Part and parcel

For some reason, this expression has been stuck in my head for the past two days. I don’t even use this phrase. I’m not even entirely sure I know the definition of it.

Scraps of words and things

I was going through some stuff and found a bunch of unfinished, unused lines from I don’ t know when.

I have a heart of glass
refracts light into a hundred beams

———————————————

The words fall dead on deaf ears
and I’m still waiting for the invisible ink to appear

Trot out the red carpet, it’s the big day
pat on the back
sparklers for your departure, and you’re on your way.

Don’t you know the rules of the game? (blessed)
I know when I’ve turned into an uninvited guest
cause I’ve fattened you up, belly aching
entrees of words, buttons breaking
(Don’t worry, I”ll stop the bleeding)
There’s no mistaking

—————————————–

odd pair

swap in the cards

I disappear.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“You disappeared there for a bit.”

I did?  What about you?  Why is it always on me to be present in people’s lives?  Things like this just add to my feeling of being expendable to a lot of people, of not being of much value.  And yes, I know I am being self-critical, but it’s how I feel.

If I mean something to you, and if you have in fact been wondering where I am or noticed that I disappeared, why didn’t you try to contact me?  Is it because I’m usually the one contacting others so that when they don’t hear from me, they wonder, “Oh, that’s odd.  I wonder why Aaron’s not usually bombarding me with texts.  It’s a shame I’m too busy with my life to check up on him myself.  Oh well.  Hopefully he’s not dead or anything.”

Is it just because you just don’t care to say hello every now and then?  Or as my blunt friend Brian seems to keep reminding me, he’s just not that into you? (You being me, in this case)

Is there a balance with every single person as to what is enough contact — not too much to be considered disappeared but not too much to be overwhelmed?  I don’t know if there is.

Perhaps I should just disappear and stay that way.

Silence has always been handed to me in pocketfuls.  Maybe it’s time I gave it back to you for all I’ve lacked.

And if you care, then show me.  Otherwise, I won’t know.

The joys of receiving mistaken words

On March 10, 2012, I received this text from an unknown number:

Hi
I had
Your Wrong number.  I sent my number. [insert phone number] …. Why r u asking ? 11:15

Might lie down now

Puzzled but vastly intrigued and curious, I responded.  I found out that morning that I was texting woman named Rosalinda, who spoke Spanish, and, I think, was also a pastor (when I asked who she was, she said, “I’m your father”).  We conversed that morning, including a bit in Spanish, before she said she wanted to take a nap.  And that was it.

What a surprise it was to wake up and turn on my phone to receive such a message.  Every now and then I’ll get a wrong-number call, but oh so rarely does one ever get wrong-number texts.  And in an age where people spend more time looking down at their phones than up at anyone they’re speaking to, getting words from an unknown source feels as spontaneous as someone randomly coming up to you on the street and saying hello.  Sure, this may just be me and my love for words, and sure, no one talks to a person who dials the wrong number, but why not?  Whatever happened to just being friendly?  We’re told from a young age not to talk to strangers; think about all the people we ignore in our everyday lives.  I have no idea where this is going and my mind is scattered at the moment, so everything I’m writing is a little incoherent, but…

What was the point?  Oh yes.  Words.

It’s never too late.

I may not be a very cheerful person most of the time, but if there’s one thing optimistic thing I truly believe in, it is this:

it is never too late.

These days, I wonder if I’m wise or naive in believing such a thing.

30 Day Song Challenge: Day 8: A song that you know all the words to

Waaaay back when, I went through an S Club 7 phase that eventually turned into an S Club phase (after Paul left).  I remember feeling so proud of being an S Club 7/S Club fan in high school when I brought my new S Club CD to Grade 9 English class, and although nobody else sitting around me listened to them, I felt that much more special.

And then I realized I shouldn’t really feel special.  Because as it turned out, liking a band like S Club 7, who had cheesy, stupid songs about love, friendship, and general being happy was silly.  They were too poppy, too sugary for most people’s standards and I soon realized this.  Though I never grew to disliking or hating their music, after getting older, it just didn’t represent what I felt in the world anymore.  Not everything was sparkles; it wasn’t always an S Club party, and I had never met anyone who I thought was a dream come true.

Nevertheless, I realized yet again that it’s not that S Club 7 didn’t sing about earthquakes and tsunamis and the plight of the world that turned people off — it’s that kids growing up had so much less to worry about and that sometimes, you just want to reach for the stars and to bring it all back.  What’s so wrong with encouragement?

As one youtuber on the “Don’t Stop Movin'” music video succinctly said, “Ah.. when music wasn’t all about whores and sex.”

Yeah.