language.

Dialogue goes both ways, not just one speaking a “foreign language” and expecting to be taken seriously.

Learn more languages (or improve your English), you’ll find better ways to be understood.

Peace,
MG

Filled with secrets that we keep
Surmounting each one as we speak
Hiding in the crevices of us
Wondering if we’d ever trust enough
To reveal to others our vulnerable selves
While on the surface many choose to dwell
Holding onto untested truths
Jaded, unguided, confused in the gloom
All headed to our resting places, they say
Upon which many a head shall lay
The birch on which the raven is perched
When we’ve more skulls than what roams the earth
A dark shadow is cast o’er the moors
Echoes howl in the distance, never more
Stifled screams silenced, and repeat
Battling, until the enemy retreats
This “enemy” of whom you speak
Will we ever a chance to meet
Will they ever an untold secret to keep
Between your alleged “enemy” — and me?

MG

I’m not here to take the pain
To shelter you from the storm again
I’m not here to suffer the blame
To confront the fire that can’t be tamed

No, I’m here on my own accord
With an agenda, I forewarn
I’ll take the bull right by the horns
Throw him into a garden of thorns
So that he may wriggle his way out
Escape, feeling accomplished and proud
Become the Bull that I can announce
That he’s ready to be set free, rejoicing sounds

Instead, this bull got comfortable and relaxed
He did not run, he stood there perplexed
He took one look at the thorns and compressed
Them into crumbs — I was slightly impressed
He then set out to consume the leaves
A few at a time, he chewed slowly
By the time the patch was thoroughly empty
He had enough space to fall asleep.

And that is how I made a friend:
He consumed the weapon — didn’t fight nor defend.

MG

When I lack direction
They give me religion

When I lack discretion
They squelch my questions

When I challenge regimes
They corner me into the mainstream

When I seek advice
They tell me to sacrifice

When I ask for help
They tell me to save myself

When I offer my assistance
They react with resistance

When I show my presence
They criticize me for pretense

When I grace them with absence
They sense the suspense

When I try to improve
They ask me to move

When I try to take a break
They shower me with headaches

When I act like myself
I’m a demon from hell
But when I embrace civility
I’m denying reality

When I fail
They silence my wails

When I succeed
They start to proceed

When I decide to just “be”
They tell me I’m bored and lazy

When I assertively take action
They want a piece of the faction

When I talk to humans
They sense my commotion

When I disengage
They become enraged

It is not that I am trying to please
Each and every one around me
But if I am to admit, honestly
It’s that I can’t find my place in this city

 

MG

 

A king’s crumb
The pauper’s pearl
~MG~

Kings, they sit amongst each other, feasting on rum and wine. They eat and drink, mock laymen and slash servants for fun. The kings awake the next morning with bitter hangovers, only to rule the People whose integrity was entirely disregarded merely hours prior.

Councillors, they converse with each other, sampling brandy and whiskey. They sup and swallow, scoff at their kings and throw crumbs at kids. The Councillors rise at dawn with no hangover, ready to persuade the kings to follow their tactics while simultaneously riding on moral high-horses, ripping off the underprivileged with unrequited taxes.

School children, they play alongside each other, drinking ale and juice. They gargle and guzzle, taunt each other and start brawls for personal amusement. The children awaken in the morn for school, only to be reprimanded by teachers for inappropriate attire and caned for disrespect.

Paupers, they laugh amongst each other, sipping gin and stale beer. They nibble and gulp, make a mockery of themselves and smash bottles across each others’ heads for fun. The paupers awake the next day with fuzzy heads, knowing that their actions only justified the ridicule of their rulers.

The People, the entirety of the humans, all engaged in the same manner with those who shared in their sameness. They all rotated like gears in a clock, trying to make it from sunrise to sunset without disrupting the direction. They were all the same, for they all shared in the belief that they were different. From kings with their superiority complexes to paupers with their simplex inferiority: each to its own, all did the same.

Despite this reality, their egos allowed them all to believe they were unique.

But they weren’t.

They really, really weren’t.

 

MG

 

I exist in whatever world I make
One I could create
A world from which I need not escape
For it expands only to embrace
A world where I don’t discriminate
Merely give what I will take
A world that’s real, where nothing is fake
Where there’s no “lose or save face”

They coin it utopian and call me idealist
Yet I am my biggest cynic
I balance the two and call myself a realist
Who is also my own worst critic
Finding a way to be more expressive
Without sounding as cryptic
Striving to know what’s wanted, what’s needed
Limited to role models I mimic

Twas never about the defeaters nor defeated
Both equally parasitic
A mix of those who have been mistreated
What could have been pandemic
To neither the meek, nor the conceited
But ambiverts – sociably eremitic
This is the world I’ve inhabited
Between creative and academic

So I exist in whatever world I make
One I could create
A world from which I need not escape
For it expands only to embrace
A world where I don’t discriminate
Merely give what I will take
A world that’s real, where nothing is fake
Founded on freedom, justice, and grace

MG

You enable me to feel
What I’ve been afraid of
Yet restrict me from doing
What I believe keeps me alive

I don’t merely mean the blood
Pumping through the veins
But the vigor that breathes life
That reflects both sun and rain

There are days I try my best
To be kind, to be gentle, and to be sweet
But then come the days I just need to rest
Breathe, release, the passing summer breeze

On those days the demons come out
To prance and hop — to play
You don’t like them, but they’re part of me
I’m a balance of both, but not a buffet

You don’t get to pick and choose which parts
Of me you may or may not like
I was up-front with you right from the start
That I won’t control what goes on inside

I’ve merely trained my external expression
How to get it out
Some say I’m passive, others sense aggression
All you have to do is stick around

You’ll see the full picture but not all at once
It’s just the way I like to present
An hour at a time, a day, week, month
Slowly, our unity begins to ascend

I am One, but I embody many
Other bodies, other souls, other inspirations
I merely reflect the company I keep
Living vicariously through each others’ creations

MG

You care about all those in your world
The souls of innocent boys and girls
But what about those who actually make
And build your world in the first place?

I’ve wanted to write for days on end
But the rage inside me would not bend
So I fought hard, as best as I could
Until all that was left — splinters n’ wood.

You looked at me once, a time ago
When you loved me, with or without the ego
Returning from the battle after cleaning up your mess
I’d barely had a rest and you put me back to the test

What were you testing for, strength or pride?
For loyalty? For honesty? For following through with desire?
Though that war I’d fought for you
The victory, to me, was nothing new.

The unexpected part of all this was you
At least…the you I thought I knew.
Relentlessly, I’d destroyed your enemy
Only to have it pop out in front of me.

Taking the shape of you effortlessly
But forgetting that I once knew you intimately
This figure standing before me, anew
Confirmed…

 

 

The you I knew
was never you
.

 

 

MG

Muscles carve into my bones
Like hot, bubbling gelatin
Legs are filled with pebbles and stones
Dragging calcified iron bars within
Shoulders fall with under the weight of the world
Dangling arms, weak and insecure

I rest my head upon my pillow
Looking down at my world below
Books and boxes everywhere
Memoirs of moments shared
Between every you and every me
Every fragment of my reality

Inhale, exhale… breathe
Air goes from my lungs to my knees
To my fingers, my feet, my toes
Out again through the nose
Finally, a moment to just take a breath
Wake in the morning and start afresh

Soldier on through the day
As they always say
No rest for the weary
The thought is scary
But the concept is rarely
As bad as reality

When all’s said and done
Hard work is always fun
When it all comes together
The puzzle is clearer
The writing’s on the wall
The boxes, on the floor
The pictures’re on the door
We’ve all been here before

MG

 

November 14, 2016

-Wrote this after a long day of moving boxes, tried out a slightly less abstract, more narrative style.

They won’t know where you’ve been
Nor where you’ve going
All they know is…
Where you are.
~Anon~

Judge all you want
What I say or do
For you know nothing of what
I’ve gone through
Who I’ve been
What I’ve seen
To get to where I am
I’ve done what I can

I’m a nobody to many
And a somebody to few

You decide
Which side
Of the fence you stand
I can only hope you’d understand
That the choices I make
I’ve learned from mistakes
Once made

I’m still moving toward

Destinations forward
Learning along the way
Growing every day

For now, this is how it’s going to be
If you want to be with me
Then accept that it’s my journey
I’m doing the best I can already
To hold onto sanity
Can’t you see?
So if you don’t like my reality
Feel free to write me down as a memory

MG

Dear younger self,

I am going to write this from the perspective of an older self that you have only recently come to understand.

There was a time you thought you knew it all, m’dear, you thought you had it all figured out. Much of it owed to what those around you allowed you to believe; they put you on that pedestal you never asked for, gave you the attention you never felt you deserved, treated you with their version of “respect”.

Young self, you must understand one thing, not everyone is like you. Yes, you’re self-indulged, but they, m’dear, they are self-absorbed. They’re too caught up in the busyness of their own lives to appreciate all you have to offer. So hold onto some of it, dear, don’t give all of it away.

You invite them into your world, but you have yet to discover the galaxies inside of you. They know not of these universes that you, too, are unaware of at this moment, but they see the light shine through and are drawn to it.

You can welcome them, m’dear, you were born to be hospitable. You were born with arms longer than the average human, arms that reach around the world and embrace the souls that are in genuine need of touching. It’s what you do, because of the kindness, grace, and mercy that has gotten you this far. So don’t take it for granted, m’dear. Hold onto that.

One day, you will reach a realization that you can choose who to let in — yes. everyone who enters deserves respect and sincerity, but not everyone will choose to stay. And for that reason, my young self, know your boundaries and accept your limits. Know your role in their lives, and accept that you can’t be a saviour to your entire world.

Sometimes, transformation does begin by letting go, by pushing yourself off the cliff that was once your comfort zone, your nest.

One day, m’dear, you will meet someone who can and will do for you all that you’ve done for others. Someone who will look at you, appreciate you, and not want to let you go. Someone who not only has that desire, but also that willpower.

So for now, m’dear, do not rush. Don’t be that impulsive naive self that got you into the wreck in the first place. The wreck was so long ago anyway, it may as well be a divers’ hub by now. Swim away, m’dear. There’s nothing more you can do than you’ve already done to atone for the atrocities of your past.

I am that future you never dared to dream of, m’dear. That future is now present.

Embrace it, love. It’s time to stop surviving the storm and start thriving from what the waves have washed ashore.

Now that you’ve learned to shield yourself from waves and breathe underwater, how about moving on up and learn to ride that wave?

 

 

MG

 

 

 

 

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