Everyday Stranger

Back to the Beginning

I'm back in Stockholm now, and will be back to blogging in full swing tomorrow (including commenting on my site and on others). I have had a most amazing week-sometimes it has been incredible and ephemeral. Sometimes, the best I could manage was to sit in the shower and cry, and hope that no one heard me.

I am currently removing everything from the hard drive of my PC, which I must return to Company x tomorrow. Truthfully, it had moved with me so many times that I thought it had disappeared from their inventory, but it appears not to be the case. It hurts badly, since my laptop has been my constant companion, my partner, and my life for many years now. We have been lovers-how often have I spent long nights and early mornings making love with my fingers on the sallow grey keyboard? How many tears have we had together? How many fights have we had?

Now we are breaking up, and like any break-up, I am not handling it well.

I now have to go buy a new laptop, at a time when making capital investments is less than ideal.

But such is my life.

Full details on my trip to London/Amsterdam forthcoming, including the bits about Mr. Y that I know everyone is keen to know about. What I can tell you, is the beginning. That, since we all need a good start to a new life, eh?

Wednesday last week I walked around the city of Winchester in England. The friend I was staying with had an unavoidable meeting in the morning, so I had to entertain myself for the morning. The day was dark and the rain poured down in sheets. I had decided to get a haircut in the duration, but noticed that no shops opened until ten.

I walked in the rain, feeling more lost and alone than ever before. Life had changed so much. My job was gone, my relationship crumbling, and everything I had ever known about myself was up for grabs. I realized at that moment that I had everything in my handbag (passport, wallet, camera, phone) that I could ever need to just escape. I could disappear from the life I knew-the complications, the sadness, the confusion-and just start over again. I reached into it and ran my fingers over the cover of the passport, feeling the bumpy blue grain and the gold embossing. I could disappear without a trace, and no one could ever reach me again.

It was then that I looked around me and saw the beautiful cathedral in Winchester, and decided a visit was in order.

I can't resist cathedrals and churches. Whenever I am around one, I have to go in and light two candles-one for my grandfather, and one for Kim. I may have strayed far from the Catholic path, and I may be a complete stranger to God, but some part of me longs to believe in the superstition associated with lighting a candle-that you light it for a person or a prayer, and when it goes out, the person has heard or God has heard you. So I have lit candles the world over for my Grandfather, and for Kim.

Strange, since I am no longer in the God choir, but instead try to rock to my own tune.

I walked into the chapel, soaking wet. I hadn't even bothered with an umbrella or raincoat, since I was hoping for the catharsis of rain to soak me and find its way into me. A kind, portly woman met me at the door. The cathedral had not yet opened, she explained. I just looked back at her, and something in my face had her open the doors for me.

The cathedral was amazing. It was perfection. The ceilings were so high that I couldn't even fathom the height. Stained glass was on every window. It was not so much as a cathedral, more as a devotion to religion. The organist was practising that morning, so from every angle was the sumptuous sounds of music pouring at me from every beam, racing from the buttresses and pouring its way directly into my chest, hammering me from all angles in explosions of melody. Walking in to the 1000 year old cathedral, you have to step on tombs of people below the floor. Husbands and wives. Soldiers. Clergy. Children. Some 40 years ago, some 400 years ago.

Walking further, I found the bank of candles I sought. Only one was there, lit and glowing. Extracting some pound coins, I dropped a few into the donation slot, and took four candles. Four, this time, instead of my two. And without feeling the least little bit of silliness or hypocrisy, I lit them, and spoke aloud inside my head. Four individual sayings for four candles.

"Grandpa, wherever you are, I love you and need you and want you here with me."

"Kim...fuck you. Fuck you for dying and fuck you for not coming back for me. I love you. I miss you."

"For anyone listening, please help me. I need any help I can get. I am on the verge of being lost."

"For anyone listening, please help Mr. Y. His life is coming apart just as mine is, and he needs to know how strong he is to make it through this."

And I turned on my heel and started to exit, stopping briefly to sit on a pew and just marvel at the music one last time. As I got closer to the exit, I ran into the portly woman again, who smiled at me and reached out a comforting arm.

"God sure loves you," she said, smiling even broader.

Not having the heart to tell her I didn't believe in God, I jsut smiled back. "Why is that?" I asked, waiting for the song and dance about Christianity.

"Because your candles are already blown out. Bless you, my dear." she said, and bustled away.

It appears I could not disappear without a trace. And so it is that I will keep trying to rebuild my life, and this time I need to do it right.

And tomorrow....Mr. Y.

-H.

PS-if you love me, feel free to nominate me here.

Posted by Everydaystranger at December 2, 2003 08:27 PM | TrackBack