Dear anyone in particular:

Hello! Hi! How d'you do! Sorry, sorry, I'm over-excitable, I know; I'm just so excited to meet you! I know, I know; it isn't technically the first time we've met. But, you see, I don't think I gave you due attention last time. You know how it is, I was busy, or tired, or a little self-involved. I apologise. The thing is, I've since realised - I've been thinking, you see, and you're actually rather fascinating.

Don't feel fascinating today? That's okay, we all have our off days, but there's a lot more to you than people realise, isn't there. Other people might say that the things you come out with are 'random', but I am drawn in, curious about what and how you think. Sometimes I watch the cogs turning when you think nobody's watching you. It amazes me, the things you notice! Things nobody else sees, things I could have missed.

Is it any surprise, then, that I want to know more about you? Sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I realise I didn't give much warning. And it's hardly common for people to... well, express such an interest. But all this was necessary, you see; absolutely necessary; because I'm after something very specific. I'm after an honest answer. They're not easy to provoke at the best of times, and the question I'm about to ask probably elicits more lies than any other. But now that you know I'm in earnest, how about trying to lower the defenses when I ask you?

So... how are you doing?

Back to school

Well, what a week... on Tuesday, I had my first 'proper' job interview. I'd been saying for a few days that I felt really confident about it it, but as I took the 15-minute train journey to Penarth, I got increasingly jittery. The truth is, I had no idea what to expect. My good friend Tony had given me a few tips, told me what questions to ask etc -and I was racking my brain trying to remember them.
I arrived about an hour early, taking punctuality to new and unnecessary levels. Just as well I did, really, as I got lost. I managed to arrive a reasonable ten minutes early, filled out a form, talked to some people, and then was led into a side-room where I would either be murdered or interviewed. As soon as it became apparent that it was the latter, I relaxed, and answered every question confidently and with a smile on my face. They'll let me know in two weeks, and I'm quietly confident. Can you still be 'quietly confident' if you're telling everyone that you think you got it? Let's say yes.
The next day, I went back to university for the first time in almost a year. The second I got talking to a couple of lads outside my class, I knew that this year would be interesting. The one with a ponytail had perfected the sleazy wink that has been used (tragically, quite successfully) on me in the past, and one with ginger dreadlocks and a massive coat seemed like a generally lovely chap. The class itself was more or less what I expected, but I'll be honest, I was more interested in Mat and Ben, for those are their names. They made me laugh, they were friendly, and I ended up spending the day with them.
Mat was handing out CVs in town, and ended up getting an interview while Ben and I talked on the steps outside. It was fascinating to speak to someone with such a different philosophy to myself, who nevertheless seemed very much on my wavelength. I went back to Ben's and watched half of Dark City before I had to go.
Today was a much quieter one, but I'm delighted to say that I have made a personal breakthrough! Ohyes! It's a matter of record that I have never, ever managed to draw a man that doesn't look horribly deformed or like a serial rapist. Often both. But today, I drew this chap:


... and I'm really quite pleased with him.

Learning to Read

When I was a young child, I had a very vivid imagination. This combined with a fairly sharp mind led me to develop an almost obsessive interest in books. I'd like to claim that reading is something I've always loved, but truth be told, it wasn't until I was told that I was very good at it - and taken off the primary school reading books to be let loose in the library at the age of nine - that I discovered how special it really was.

The first one I found in that library was the Story of Tracy Beaker, by Jacqueline Wilson: a book I chose entirely by its cover, and loved entirely for its imperfect, attitude-filled heroine. It took several years and several readings before I saw all the hints at just how biased she was as a narrator.

Between my newfound love of reading, writing, drawing, and staring out of windows, I viewed other kids as quite an inconvenient necessity - much like the set work our teachers gave us when I had better things to do.

Middle school was worse in a lot of ways. The constant buzz of other people in the background got louder, and it became clear that they didn't all approve of me. Naturally, my response to this was to spend more time alone in the library. I discovered Trillions by Nicholas Fisk when I was eleven or twelve, and that's how sci-fi got me. I read the Chronicles of Narnia (all seven, repeatedly), and that's how fantasy got me. I found that after a while, if you read hard enough, the buzz faded altogether and I could ignore the fact that I didn't really understand how other people worked.

In high school, however, there was no such refuge. The library was where people went to hang out, and even Discworld couldn't distract me from the fact that I needed to learn to interact. It took a couple of years and some very tolerant friends before I understood what 'other people' are at the age of fifteen. 

It finally started to make a kind of sense when I read - I forget which book now, but it echoed my own realisation - that "everybody is 'I'." The baffling buzz of a thousand confusing students became almost comprehensible as the clamour of a thousand voices trying to be heard. And at the age of seventeen, I learned the golden key to unlocking a person, nine times out of ten: smiling, saying hello, and being interested. And that the remaining one time isn't necessarily my fault, and it isn't necessarily theirs.

Am I happier now? Yes, in a lot of ways. If I ever have kids, I'll try to teach them about people before I teach them to read, although both skills must be learned over a lifetime. I miss being completely swallowed by books, it doesn't happen nearly as much these days; and I still misread people a lot of the time - but I still stare out of windows and daydream. So that's alright.

Nice people

I know that ‘Nice’ isn’t the most hardcore word ever. The other words pick on it and call it names. It’s associated with weakness, spinelessness. The sad truth is that true positivity, a proper "la la la everyone's lovely" mindset, is despised at worst and pitied at best. They call it naivety, but naivety is a better kind of positivity; vastly preferable to the because-I'm-worth-it narcissism that leads people to believe that they could be the next President of the USA if they just follow their dreams, despite all the pressing evidence to the contrary. I am not that kind of optimist. I know that the world is an ugly, brutal place. I just think that stubbornly refusing to accept it leads to a marginally more beautiful, gentler world. (In figurative terms, think of it as if I've superglued a pair of rose-tinted glasses to my face.)

When I really think about it, I believe that people are fundamentally good, or at least that they have the potential for good. They might not always seem that great but first impressions count for a lot, you know. Sometimes when you meet someone and they seem distant, angry, or just plain rude - well, maybe they're having a bad day! Maybe a smile and a kind word will brighten up their day a little! Maybe the knife they're showing you is for a surprise cake!

I try to go around constantly believing the best of everyone. Constantly believing that a little love could thaw them out, that a little friendship could stop them from being such an unmitigated bastard. (But to be fair, I'm only human, and I have bad days too. Many, many bad days. Sometimes I'm a bitch. But I promise, I didn't know she was pregnant, and it was hilarious at the time! Ahem.) Sometimes my reserves of goodwill run dry long before their reserves of pervasive crapness. I still don't know how to let go, of course; I still cling onto their ankles yelling "I KNOW YOU'RE A SWEETHEART REALLY, IT'S OK, YOU CAN BE VULNERABLE WITH ME!" as they dance around the burning orphanage, laughing.

That's the exception though. In general, expecting great things and great behaviour from someone really does bring out the best in them. It gives them something to live up to. Of course, this goes hand-in-hand with expecting better things from yourself, and that requires effort, and oh God wouldn't it be easier just to stay the way you are and eat ice-cream?

Ladies and gentlemen, I dream of a better world. A world in which we all have ice-cream and surprise cake. Thank you.

I want

...Told him my story. Told him about being laid off in Chicago. Told him about this new job I got in New York. Told him I only knew I got the job officially 5 days before Christmas- only about a week previously. Asked him how he was liking New York.

"It's great," he said. "Everybody's insane with loneliness, but that's OK. After a while you realize that's part of the edge."...
- Hugh McLeod, www.gapingvoid.com

"Imagine a city where graffiti wasn't illegal, a city where everybody could draw wherever they liked. Where every street was awash with a million colours and little phrases. Where standing at a bus stop was never boring. A city that felt like a living breathing thing which belonged to everybody, not just the estate agents and barons of big business. Imagine a city like that and stop leaning against the wall -- it's wet."
- Banksy, www.banksy.co.uk

I want to go to New York and talk to a lonely person.
I want to be happy, and healthy, and helpful, in an environment where those things are positively discouraged.
I want to be able to pick out a busker's guitar chords over the roar of the traffic.
I want to paint beautiful things on ugly walls.
I want to see the adverts for what they are, and to choose to rise above it.

The other day, I was wandering around Bristol train station. It had been dark for hours, and I had a long journey ahead of me. Normally I'd sink into myself, try to avoid any human contact, like anybody would. But for some reason, I was excited. I was interested, curious about everything I saw. I took dozens of photos of the most insignificant things, just happy to be doing something slightly unusual because anybody could ask me about it without feeling uncomfortable. If anyone wanted someone to talk to, they could do a lot worse than starting with "why are you taking all those photos?"

Nobody did, though.