Today I wondered why I started this blog.
No, I’m not saying I regret starting this; far from it in fact. But I did wonder about its purpose and whether or not it was fulfilling any of it.
Originally, besides giving me some form of regular focus, my plan was to use it to put across some things that maybe the people I know have no time to hear, or that I am too embarrassed to say. To publish facts about what I’m up to, reassurance that I’m still around if reassurance was needed; and leave it there, for when there is time, maybe in-between googling and browsing for porn. What I am finding is that it is getting less and less personal;. I have even resorted to copying edited emails, for the sake of Pete. My problem is that I read Other Blogs, and if some of them bore me with endless, mundane, jaw-stretching crap, infuriate me with their self-righteous stupidity, some dazzle me with their style, impress me with their strongly expressed political opinions (even when I don’t agree with them) and that I start to worry about Competition. Competition was the furthest thing from my mind when I signed up for this. This was not meant as a contribution, not a part of anything, since I wanted it isolated, unpublicised, ignored as much as possible, and that I considered making it password-protected. Since I hold few strongly expressed political views, that my style is rarely scintillating, I am afraid of slipping into the same kind of jaw-stretching crap. As a result my constant internal monologue does not make it onto this page and I cut myself further away from the very people I wanted to make this for. And trust me, I monologue a lot.
The morale of the story is this: brace yourself for some more personal shit, cos I love you all.
Hug this
Today, fresh with my new resolution, I would like to talk about the Power of the Cuddle.
When I was a teenager, it was customary for us blasé secondary school kids to air-kiss all our classmates, starting with the left cheek, four times. Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah.
I say the left cheek, but that was a topological variant: in some parts of the country it started on the right one, which, as can easily be imagined, was at best confusing, at worst embarrassing when meeting someone form a different part of the country. In such a case, you tended to meet in the middle.
When meeting a distant acquaintance in town, the same ritual would apply. Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah. Even if you had nothing to say to each other. Even if you secretly disliked each other. Politics came after the mwah.
The time it took every morning before class!
The leering boys who lingered on your cheeks!
I soon developed a complete loathing of the whole thing.
Then, with my fist job in a bank, I graduated to the Handshake. This ritual of ‘look, I hold no weapon, let’s join our palms together and exert pressure as proof of our commitment to peace’ is a must in circles which do not count the quadruple mwah as part of their daily ritual. It should be accompanied by eye contact. It does take time before school work, but I hold it in great esteem. On many occasions have I registered a sudden, positive shift in a
And finally, I would like to propose a eulogy to the cuddle. A hail to the hug.
At the onset of my introduction to the big H, I was suspicious. I thought it was at best exaggerated. Too much. Too short of exchanging bodily fluids. Ambiguous. I didn’t trust the hug. Also, some people don’t wash so well.
Now I’m a thorough convert. Hugs are my sustenance. I hug my dad against his will, in fact once I broke his glasses. I hug my mum. This takes place in a family where people do not touch. I mean my hugs.
It’s only some of my French friends that won’t let me. I don’t know what they’re afraid of.
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