Apr 18: So Much Guilt

Talk about a time when you’ve felt a lot of guilt.

Why is it that lately I’m starting to feel more guilty because I’m choosing not to be completely honest about some of the major instances from my life, instead, opting to share only those that I actually feel comfortable sharing?? It’s because of these damn prompts!

On that note, allow me to focus on something that I’ve actually felt guilty about for a while now… telling my brother that he’s adopted.

My brother is five years younger than I am, and when we were younger, I began to tell him that he was adopted. It was usually mentioned whenever he and I were fighting, or when people were commenting on how completely different we are – and I’m talking complete opposites! So I’d make snide comments about the reason we’re so different is because he’s adopted, and he would get so incredibly upset and just start bawling, ‘SHUT UP, SHUT UP!! I’M NOT ADOPTED! YOU’RE LYING!! YOU’RE SO MEAN TO ME’, and that was the sign that I’d taken it to far. I’d try and apologise to him, but it’s hard to try and apologise to somebody and come across as being sincere when you’re trying to stop laughing long enough to get an actual sentence out.

In all fairness though, even my mother would have a little giggle whenever my brother would run off crying because of me being such a bastard! Granted, it wasn’t every time, but she did laugh, so I’m not the only one here to blame. I think she can take some of the responsibility as well.

Since moving to Melbourne, my brother and I pretty much lost touch with each other. I kind of know what he’s up to through Facebook, but other than that, we don’t reach out to contact each other. It’s something that actually makes me feel quite bad, that I have somebody like my own brother, and yet, I don’t really know anything about him, because we never speak. He literally is the complete opposite of me – we have absolutely nothing in common except our parents, and even then, I only acknowledge having one parent. I refer to mum’s ex-husband as ‘my brother’s father’ for a multitude of reasons, but my brother keeps in regular contact with his father, and his father’s side of the family, whereas I have purposefully ex-communicated myself from all of them, and I’ve never been happier.

I feel guilty that my brother and I have nothing in common. I feel guilty that we don’t speak. I feel guilty that we never see each other. The last time I saw my brother was two years ago when I had to fly interstate for a few hours for my grandmothers funeral. Before that, we hadn’t seen each other for a few years. Now we live at completely opposite ends of the east coast of Australia. I want to be able to even just Skype with him and his, now, fiancee, but even then I just struggle to comprehend how that conversation would go. He’s never been able to have a conversation with anybody. Like, NEVER. He would go and visit his father during school holidays and I’d speak to him when mum called, and all you would ever get out of him were one-worded answers. ‘Yep. Fine. Good. Nope. Alright. Hot. Yep. I think so. Maybe. Not yet. Yep. Yep. Nup. Yep. I guess so.’ It was just a constant string of questions. He was never forthcoming with information, and would never actually go into detail. You’d ask him how his trip up there was. Good. What did you do on the train? Nothing. Did you play your gameboy? Yep. Which games did you play? Dunno. Did you play Mario Brothers? Yep. What level did you get up to? Dunno?

So by this stage, I’m ready to start bashing my head against the wall. Even two years ago when he picked me up from the airport, after not seeing each other for I-don’t-even-know how many years, it was still the exact same conversation. Everything was a question, and I only got the same simple answers. Knowing that I’d have a 30-40minute drive of this was enough to make me want to just turn around and come home again. It was just painful.

I don’t know what he’s like with Mum, or even his fiancee, but even the couple of times I’ve spoken to her, she was pretty much the same… although she was at least able to construct a sentence and elaborate a lot better than my brother seems to be able to.

Hmmm, perhaps I should change that, and see if they have Skype? Make a positive change, and put have more of an interaction with my brother?

Speaking of which… I still haven’t received a wedding invitation…!! I guess that speaks volumes. Ironic, really.

Perhaps this is the payback for all those years of tormenting him and saying he was adopted?

Daily Prompt – Why Can’t We Be Friends?

Do you find it easy to make new friends? Tell us how you’ve mastered the art of befriending a new person.

If we’re talking about people who share similar interests, personality and sense of humour, then yes it’s naturally easier to make friends with those people. Everybody else, however, is a completely different, awkward and uncomfortable story.

Being somebody who, over the years, has become increasingly awkward at the art of conversation, I really struggle in social situations, to the point where it’s almost becomes just too overwhelming and I need to leave, and therefore avoid any future situations like the plague.

I can’t do it. I just cannot do it. I really struggle to have a conversation with somebody I’ve just met because there’s always that awkwardness between the two of you as you navigate through the conversation trying to find some kind of common middle ground on something you can both relate to. My problem with that is that even with people I already know or have shared interests with, I still struggle to engage in conversation with them.

Many people have told me that they see me as the complete opposite – suggesting that they see me as being quite bubbly; forward; engaging; interacting etc but I think that is the result of my work. I have to be like that, but in saying that, when I do interact with people in that capacity it is actually coming from a genuine place; an authentic place, rather than simply being fake and talking to people because I’m obligated to. I can’t do that; I can’t be that person.

Sometimes I feel like a bit of a contradiction: on one hand you have this person who is entertaining and engaging in the workplace, and on the other hand, that same person is also incredibly shy, reserved and awkward around other people – but I guess that’s only applicable in social settings surrounded by strangers.

Ugh, I’m just a mess.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/why-cant-we-be-friends/

Dec 30: Less in 2014

What do you want to do less of in 2014?

I want to be less sleep deprived.

I want to deal with less bullshit.

I want to be less socially awkward.

I should be saying that I want to eat less chocolate, but let’s just say that’s not going to happen. Ever. I know I have a problem, so let’s generalise it and say I want to eat less unhealthy food.

Daily Prompt: Close Call

Tell us about a bullet you’re glad you dodged — when something awful almost happened, but didn’t.

I think one of the situations that stands out the most was when I was still living at home with Mum. I think I was 18 and I had just returned from an emotionally exhausting visit to Sydney.

I had gone up there to spend a week or so at my grandmothers place, and whilst I was there, I was spending my week (and all my money) attending multiple dance classes at Brent Street and Sydney Dance Company. After only a couple of days, my (now deceased) grandmother and I had a massive fight this one argument. I don’t really remember what it was over, but I was actually quite shocked and upset over something that she had said. Something about me being a burden, and, oh that’s right, I confronted her about overhearing her conversation with my Uncle the previous day, in which she told him that I was stealing from her and was just using her so I could get money.

I remember when I heard that conversation, I left her place and went for a walk and called mum in absolute tears – upset because of what she had said, but moreso that it was coming from my grandmother!! In saying that though, she was a bit of stubborn ball-busting old lady, who was so set in concrete in her ways, she would refuse to listen to logic and reason… In hindsight, I guess it was also one of the reasons why we clashed so much.

…but that, again, is a whole different story.

So anyway, this one day I get home from the city and we have this big fight. There and then I pack my bag and tell her that I’m done with her, and no longer want anything to do with her. And I walked out the door.

As I’m walking down the driveway to head towards the train station, I’m fighting back this uncontrollable urge to completely break down into tears: I hadn’t actually planned to storm out like that, nor had I planned on exactly what I would do after I stormed out.

So I walked down the driveway, turned the corner and got to the park and had a small emotional breakdown. I didn’t want to call mum. I wanted to sort this out myself. I’m a resourceful person, I could manage something. Then I remembered, a friend of mine was meant to be arriving in Sydney today. I called Georgie and found out where she was staying, and after crying on the phone, she said I was more than welcome to crash with her for the next two nights before I head home.

What she didn’t tell me, was that she had made a friend on the train to Sydney. When I arrived, I met Dileep. He was a gorgeous, tall, dark, Sri Lankan guy with an incredible athletic body, and unbelievably flawless skin. He was beautiful. I’m not surprised Georgie and Dileep were instantly attracted to each other… beautiful people tend to do that. Like attracts like, and all that jazz.

So over the next two days I got to know more about Dileep. Fascinating and down to earth. A real mummy’s boy. Loves his family, and lived in Melbourne earning a pretty penny working at a historic and prestigious hotel.

We had such a great couple of days together. We played tourist with Dileep. Took him to Bondi; took him out clubbing; shopping; he took us out for brunch and dinner, it was such a fantastic time. It wasn’t until I saw him naked in the sauna, and saw him naked, that I realised exactly why Georgie was so fixated on Dileep.

**DISCLAIMER: Just for the record, no, we weren’t naked in the sauna, nor was it *that* kind of sauna. It was the Hotel sauna, and I was wearing my boardies. He was in (well-packed) speedos, and burnt his bum on the actual heater element. We doused him with cold water, but he still had to go to hospital and got quite a severe burn, and subsequently a nasty little scar. The heather melted a small part of the speedos to his skin, and had to have them surgically removed. It was rather terrifying at the time. Poor guy.

So, when it was time for us to leave, Dileep had decided to head back to Melbourne at the same time. Georgie and I were catching the train, and he convinced Dileep to catch the train with us – just so they could spend the last few hours of their ‘relationship’ together. Once we were on the train and halfway into our 8-9hr journey, Georgie convinced Dileep to stay in town with us for a couple of days.

However, Georgie kind of didn’t ask his parents if D could stay with them. He, for some reason was still convinced that they were unaware he was gay.

Girl, Blind Freddy would know you were gay at twenty-paces. He’d hear you swishing as you walk and know instantly. *lol* So, naturally, they asked if D could stay at my place. I called my mum and explained the situation and she was fine with it. It was strange, but she just went with it. (My mum is pretty awesome like that!).

We finally arrived home around 2 – 2:30am, and Georgie’s mum picked us up from the train station and dropped D and I at my place. I introduced him to my mum, then we got organised for bed.

The following night, when we got organised for bed, I went to bed and crashed and left him sitting outside talking to his family on the phone.

Being the heavy sleeper I am, I’m usually completely unaware of anything that happens whilst I’m asleep. In saying that, when I woke up the next morning, I was missing half my pyjamas, Dileep was spooning me, he was snoring, and the door was open. I kinda freaked out for all different reasons, ‘OMG THERE’S A HOT NAKED GUY SPOONING ME! OMG! GEORGIES BOYFRIEND-SLASH-FLING IS SPOONING ME!! OH GOD, WHAT IF MY MOTHER WALKS IN? OH GOD, WE’LL HAVE TO HAVE THAT CONVERSATION!! HOW DID MY TOP COME OFF? WHERE IS MY TOP? I NEED TO PEE!! HOW DO I GET OUT OF BED WITHOUT WAKING HIM UP?’

I slithered my way out from under D’s arm, army-rolled out of the bed onto the ground and found my top, put it on and just as I put my top on and walked towards the door, mum appears in the doorway, ‘sorry honey, did I wake you up? I thought you boys might be up sooner and I cooked breaksfast. Eggs, bacon, toast. Ya hungry?’. I wasn’t really paying attention, because I was too fixated on my racing heart wondering if mum had previously seen me in bed with a naked guy.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!

‘So THAT’S what I can smell. Well, I was just getting up to pee, but it smells awesome. I don’t know if I should wake him up?!’. Mum walked off back to the kitchen whilst I went to pee.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!

I walked back into the bedroom, closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Behind me I heard some movement and then felt a hand on my back and this smooth Sri Lankan accent, ‘What are you doing? What time is it? Are you coming back to bed?’.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!

Turns out, nothing happened at all. I waited until later on when D was in the shower, and I called Georgie and told him what happened. Or, what didn’t happen to be more precise. He said that’s just what he’s like apparently. He just likes to cuddle.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved when Dileep announced he was returning to Melbourne. Georgie, naturally, was devastated and heart-broken. His whirlwind romance was drawing to an end, and like the good friend I am, I was there to hold his hand and talk some sense into him.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/25/daily-prompt-close/

Daily Prompt: Land of Confusion

Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.

I generally feel out of place in most social settings. 

I guess I’ve become quite introverted in a social setting, and yet, am usually somewhat extroverted around those who make me feel comfortable. As a result I feel as though I have lost the art of conversation.

 

Yup, that’s pretty much me – socially retarded and weird.

Most social settings make me feel awkward and uncomfortable – like going to a party where there’s going to be a lot of people that I don’t know. I, generally, would prefer to just not go simply because I know that I struggle to talk to other people about, well, anything. If I can’t find something in common with them, then I just want to flee and get out of their field of vision. 

You know when you go to a party and there’s that one person sitting in the corner by themselves, or the one who’s off talking to the animals? That’s me. I’m the one who stands out. The one who you can tell just doesn’t belong. I would be the one turning up to some event and being asked if I’m lost.

A classic example of this would be the night my housemates decided we were all going to a strip joint Gentlemen’s Club. 

One of my female housemates (at the time) used to work for a company that owned a handful of different clubs in the city, a couple of nightclubs, a couple of bars, and a couple of strip joints (and I think they even owned a brothel…!?) Anyway, she used to do marketing for two of the nighclubs this company owned, and so we were always getting free passes and drink cards just on the off-chance we might actually want to go to one of them. 

For the record, neither of them interested me in the slightest. They were both straight clubs, and one of those was a rave club. And I’m talking R-A-V-E-!-!-! As in, neon plastic spikes, furry leg warmer things, reflective strips of material sewn on to jeans with super wide legs, platforms, piercings etc etc. It played nothing but trance music. It was also full of people completely off their chops on a concoction of god-only-knows-what with pupils the size of dinner plates:

There had also been a string of incidents where people would get bashed, stabbed etc. I think there was even somebody who was murdered. Just reminds me of the Salt Nightclub Murders. 

Anyways, I’m getting rather sidetracked here… where was I…?? oh yes…

So, this one night, we get all dressed up to go to this Gentlemen’s Club, and we go in and have a fancy private booth near the stage, and of course there are strippers dancers everywhere, and of course they’re names are like Khrystal, Delicious, Ginger, Raven, etc etc and my housemate knew a number of them – when they weren’t stripping they were also working as podium dancers at the other clubs. 

So there was this place full of perhaps the grossest-of-the-gross straight guys, and we’re talking disgusting, sleazy alpha-males who all think they are king-shit, and everybody wants them…

Excuse me whilst I go throw up a little bit. Ugh. I can’t stand those types of guys. They’re so revolting. And repulsive. But what makes it worse is that they’re throwing money at these ladies, to treat them like kings and basically do whatever they want, so their ego just spirals out of control. Oh god straight men are disgusting, sometimes.

So there was them… all 150+ of them. Then there was the handful of women who were there (the bogan ladies with the bogan men), my female housemates, and I. 

I think the highlights of that night were having three of the girls in our booth dancing up a storm with the three of us at once and being the envy of every guy there… and then having them all give me a lap dance. Unfortunately, (and as embarrassed as I am to admit this) this was the first time I’d ever seen a pikachu up close. Being freshly waxed and smooth as a babies bum, whilst being covered / surrounded with glitter and diamonte’s, was rather fascinating. I remember at one point, one of the girls was sitting right in front of me with her legs spread, writhing around on the stage on her back, and I was fixated at this ‘thing’ that was just staring back at me. 

I would compare it to a car accident… you know you shouldn’t be staring at it, but you can’t avoid it. Like it’s staring at you instead. You’re trying to look elsewhere to avoid it,

‘oh gee, she’s got some fancy nipple tassels on…

la-di-dah-di-dah, um, oh god, stop looking at me.

Hey, I like this song.

Oh wow, I didn’t even know the body could *do* that!!

Ahhh…

ummm, what is she doing now?

No, bitch, don’t touch me there!!

Do I look like I wanna be touched there? Keep your damn hands to yourse….

OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT’S LOOKING AT ME AGAIN… PLEASE MAKE IT STOP… !!’

After all that, I actually didn’t mind it too much. It stopped bothering me. Well… enough to only be slightly scared of it, rather than feeling utterly terrified. After they’d stop ‘dancing’, and pick up all the money off the stage, I’d ask them important questions like, where they got their shoes from? Do they ever get concerned about having a wardrobe malfunction… y’know, too early into their ‘performance’?

Needless to say, I’ve never set foot back into an establishment like that again. Nor do I ever plan to… well, unless I’m gonna get up there are show those bitches a thing or two… but then that wouldn’t necessarily make me feel out of place, would it.

Hmmm, I think that’s something that requires further discussion.

 

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/18/daily-prompt-confusion/