The trouble with being a rock.
Simon, the apostle, was given the name "Peter" or "Cephas" both of which mean Rock. As cool as you may want Jesus to be, that wasnt His way of saying "You rock, Simon." It was much more meaningful than that. He was saying, "You're who I'll lean on for support."
Just how much does that count, though? To be someone's rock. Well, i think it depends on the person, really. Take for instance Shaq the baller telling you that you're who he relies on to hold him up when he's feeling tired or exhausted. That dunking hulk of a man saying YOU've got his back. Pretty meaningful, I'd say. Now take the same circumstance but substitute Shaq the baller with Shaq the actor. Are you starting to see what i'm getting at?
Maybe its just me, then. I've actually taken the time to notice that i enjoy being able to help certain people out more than others. To loan someone a few euros, help them move, feed their fish or just be there to listen... it all carries different weights with me. Not dependent on the actions but the helpEEs. To be there for my family is nothing spectacular simply because it comes with the territory. Same goes for girlfriends, room mates and most other friends. With total strangers, it feels awesome but dies out mad quick with the realisation that even if by some miraculous coincidence my random act of kindness should save their lives, i'll never know about it cos i'll never see them again.
But with certain people, it means absolutely everything. There's not even a category for these people because their roles in your life evolve. Perhaps they become friends or ex-lovers but they are somehow never forgotten. It might be cos of the particular moment in your own life when you were able to be there for them; just maybe, you were saving each other's lives.
I made this curly-haired friend. We were classmates, really, and not much else outside of school. I cant ignore the fact that there were only about 4 of us within our age range in our class which might have had something to do with it, but i'd like to think it was more than a lack of options. As it turned out, only a handful of us made it to the next level and it was only then that we began to form a friendship. Upto that point, there had been only one thing out of the ordinary; this wierd, almost undetectable vibe between us. See, i have a really hard time locking onto these invisible hints, subliminal signs or whatever from the opposite sex because i've been wrong in the past, (then later found out i was actually right and not just imagining it) so that kinda fucked up my confidence. Lets just say it was a kinda flirt that remained classy, which is the biggest reason i was intrigued by her because class cant be taught, only learned. To be sexy AND classy is a rarity.
It'd go something like:
Me: Oh so you have dance classes, tonight huh?
She: Yeah, ragga tonight.
Me: I keep waiting for you to invite me since you refused to dance with me in class. One of these days i'm just gonna show up at your dance school. (awkward pause) Haha.(Wow, that was lame!)
She: You should.
Now pay attention; this is where the classiness comes in: she doesnt say that last part in a way to suggest, "You should.... after which we'll fuck each other's brains out." At the same time, its not: "You should....if you want me to call the cops on you, you fucking psycho stalker perv!" No, the way she says it is the perfect flirt because i have no idea what she means by that but the look on her face when she says it has the slightest hint of naughtiness. People think there is such a thing as sexy talk. Its got nothing to do with the lyrics, man, its all about the intonation, the innuendos. Just enough mystery to make you go, "Wait did she just..... naaaah. I'm getting ahead of myself. She didnt just... did she?"
The chances are she did.
Anyways, we later became actual friends and even though language was still a barrier, we soldiered on as best we could. Besides language and my own timidity, i was still very reluctant to try and push for anything more simply because i didnt feel like i was in a place where i could play that role for someone. Sex never even came into it and the fact that i was in an "open long distance relationship" at the time ( what does that even mean?) all felt kinda besides the point. But we'd text each other, nothing spicy and not frequently plus we had this silly running gag where she was Angelina and I was Brad and if all else didnt work out, we'd go to Hollywood and become famous. Cos thats how easy THAT is.
She wanted to be a policewoman; her childhood dream. Now this is a hot, blonde chick, 22 years old and really into hiphop/ragga. She had tried out for the french version of pop idol. But being a police person had always been her dream and her main motivation for staying fit. To be honest, i dont know what the police are like in their private lives but lets just say, she's the kind of police woman you would want to be stopped by, ok?
I remember this one time in class we were doing this activity about body parts and the game was something like hand-to-hand, cheek-to-cheek and so on. Now to kinda spice it up, the teacher threw in ass-to-ass and surprise, surprise, i was partnered up with Police girl. Now for the record, i am not known for my ass gropings and wont claim to be a connoisseur of asses but that was THE softest, most tender tissue i've ever been in contact with. It was like... wow, i have SO veered off tangent on this one.
One day, right before class, she shows up just in time, as always, panting from having sprinted from the parking lot. She's got her results back from the police academy for the 2nd round of entry tests (she'd passed the 1st); she tears the envelope open, we're all watching her face to see her expression, all even more excited than she is, just following her eyes as she reads the letter and there it is-
Right there.
Blink and you might have missed it. Just a flicker. I dont know for sure that anyone else caught it but its cause i was watching her eyes instead of trying to read the letter that i saw it. In the briefest flash, i saw her dream die, right there in front of me. Its the rarest thing, to watch a part of someone die, right before your eyes. Its far scarier than a rare glimpse of vulnerability or fear.
Apparently, she'd failed the 2nd round of tests and would have to wait a full year to be able to try out again. She broke down in tears and kept apologising for crying. Normally, that would have been the point where i would have felt helpless because i dont hardly ever do whats necessary. Oh i do the right thing most of the time, but you'll find that the right thing and the best thing are not always the same. However, i instinctively knew what my Police girl needed. A stiff drink.
We cut class that day. Her, my road dawg Piet and I. 22, 18 and 24. Now she didnt want to drink, neither did Piet and i'm a teetotaler so we did the next best thing. We just went and sat in this cafe, the type normally filled with pensioners reminiscing the bad old days. And we had coffee and pastries and just talked. She was still crying half the time, even when she laughed and it was okay because it pre-empted any awkwardess that would have existed had she tried to pretend that everything was okay. I've learned, perhaps from some self help book or a fortune cookie, that one of the worst things you can do when someone comes to you with their crisis is to try and outdo them with your own crises. You might think you're helping them realise that everyone has problems and they're therefore not alone but what you are in fact doing is making them feel like their problems are silly and insignificant in comparison to yours.
So instead, we started telling the dumbest and most disgusting jokes we could think of. Now with the languge factor, it was a bit harder for me cos i had to translate everything but i got them both to laugh and they got me to laugh and we just sat there blaming The Man for being an asshole and kinda plotting our own revolution. We talked about everything and talked about nothing. We thumb wrestled - oh yeah, i always beat her at this and she always beats me at rock paper scissors- and just hung out. And all the while she was crying and apololgising for crying and she was so beautiful even when she cried that i just wanted to take her in my arms and tell her it'd all be alright even thought there's no way i could possibly know that for sure.
Hours later, when we finally left that cafe, the 3 of us vowing we'd be young forever and then going our seperate ways, i couldnt remember feeling better about anything i'd ever done in my entire life. Now to anyone else, this would seem regular and lacking in originality or colour and just a friend doing his duty. I get that. But to me, it meant that the world was still a beautiful place. It meant that there is still enough love left in this world to save it. And that there was still something beautiful left in me worth sharing with the world.
Just how much does that count, though? To be someone's rock. Well, i think it depends on the person, really. Take for instance Shaq the baller telling you that you're who he relies on to hold him up when he's feeling tired or exhausted. That dunking hulk of a man saying YOU've got his back. Pretty meaningful, I'd say. Now take the same circumstance but substitute Shaq the baller with Shaq the actor. Are you starting to see what i'm getting at?
Maybe its just me, then. I've actually taken the time to notice that i enjoy being able to help certain people out more than others. To loan someone a few euros, help them move, feed their fish or just be there to listen... it all carries different weights with me. Not dependent on the actions but the helpEEs. To be there for my family is nothing spectacular simply because it comes with the territory. Same goes for girlfriends, room mates and most other friends. With total strangers, it feels awesome but dies out mad quick with the realisation that even if by some miraculous coincidence my random act of kindness should save their lives, i'll never know about it cos i'll never see them again.
But with certain people, it means absolutely everything. There's not even a category for these people because their roles in your life evolve. Perhaps they become friends or ex-lovers but they are somehow never forgotten. It might be cos of the particular moment in your own life when you were able to be there for them; just maybe, you were saving each other's lives.
I made this curly-haired friend. We were classmates, really, and not much else outside of school. I cant ignore the fact that there were only about 4 of us within our age range in our class which might have had something to do with it, but i'd like to think it was more than a lack of options. As it turned out, only a handful of us made it to the next level and it was only then that we began to form a friendship. Upto that point, there had been only one thing out of the ordinary; this wierd, almost undetectable vibe between us. See, i have a really hard time locking onto these invisible hints, subliminal signs or whatever from the opposite sex because i've been wrong in the past, (then later found out i was actually right and not just imagining it) so that kinda fucked up my confidence. Lets just say it was a kinda flirt that remained classy, which is the biggest reason i was intrigued by her because class cant be taught, only learned. To be sexy AND classy is a rarity.
It'd go something like:
Me: Oh so you have dance classes, tonight huh?
She: Yeah, ragga tonight.
Me: I keep waiting for you to invite me since you refused to dance with me in class. One of these days i'm just gonna show up at your dance school. (awkward pause) Haha.(Wow, that was lame!)
She: You should.
Now pay attention; this is where the classiness comes in: she doesnt say that last part in a way to suggest, "You should.... after which we'll fuck each other's brains out." At the same time, its not: "You should....if you want me to call the cops on you, you fucking psycho stalker perv!" No, the way she says it is the perfect flirt because i have no idea what she means by that but the look on her face when she says it has the slightest hint of naughtiness. People think there is such a thing as sexy talk. Its got nothing to do with the lyrics, man, its all about the intonation, the innuendos. Just enough mystery to make you go, "Wait did she just..... naaaah. I'm getting ahead of myself. She didnt just... did she?"
The chances are she did.
Anyways, we later became actual friends and even though language was still a barrier, we soldiered on as best we could. Besides language and my own timidity, i was still very reluctant to try and push for anything more simply because i didnt feel like i was in a place where i could play that role for someone. Sex never even came into it and the fact that i was in an "open long distance relationship" at the time ( what does that even mean?) all felt kinda besides the point. But we'd text each other, nothing spicy and not frequently plus we had this silly running gag where she was Angelina and I was Brad and if all else didnt work out, we'd go to Hollywood and become famous. Cos thats how easy THAT is.
She wanted to be a policewoman; her childhood dream. Now this is a hot, blonde chick, 22 years old and really into hiphop/ragga. She had tried out for the french version of pop idol. But being a police person had always been her dream and her main motivation for staying fit. To be honest, i dont know what the police are like in their private lives but lets just say, she's the kind of police woman you would want to be stopped by, ok?
I remember this one time in class we were doing this activity about body parts and the game was something like hand-to-hand, cheek-to-cheek and so on. Now to kinda spice it up, the teacher threw in ass-to-ass and surprise, surprise, i was partnered up with Police girl. Now for the record, i am not known for my ass gropings and wont claim to be a connoisseur of asses but that was THE softest, most tender tissue i've ever been in contact with. It was like... wow, i have SO veered off tangent on this one.
One day, right before class, she shows up just in time, as always, panting from having sprinted from the parking lot. She's got her results back from the police academy for the 2nd round of entry tests (she'd passed the 1st); she tears the envelope open, we're all watching her face to see her expression, all even more excited than she is, just following her eyes as she reads the letter and there it is-
Right there.
Blink and you might have missed it. Just a flicker. I dont know for sure that anyone else caught it but its cause i was watching her eyes instead of trying to read the letter that i saw it. In the briefest flash, i saw her dream die, right there in front of me. Its the rarest thing, to watch a part of someone die, right before your eyes. Its far scarier than a rare glimpse of vulnerability or fear.
Apparently, she'd failed the 2nd round of tests and would have to wait a full year to be able to try out again. She broke down in tears and kept apologising for crying. Normally, that would have been the point where i would have felt helpless because i dont hardly ever do whats necessary. Oh i do the right thing most of the time, but you'll find that the right thing and the best thing are not always the same. However, i instinctively knew what my Police girl needed. A stiff drink.
We cut class that day. Her, my road dawg Piet and I. 22, 18 and 24. Now she didnt want to drink, neither did Piet and i'm a teetotaler so we did the next best thing. We just went and sat in this cafe, the type normally filled with pensioners reminiscing the bad old days. And we had coffee and pastries and just talked. She was still crying half the time, even when she laughed and it was okay because it pre-empted any awkwardess that would have existed had she tried to pretend that everything was okay. I've learned, perhaps from some self help book or a fortune cookie, that one of the worst things you can do when someone comes to you with their crisis is to try and outdo them with your own crises. You might think you're helping them realise that everyone has problems and they're therefore not alone but what you are in fact doing is making them feel like their problems are silly and insignificant in comparison to yours.
So instead, we started telling the dumbest and most disgusting jokes we could think of. Now with the languge factor, it was a bit harder for me cos i had to translate everything but i got them both to laugh and they got me to laugh and we just sat there blaming The Man for being an asshole and kinda plotting our own revolution. We talked about everything and talked about nothing. We thumb wrestled - oh yeah, i always beat her at this and she always beats me at rock paper scissors- and just hung out. And all the while she was crying and apololgising for crying and she was so beautiful even when she cried that i just wanted to take her in my arms and tell her it'd all be alright even thought there's no way i could possibly know that for sure.
Hours later, when we finally left that cafe, the 3 of us vowing we'd be young forever and then going our seperate ways, i couldnt remember feeling better about anything i'd ever done in my entire life. Now to anyone else, this would seem regular and lacking in originality or colour and just a friend doing his duty. I get that. But to me, it meant that the world was still a beautiful place. It meant that there is still enough love left in this world to save it. And that there was still something beautiful left in me worth sharing with the world.
I only saw curly girl a couple more times before i left the country. Maybe twice. We texted each other the night before i left. Somewhat ambiguously. I'm glad i never developed a crush on her because those things really suck the life out of me. If things ended on that note between us, i would have no regrets. But thats not to say i dont think about her anymore.
Anyways, the trouble with being a rock is that you're so busy trying to stay solid that you dont give a minute's thought as to what will become of you when you start to crumble. The answer to that is quite simple: dust.
"I would rather be ashes than dust; i would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot..." -Jack London.
posted by R. Wagaba at 11:08 PM
