Banana Pancakes

 The leaves are turning
yellow, like Bananas and
Cheddar and Sunshine.

I like bananas. I like them chopped on cereal; I like them dropped in my handbag; I like them dipped in custard. I like banoffee pie; banana milkshake and banana cake. I like peeling away the skin like it's a present and eating it as if I were a monkey.  I like the fact that they are yellow, since so few foods are and it contrasts nicely with my predilection for purple clothes and accessories. I like candles that are shaped like bananas and I have longed to receive a naked banana in the post.

I like bananas. So when someone told me to blog about them, I took to the suggestion with gusto (albeit with a slight delay), despite the fact that I suspect it was a throwaway sarky remark about my nonsense nature of my approach to writing...

Soupy Squash

Flitterbox: KT Tunstall ~ Fade Like A Shadow

Hai Yu

Flitterbox: Simon & Garfunkel ~ Sound of Silence

Blackberry Picking

Today, I have felt the fall chill.

It's coming to the end of summer. Start of September, you know the drill. Except, except, this year it's different. This year, for the first time in eighteen years, I will not be going back to full time education. This year, for the first time in over twenty-two years, I have no planned out path for my immediate future.

It scares the hell out of me.

Solitary Sickness

Today, I have a disease.

It’s not contagious, though it is wide-spread among the population. Generally, the illness manifests itself in early teens, or at least that’s when you become “A Sick Person” rather than just “A Person”. Not that there are particular symptoms, as such, indeed people with this disease have the capability to live long and fruitful existences, albeit arguably with a marginally lower quality of life than those without the condition.

I have had the virus for a while now. Initially, the diagnosis bothered me, but more recently, I’ve found that drawbacks usually associated with this illness haven’t affected me so much. In fact, I’ve felt a little like I may sometimes be better off for it; I tend not to mention that though. I think sometimes people prefer to pity those in this 'unfortunate' circumstance, and those who don’t have it don’t always understand that you could be happy with it; that you’re used to it; that it may not affect your daily life all that much; that you manage just fine as you are. They don’t understand why you’re not absolutely desperate to find a cure?!

That’s the odd thing about this virus, you see. There are plenty of people who once had it and have now been cured completely, but there is no one-pill-for-all solution. The medication relies heavily on the interaction with your specific DNA and as such, is different for each person. There are a lot of remedies to try out and while some of them ease some of the minor symptoms, or may relieve your system of the virus for a while, very few can rid you of the disease for good. People who have never really come into contact with the virus don’t really get why you wouldn’t try every chance out there; why not take any medication you can get, surely statistics dictate that one of them is bound to work eventually, then you needn't worry about this treacherous virus eating away at your soul.

Feathers Flying

Today, I have had my feathers ruffled.

When I went to secondary school, I made friends in a matter of days, weeks and soon we were sitting next to each other in lessons and going to birthday parties and having sleepovers and all the fun you have when you're a growing teenager. It was fun and I have a lot of good memories from those times. But I'm not the same person I was when I was sixteen.

When I went to university, I made aquaintances in a matter of hours, days, and friends over a couple of years. Soon enough we were sitting next to each other on the bed, going to bars and clubs and sharing houses and all the fun you have when you're a growing twenteenager. It was fun and I have a lot of good memories. I changed a lot as a person over university.

Consequently, when I meet up with people from school now, it's good to reminisce and compare lives and chat about what now and where next. But in some ways, I feel like I'm playing a part, a character that I was five years ago, but not really the same person I am now. I don't think they'd get the incongruence -  you see people how you believe them to be and that view can change, but only if you move with it, if you're there to witness it. If you're not around to see someone grow up, it's hard to grasp that they could be that person that those stories are about. While it's nice to spend time with the friends I have 'round here, when we get the chance, it's just not the same. It's just not the same. The relationships you form at university are different because you're relying on each other in ways you haven't had to when you're living at home, with family. 

At university, my housemates became my surrogate family, though this has only really been the case over the last year or so. I've spent several days with them in the last month or so and it's weird because it's so normal but at the same time, it's only suspended reality because we no longer live together, which is really quite rubbish. Finding out you can fly, you can leave the nest, you can explore the world, meet new species, only to return back and have your wings clipped and tags fastened to your legs is thoroughly frustrating to be honest. I suppose that's why I empathise with this girl:

"We would warn people not to approach her... She has no fear of humans and she could give someone a very severe bite. Her beak is designed to tear flesh apart."

On the jukebox: Nelly Furtardo ~ Try

Soul City

Today, I have travelled. 

As I pass by here, I can't help it, an involuntary grin spreads from ear to ear. These towers are a monstrous insult to architecture, billowing hot steam into the atmosphere and symbolising everything that is wrong with our use of energy resources today, I'm sure. But to me, I see them coming into view and it feels like coming home.

It's not quite home. The city is not the one in which I grew up, but it is the one in which I became a grown-up. I have made the journey so often over the last four years that it feels odd that I'm unlikely to ever live there again. It was weird, being a guest in a place I know better than most others, by pure virture of the fact that I've had to find my own feet, make my own way. One night, that's all I had. One night.

It was fun night. Town was the quietest I've ever seen it, unsurprising, given that it was mid-week in non-term time: no Slacking Students about and Grown-Up People have jobs, you know. I'm somewhere in between the two of those, I suppose. After the party, pizza, poetry and live folk music, a few of us tried a few bars before deciding that nowhere will be raving at this time of night on this day of the week, so we might as well just go for the cheap cocktails and make the most of it. It was a fun night. 

In the morning, I sat waiting in the station and for the first time, I wasn't going to visit home for just the weekend, for the first time, this was the end of my short break from the norm, rather than the start of it. As I realised that, an involuntary tear fell from cheek to chin. This city feels like a special kind of second home, a place to which to escape, with people to visit and precious memories encased in each street, shop, bar and cinema. I'm glad that I hold that in my heart, but I'm sad to have to leave it all, again. 

I'll be back; there's no doubt about that. 

On the jukebox: Kimya Dawson ~ Tyre Swing