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Write down my memories

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FaustusDirty word...

An innocent
slip of the tongue
turns an innocent word
into a dirty one,
a word none of the dirty boys know
but the innocent teacher does.

He mumbles, “well,
that’s not a good word to say”
he hesitates for a brief moment
and moves on to the next student.

When the hour and half
of the Arabic class is over,
noisy boys are out of the class
before they can hear
next week’s assignment.

But this time around
instead of the school yard
they flood the library…
few forces are stronger
than genuine curiosity

The library boy suspects something
from the sudden popularity
of school’s Arabic dictionary;
he approaches smoothly
and the crowd scatters quietly
only a few stay,
convinced of their innocence

“Give me your names”
we tell him ours
He doesn’t check if
those are real names.
He knows they are,
and we are convinced
he is not going to
cause any harm.

He is all right
like any other
library boy 4 weeks ago


Thin_Moon_Me 12 months ago


FaustusTeacher's name

“Rooster-fog”
that’s what we heard, my cousin and I,
When our teacher
Introduced herself

“Are you sure?”
My uncle asked
And my aunt,
And my mom,
And my dad,
In that order.

“She said so,” we said,
Convinced, detached.
It was just a name
anyaway, after all.

It was just a name
But not her name.
It took us a week
To get it right.

Dad is forgiving
(Or forgetful),
But my uncle now
Wins every debate 6 months ago


Thin_Moon_MeThings that go bump in the night

When my sister, brother and I were really young, we occasionally acted out our own special version of the Elves and the Shoemaker. We would get up in the middle of the night and do housework, with the earnest intention of helping our mother. I remember washing dishes in cold water because we weren’t allowed to use the kettle and one night in particular, one of us knocked over the pot stand, which made a deafening sound as all the pans clattered to the ground.

In retrospect, I don’t think we could have done anything to earn our mother’s love, or even her gratitude, but what feelings of joy and achievement we felt during those night time endeavours 10 months ago


Thin_Moon_MeObsession

Yesterday, my daughter and I were looking at a few photographs of her when she was younger and there was one in which she was wearing several strings of different coloured beads around her neck (she looked like a girly Mr T). I had forgotten that when she was 2 years old, she loved playing with beads and chains, so her grandma gave her some of her old ones. She was totally obsessed and would not leave the house without wearing all of them at the same time. This lasted around 6 months. My (now teenage) daughter was horrified and couldn’t believe that I’d let her go out looking like that, but we have the photos to prove it.

I just hope her dad doesn’t tag her on facebook in the photo of her wearing a pink organza tutu and wellies, outdoors… I was kinda saving that one to show her first boyfriend :) 12 months ago


Thin_Moon_MeNetball

A random memory came into my mind (and a smile on my face) yesterday when I passed a local primary school. There was a netball match in full swing in the playground and the teacher was shouting and blowing her whistle like mad ;). It reminded me of when I was at primary school and every month or so we would play netball against the teachers. We played or we made up ‘friendly’ chants to sing at the top of our voices from the sidelines (depending on which team we were supporting on that occasion) either way it was great fun :) 12 months ago


DayDreamer37 12 months ago


Thin_Moon_MeWhere to start...

I’m not quite sure how this is going to pan out. I didn’t have a great childhood or adolescence, my coping mechanism was to retreat into my own little bubble and repress memories. While this resulted in me forgetting some of the bad stuff :), it also made me forget some of the good stuff too :(.

My sister died three years ago, we were always very close and she had the most amazing memory. We would talk and laugh for hours about the past we shared. I took it for granted that she would always be there to remind me.

A psychotherapist told me a few years ago that once I had dealt with some past issues, my memory would return and recently things have started popping up from my memory banks.

I guess I just want to get some stuff in writing in case I forget again. It won’t be in chronological order and it probably won’t make much sense to anyone else, but it’s something I need to do to be able to move forward, in particular to come to terms with the loss of my sister. I had never thought of death like that before; you think, “I’ll always have my memories whatever happens,” but that’s just it, they are only YOUR memories, you’re the only person who remembers now and who was there when it happened. You have nobody to corroborate your stories with and other people aren’t really interested in hearing them 12 months ago


FaustusSuspension...

Dad taught high-school… he studied psychology, but math was his thing, so he taught math. He was a little inclined to the left, as many of the youth in his age were, but he managed to stay clear of trouble during the revolution. A few years after the revolution, not sure exactly what, but he mentioned something about communities and working together, and some student did the country a favor by reporting him to the authorities during the “cultural revolution” wave.

I remember dad and my uncle, his lawyer brother, sitting at the dining table; dad quiet, uncle talking, words about not being responsible and getting suspended. The 5-year old me overheard these, and imagined his dad floating in a glass tank of bluish goo, somewhere between the earth and sky.

Dad traded his ‘74 BMW for an old truck; he liked the car, you could tell… purple-colored 2002, with huge bumpers that were supposed to protect it, and they did for the most part, as he crashed the car into stuff every now and then. He still jokes and makes an impression of me, when I was 3, riding the car with him, and he crashed the car into a taxi: “Look what you have done!” :) The car may have been a display of his youth, the playfulness that has never left him, not even now. He traded the car for a truck and delivered goods from one factory to another… street lamps, metal rods, anything. One of his friends, offering him a little money on the side, would give him electric kettles to put together. Mom and dad would spread the pieces in the living room and put kettles together, one after another… the numbers mattered. My sister and I would sometimes join in, racing to see who could put one together faster. “Don’t screw it too hard… it’ll crack the body, and won’t stop the leak any better.”

So a few years went by, until nobody could remember why he wasn’t teaching. Someone in charge thought it would be a great idea to make him teach geography… “we don’t have enough geography teachers,” seemed like a reasonable statement. He taught geography until he retired, for almost 20 years. 18 months ago


Faustus 6 years ago


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