It seems to me that a person’s life is lived in parts. Parts with distinction defined by environments, characters and events that colour them as they continue to hold us. Air conditioning, motorbikes, monitor lizards, sky-trains, heat strokes, thick lungs, flash floods, childbirth, childbirth, brotherhood, childhood. My mum and dad met in a hotel in London. He did something important that meant wearing a suit and tie and she was the head masseuse. He dealt with meetings and emails. She dealt mostly with greetings and feet smell. At some point after having my older brother, they decided they wanted a change. I can’t remember why or how or when. Just that there was a dog that didn’t really exist and a car I drove. A beach between a baby blue ocean and a steep rocky cliff that we stood at for a while before we could talk with our words. The formerly friendly chinese dragon that I ran from for my life and who I trusted until my brother started running. A puffy life vest for an inflated pool. We were in Bangkok soon. On a high floor of the high rise with big stairs and a playroom. Cracked chins and split eyebrows before they banned us from the squash court. I still have the stitches. I can remember fidgeting with hot wheels and beyblades, eventually outlawed and seized, by adult faces still resented but unremembered. Misunderstanding me and the chocolate milks I only offered to my friends, as the power of the milk tray corrupted me absolutely. The nightmare before watching the Nightmare Before Christmas, where I begged the birthday boy handing out cupcakes to ‘hurry up’. Mr Bald held me back but still let me have one. Probably not entirely, but definitely in some small way because he knew where I came from. Soon we started playing rugby. Colonies of pink faced crusaders collected like iron lungs, strained breath and maximum immobility. 20 borderline interested parents once watched me and my brother stand still for 90 minutes. The paper cups we winced at and we crushed as we feigned borderline destruction. Apples and trees. I also once laughed for 90 minutes. At the 6 foot bearded prop in the 2013 under 9’s tournament. After my dad asked who was looking after his children and was immediately asked to leave. Something to do with offending the referee’s father. 

 

Dance extravaganzas. I learnt to hip hop dance for months in the safety of secrecy, I jumped out of a sleigh and fumbled on the floor to rounds of applause. A secret so safe I forgot to tell my parents. I didn’t mind the absence of their applause more so than the absence of a way home. The smell of polish and paint with my crossed legs on the clean floor, with friends and sandwiches dolled up, heads hopped on adrenaline and happy thoughts.

 

Love in its natural auburn shades and green shadows. Her eyes and their wayward beauty. Pretending to be prince and playing princess at the canteen. Apples for eyes that repeated again ceaselessly. The dance or the high school disco. I can’t remember what they called it then. Skin jeans and man boobs. Gelled quiffs and shoes that were too red. Time well spent pretending to dance.