Murphy & Sigmund: Remember the Bullet Hole

"Do you remember the bullet hole, Murph?" Sigmund asked after taking a massive bite of his heavily foil-wrapped tuna melt. Murphy was sitting on the park bench beside him, silently picking at the green paint that was pulling back from the metal rungs beneath."Murphy?" Sigmund said slowly after he finally swallowed. Murphy frowned at his friend's odd question but looked back at him and nodded contemplatively and then proceeded to wring his hands feverishly. "Don't call me Murph," he then said rather hotly. "...Sig."

"Why are you doing this to me, Murphy!?" Nila yelled across her two bedroom, one bathroom apartment. Sigmund stood frozen in the middle of the tiny kitchen next to a livid Murphy Jenkins. A few seconds later a loud crash came from the main bedroom - the sound of a glass-to-wall collision. "Damn it Nila!" Murphy spat as he pushed himself up onto the kitchen counter. "Get her out here before I come in there and drag you both out!" There was silence for a moment more and Murphy sat angrily - his knuckles paling as he clenched his meaty fists - while his best friend, Sigmund Isaiah stood timidly against the refrigerator and eyed the floor so as not to have to witness the scene. Nila re-entered, there were a series of small bright red cuts on her hands,and behind came a little girl who looked exactly like her but had hair like Murphy's- soft chocolatey-brown in large, wafting curls. She was clutching a tattered teddy bear against her chest and, just like Sigmund, she dared not lift her gaze from the ground beneath her.

"Bye Nila," Sigmund said softly as he walked out of the apartment following Murphy who was now holding the sobbing little girl. "Rot in hell, Sig!" she cried as she slammed the door after them.

"What did I tell you about talking to her, man?" Murphy muttered bitterly as they braved the creaking elevator. 

"I... I can't help it... I'm sorry Murphy. Ms Nila is-"

"Don't call her that," Murphy blurted out. "Don't even say her name if that can be helped... The kid will forget her easier that way... Maybe I will too." Sigmund made no response and looked down at 'the kid'- her eyes were fixed glassily to those of her teddy bear.

"She's not eating, Sigmund..." Murphy called from the basement in Sigmund's one-storey house where he had been temporarily living. The wooden stairs from the main house creaked and spewed dust under the weight of Sigmund's feet as he walked down with a pudding cup and teaspoon in his left hand. "Here," he said tiredly and thrust it at the girl who sat, terrified, in Murphy's scathing glare. She slowly peeled back the lid of the pudding cup and began eating. "How did you do that?" Murphy whispered in astonishment. "Pudding was the first thing I tried!"

"Murph is mean," the little voice unexpectedly responded. The two men stared down at her as she looked up at them - her big dark eyes were wide and innocent. Murphy bent down slowly, rested on his haunches and placed his hands on his knees before asking, "What did you say, baby girl?"

"Murph is mean," she replied- a little more loudly this time.

"And who told you that?"

"Momma."

Murphy raised his eyebrows and stood up sharply. He grabbed his leather jacket from a nearby chair and shrugged it on hastily and began to make his way up the stairs. "Look after her!" he shouted back at Sigmund. 

"Where you goin'?" Sigmund called after him.

"I'm going to kill the cocaine whore that made my daughter hate me!"

Murphy stood beside his sleeping daughter, snugly tucked up in an old blanket on the nearly-broken couch in the basement. He ran his tongue over his teeth and tapped his foot softly but impatiently as he waited for Sigmund. A few moments later, Sigmund returned to the basement with Murphy's leather jacket. "The blood?" Murphy whispered - not taking his eyes off of his daughter.

"Gone," Sigmund mumbled. Murphy nodded and sighed, circling the room. He stopped suddenly and bit his lip. "What is it?" Sigmund asked. "I need to talk a walk," Murphy replied.

So they sat in the early hours of the morning on a bench in a park around the corner from Sigmund's house. Murphy with his cigarettes and Sigmund with his giant tuna melt. "Worth it?" Sigmund asked bitterly. Murphy frowned and glared at Sigmund. "Every bullet," he hissed. 

"How many?" Sigmund enquired carefully.

"One for every day of my life that she killed me on the inside."

Insignificant Troubles

He's always on my mind. As much as I can't stand to admit that he's there- he is. What is it about this one person that has got me so spellbound? What is it with me and being attracted to those who I cannot have? Why... Just go away.

I don't know why my sole desire is to make him happy. It's not like he's asking me to either. He doesn't want me to make him happy - he wants Her to... So there's no way I could ever. However, something in my ridiculous and messed up mind has caused me to subconsciously accept it as a challenge. My desire to please seems to be heightened merely because I can't handle rejection in any way other than trying to prove everyone wrong.

This is the part of the process where I usually end up choking the life out of whatever friendship I currently have. I'm going to become clingy, obsessive and desperate... Nothing too out of the ordinary, right? Sigh. 

Every pitiful step has actually been calculated, quantified. It's all clinical... which is saddening seeing that I claim that I can't stop what I do. The advantage of a science is that it has a formula, can be modified, enhanced... Right? Then I ask the question: Why can I not change my process especially since I've seen it fail ever so many times?

The strangeness continues in that I actually know how he feels about me. I know that there's nothing more to assume and no pathetic dream or fantasy to cling to. My feelings seem to have remained unchanged no matter how much badgering my mind, heart and body have had to take since knowing the truth. It is something that has proven to be impossible to manually alter. I can only hope that time will soothe the wounds and rid my self of the image and idea that is him.

I'm rather ridiculous. I shouldn't be spending so much time on this... yet here I am - silently sobbing over a bruised ego, blogging away my insignificant troubles with the soothing sound of John Mayer's "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" consoling my ears. All this time and energy spent on this one person when I should really be asking: "Is he worth it?" I want to say that he is but I know deep down he probably isn't because if he was... I would hope that I would mean a bit more to him.

As much as I want him to be- he's not. He's perfectly lovely, brilliant and gorgeous but I know in my soul that I'm wasting my time, energy and attention. I know that no matter what I do, I'm not going to get very far. Perhaps he'd be worth my time if I were worth his.

Drink to that.

--J.

Get Them To New York

Meet Ashleigh and Rachel... Two best friends from Cape Town. They are the biggest One Direction fans in South Africa!

Below is a link showing a video posted by the dynamic duo in response to a competition held by a local Cape Town radio station, Kfm,in which the search was held for South Africa's biggest One Direction fans. Unfortunately, they didn't win the competition that would've taken them to New York to see One Direction perform. 

Check it out:  Why They Love One Direction

Share, tweet, blog... Whatever... These girls are amazing and deserve to see One Direction in New York!

Teacups, why don't we see if we can get them there? Or at least make a lot of noise for them?

Use the hashtags: #Biggest1DFansSA ; #AshleighAndRachelToNY1D

Rachel (left) dressed as Harry Styles and Ashleigh (right) dressed as Zayn Malik. They've taken 'fan' to a whole new level... and gender! ;)

Cheers! <3

--J.

I Don't Believe...

He's in love with a dancer... She's a water baby with skin as pale as the moon. I love to dance but I'm not a dancer and my skin isn't pale like the moon. I'm a water baby but he doesn't know that because I won't let him see me be in love with anything... Because then he might see that I'm in love with him. I can't let him see that because I don't believe in love... And he might just change my mind. 

I don't want my mind to be changed because I can't stand to love alone again. They say it is better to have lost and loved than never to have loved at all... It is worse to have loved alone than to never have loved at all. I don't love him because if I did, he would hate me and I would be left lonely... Lonely and loving the man who changed my mind.

Even if I did love him, how would I know? Would he make me happy just by saying hello in that ridiculously mesmerising voice of his with his head cocked to one side like he was curios about me? Would I want to spend every waking minute of my incredibly dull day with him even if we did absolutely nothing? What would I do... if I was in love with you?

You're in love with perfection... So loving you would be stupid because I can't compete with that no matter how hard I wished to try. I've been trying all my life to be her... even before I met you. I suppose I had forgotten just how much I have wanted to be her up until I realised how you still continue to feel about her. Who am I to think that I would ever be good enough when standing in the shadow of the world's most perfect person. It's a good thing that you don't make me happy, it's a good thing I don't feel anything for you at all.

If I felt something - anything at all- it would hurt to deny it, it would hurt to push aside my feelings for the sake of my own safety. I would feel crushed just for not being able to try to tell you how I feel... The answer is simple and the truth is unavoidable. If I felt something for you, it would hurt knowing that you'd never like or love me and that I'd never be good enough for you... But I won't get hurt because I don't feel anything... and because I don't believe in love.

When I say I don't believe in love, I mean the emotion... I believe in the choice to love but I don't believe it occurs on its own. So I will never love you because I will never choose to... Because loving you means getting hurt... And I can't do that again. I can't risk it and I won't because I don't want to waste my life being sad any more. Believing in the existence of love as an emotion would require me to accept the fact that I could get hurt without having chosen my own emotional responses. I refuse to relinquish control over my life, over my body... Especially to you.

If I came to love you and if you controlled me... That would be the end of me. I wouldn't survive your inevitable leaving... I wouldn't be able to pick myself up and move on. My heart has been broken too many times and for unnecessary reasons so now any reason or person that would cause my heart to break again has already been deemed unnecessary. It's good that I don't feel a thing...

... And that I don't believe in love.

--J.

You'll Never Know

Do you remember what it used to be like when we were friends, when we spoke, when we recognised each other's existence? I remember everything because that's just how I am - a gift or a curse. You changed me... probably more so than anyone else that I've ever known as. I can't exactly say whether that change is a positive one. The thing is that, you'll never know because you don't know me any more. You'll never know what I became because of you.

I met you in grade 8. You immediately intrigued me... because you were somehow very weirdly interesting. I remember sitting in our all-girl Maths class and listening to your goofy laughter as you playfully teased our teacher. I remember how long your hair used to be... and how you always, ALWAYS wore pants instead of a dress or skirt. I wanted to be your friend from the moment I first heard you speak... because you were strange (a good kind of strange but strange all the same). You were,in a sense, a breath of fresh air- sharp, crisp, cool and like the kind that, as it leaves one's lips, turns to mist... Mysterious.

For some unknown reason I got my wish. We became friends... and oh what a joy that was while it lasted. No my darling, I'm not being sarcastic - it was a very good ride and I appreciate the opportunity. I remember having expectations of the type of friendship we'd have because of how you treated other people... but you've never been one to do anything that is expected. You didn't creep into my heart; you just walked in one day and claimed it... There was a time when you were all I had because of highly I thought of you. I didn't want anything else other than your friendship. You began to go through things and changed because of the lessons you were learning and the discoveries you were making about yourself but none of that changed how much I adored you. I knew that I couldn't stand to lose you.

I remember when you first told me you were in love with a girl... I didn't believe you at first... I don't know. I thought you were joking. You had been in a weird contemplative mood the whole day and I was asking you questions about why you were breaking up with your boyfriend. We were in English... The bell rang for the end of the lesson and you got up to walk out. Without really looking at me you said, "Because I'm in love with a girl". You laughed nervously - weakly. I suppose I thought it was a joke because I wasn't too sure what to do with the information you had suddenly indirectly asked me to process. In my mind, at the time... I felt as though my heart had just sunk into my feet.

All my life, having been raised in a family richly steeped in Christian values and religion, I had believed that homosexuality was wrong. I'm not actually sure where I stand on the topic as of now. I think I have so much more to think about when it comes to it because it's not as straight forward as one might think. I can personally understand why the Bible says what it does about homosexuality but on the other hand I don't agree with society's judgement of homosexual people because who are we to judge anyone or condemn those we have no right to condemn. I think that perhaps by being your friend I learnt how to think about difficult things like that and I was able to question things that I had always previously believed or thought just because that was how I had been raised. I learnt that I could formulate my own opinions and also... I learnt that it was okay to be confused. 

I know you remember how I cried in Maths in grade 10. What is it with me and Maths? I cried a lot in Maths in grade 10. I remember 'crying for your soul'and how you didn't quite know what to do. I just remember you timidly put your hand on my back but you couldn't look me in the eye until I had recovered. You told me you never knew what to do when people cried - that you felt awkwardly useless. I remember later in the year how I cried because you hurt me. I remember how it felt like you were leaving me - abandoning me almost for some girl that you liked... a lot. I don't quite know what you did or what happened that day. I just remember crying and feeling so incredibly angry and exhausted at the same time. I remember hugging you - clutching you... and telling you that I hated you. In that moment, I really did hate you. I was so incredibly angry at you for hurting me but I was angrier at the fact that I couldn't love you any less despite the fact that you had made me feel that way. 

I remember the first time I cut myself... I was embarrassed by it and I had sworn to never do it again. I remember the first time you saw it... You didn't react like everybody else did. You seemed to understand. You didn't look at me like I was insane. You were calm when you asked me why I did it and what I did it with. I remember that I didn't feel like such a freak but I also remember that I was not intending to do something like that ever again.

There was a time where I began to push you religiously... I kept on bringing up the homosexuality thing and you started to retreat from me. You told me that I was only pushing you away. I hated that thought. I couldn't bare the idea that I might not have you in my life because of something that I did. So I stopped trying to change you and instead I tried to accept you in every and any way... So I encouraged you in everything - even in the things that were bad for you. You used to cut yourself and instead of telling you not to do it any more, I sort of made you think it was okay I suppose. In an attempt to understand you and to somehow be of a better support, I started cutting more... in a response to everything in life really. I began to get addicted to it and I guess that I always expected you to understand me for it or to at least be impassive about it. It wouldn't be fair for me to blame you for the addiction that I have struggled with since that time... because it isn't your fault. It really isn't at all and I'm not blaming you for my current frame of mind of the frame of mind I held back then either because my choices are my own and the same can be said for the consequences thereof.

For a while, I really didn't quite understand why you suddenly didn't want to be my friend at all any more. I suppose I know more of your reasoning now than at first but my understanding hasn't arrived yet. I will always question your decision and similarly I will question myself as to why I thought that harming myself would allow me to be able to be strong for you and support you. I've changed so much in an attempt to shake an addiction that I never imagined having... I've changed so much so as not to push away other people who are close to me like I suppose I did to you. 

It's amazing how much we've both changed within the space of about a year. I'm glad that you're happy now... because that's more than I managed to give you. I'm happy for the change that's made you happy.

I thank you for the lessons, I thank you for the tough love or rather the no love that shaped me, I thank you for changing me from that first minute in grade 8 Maths to the final moments of our Matric school year... I thank you for signing my shirt on the day before valedictory - short and sweet as always but nonetheless meaningful.

You... with you super short hair, the grey school skirt you actually chose to wear up until our last day of high school, the piercings that scare my mother but the same soul.

Oh, you'll never know what I've become because of you.

--J.