I
love Saturdays, when the expanses of the weekend seem to stretch out
before your feet like an endless desert, or a road, paved with
possibilities. The sun is shining down on the tarmac on Church
Street, just outside my window. Today I figured out how to roll my
makeshift blinds up with the sheet that also hangs down over my
window. And let the stiff breeze blow. Sunlight. Summer.
Saturday.
This time of the afternoon is the best, when plans are like freshly poured concrete, still uncertain, setting. I'm so calm right now, look how many commas I'm using. Descriptive words. Short, broken sentences to describe only feelings, rather than the actions that traditionally accompany them. I have about four hours all to myself now, and I couldn't be happier. Maybe I'll meditate a little? Maybe I'll write more – I've already written about five pages of notes and bits today. Maybe I'll sit here and tap out words on my laptop. Browse YouTube or Reddit, or maybe I'll just fall asleep. I could do some reading... my room is my world, and this world is my oyster.
I love the feeling of the sun shining down on my skin, light brown as it is... that's something interesting, isn't it. I have a strange rift in the way I see myself as a 'white' person... that phrase is so useless anyway. I mean, there really is very little pressure in Australian – or at least inner-city Melbourne – society to identify with a particular racial group. I feel like a white person, insofar as I presumably know what a white person feels like. I don't feel like a Latino, or whatever else people might think I look like when they first recognize that my skin colour is markedly different to their, and my complexion too. 'Racially ambiguous' is the term I've used thousands of times over and over in my head. I feel white, but that's not what my skin is, so what does that make me?
This is not a burning question in my head, and one that even if it does require an answer – and I'm not even sure it does to be honest – doesn't require one in the immediate here-and-now. That's thinking for another time. Maybe in America, when I eventually get over there, my skin colour will become a more important fixture in my identity... but even then, as soon as I open my mouth, I'm sure my accent will wipe any presuppositions about ethnicity completely out of anyone's mind.
I had this idea for when I go to Spain: I want to be forced to practice speaking Spanish when I get over there, otherwise I'm sure I'll just fall back into the easy habit of speaking English with everyone I meet, and not improving my Spanish skills whatsoever. So my plan is to tell everyone I meet – especially if I end up working on a farm for a few weeks – that I am from Australia, but that I'm Aboriginal, and that in Australia, Aboriginals don't speak English, they speak a different language, and as such, I can only communicate with you all in Spanish, because I don't speak English at all, sorry. I feel like there is a lot of merit and potential to this plan (much like my Saturday afternoon... OOOOOH POTENTIAL TIE-IN!), the only sticking point would lie in my ability to Commit to the Bit. I am such an habitual bit-bailer. I bail from bits. I find the idea of even doing a bit at all so silly and hilarious that I crack up as soon as the bit-doing business has begun. I would have to commit to this bit, and I would have to commit hard.
I'm sure I'd tell them after a while, maybe at the end of our engagement. I'd have to... it'd be hilarious I'm certain.
I just got a message so I think I'm going to stop here... reading, that's probably what I'll start out with. If I fall asleep from there, so be it. Today is Saturday, the day so good, they wrote a catchy song about it. Whoopee.
Peace, Taco.
This time of the afternoon is the best, when plans are like freshly poured concrete, still uncertain, setting. I'm so calm right now, look how many commas I'm using. Descriptive words. Short, broken sentences to describe only feelings, rather than the actions that traditionally accompany them. I have about four hours all to myself now, and I couldn't be happier. Maybe I'll meditate a little? Maybe I'll write more – I've already written about five pages of notes and bits today. Maybe I'll sit here and tap out words on my laptop. Browse YouTube or Reddit, or maybe I'll just fall asleep. I could do some reading... my room is my world, and this world is my oyster.
I love the feeling of the sun shining down on my skin, light brown as it is... that's something interesting, isn't it. I have a strange rift in the way I see myself as a 'white' person... that phrase is so useless anyway. I mean, there really is very little pressure in Australian – or at least inner-city Melbourne – society to identify with a particular racial group. I feel like a white person, insofar as I presumably know what a white person feels like. I don't feel like a Latino, or whatever else people might think I look like when they first recognize that my skin colour is markedly different to their, and my complexion too. 'Racially ambiguous' is the term I've used thousands of times over and over in my head. I feel white, but that's not what my skin is, so what does that make me?
This is not a burning question in my head, and one that even if it does require an answer – and I'm not even sure it does to be honest – doesn't require one in the immediate here-and-now. That's thinking for another time. Maybe in America, when I eventually get over there, my skin colour will become a more important fixture in my identity... but even then, as soon as I open my mouth, I'm sure my accent will wipe any presuppositions about ethnicity completely out of anyone's mind.
I had this idea for when I go to Spain: I want to be forced to practice speaking Spanish when I get over there, otherwise I'm sure I'll just fall back into the easy habit of speaking English with everyone I meet, and not improving my Spanish skills whatsoever. So my plan is to tell everyone I meet – especially if I end up working on a farm for a few weeks – that I am from Australia, but that I'm Aboriginal, and that in Australia, Aboriginals don't speak English, they speak a different language, and as such, I can only communicate with you all in Spanish, because I don't speak English at all, sorry. I feel like there is a lot of merit and potential to this plan (much like my Saturday afternoon... OOOOOH POTENTIAL TIE-IN!), the only sticking point would lie in my ability to Commit to the Bit. I am such an habitual bit-bailer. I bail from bits. I find the idea of even doing a bit at all so silly and hilarious that I crack up as soon as the bit-doing business has begun. I would have to commit to this bit, and I would have to commit hard.
I'm sure I'd tell them after a while, maybe at the end of our engagement. I'd have to... it'd be hilarious I'm certain.
I just got a message so I think I'm going to stop here... reading, that's probably what I'll start out with. If I fall asleep from there, so be it. Today is Saturday, the day so good, they wrote a catchy song about it. Whoopee.
Peace, Taco.
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