Monday, 25 May 2015


Now I sit, absorbing the serrated edges of the Jazz orchestra's 
syncopated rhythms rising to a crescendo while I look back over my 
journal, letting go of the present by looking to the past. I was so much
 older then, so fixed in my assumptions that this was how a grown up 
should behave, forever playing the role to a shifting audience. Thank 
God I escaped that trap, that charade. I can see now that I had been 
stuck, cradling the hummingbird in the cage of my soul, placating its 
ruffled feathers for fear of being discovered. I had been afraid of 
being different, afraid of the judgements others would mete out if they 
saw my true feelings, heard my true voice, my likes my dislikes. I had 
felt too small and vulnerable under the gaze of my peers. It was more 
important to fit the mould that they could be comfortable with. No 
longer, thank the Lord, what you gain with age is indeed wisdom (if of 
course you choose to listen to it). I am more free now than I ever was 
as an invincible young adult with the world at my feet. Hah, how was it 
that my twenties gave birth to such arrogance! I would not dream of 
being young again if spooning myself back into someone else's mould was 
the price to pay. But things were different then.
         We had met at one of those unplanned flat parties that seemed to 
happen spontaneously, everyone arriving from the cool night air as if by 
osmosis and then being caught by the one way membrane of alcohol and 
music.  I saw his smile appear in my memory first, like that of the 
Cheshire Cat, the rest of his face, his body swimming into focus after. 
He was holding out a shot glass to me.
        "What is it?" I asked, by way of introduction, not really caring 
about anything more than having caught his attention.

        "A little kiss of citrus for your tongue." He put the glass to 
my lips and salt mingled with fumes on my palate. As the fire spread he 
planted that first bitter lime kiss on me and all I wanted was to be 
swallowed by those flames.
          Bang. The journal falls from my 
knees to the floor and I lose my grip on the past. My previous life 
fades to memory and I jolt back to the present. 
The copyright of this post belongs to Holly Khan 

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