I don't know. But sometimes: funny, artistic, lovable, original, funky, weird and freaky. Sometimes not. I guess I'm...
...part Cypriot, part Australian, part British (conceptually), part German (linguistically), part bohemian, part actor, part writer, part director, part poet, part singer, part liar, part angel, part evil, part boring, part kitsch, part cynical, part romantic, part athletic, part flabby, part opinionated, part smiley, part literate, part hateable, part annoying, part ugly, part sexual, part addict, party addict, part sober, part emotional, part numb, part perverted, part severe, part incosequential, part sarcastic, part obscene, part absurd, part dancer, part indie, part gay, part lesbian, part straight.
Where did summer go? Three months up and gone, probably the most perfect three months I'll ever get to experience again. Seven best friends spending the most intimate, closest moments together. But I guess now with the end of summer comes the end of many things. An indefinite pause in our lives is inserted here as we depart for studies. This is the start of a new era. And yet, it seems like the sun is shining brighter on this side of time.
Piano notes pin themselves onto negation, A swirl of black books breaking and carving the white carpet with their inky presets. Mobile phones swim in a bowl of aching water, There are no goldfish to make it seem sweeter, And the connection line attached to the answering machine Screams in avid reality: “Heil die Liebe!” Gravity evaporates into stony clouds and Ticking clocks float like balloons of expectation. It’s a family funeral of musical strings Where the only ones having fun are the opposing drums, And the world melts deeper into the Infinite abyss of its fading heart.
Status: In a relationship. Song of the moment: You Can't Stop the Beat - Hairspray Soundtrack. Prospects for future: High. Next stop: London, together. Mood: Content and happy. Edit: Mood: Doubtful.
I was just at the old port with the old group friends. We were singing along in the car, acting out sex scenes, lip-synching, making videos, smoking, pretending to be mad, amongst other things. Then I found myself on the rocks with my dear Ray. Sitting there and smoking has become a habit - almost an impulse after food. It's our little sanctuary, almost rosey. We feel each other there. And the entire world disappears. I've had the most beautiful moments of my life there. And in addition to those, another one tonight:
Me and Fabulous Pete were talking about Finding Nemo and Dori saying: "When I'm with you, I'm home". That was the entire feeling of the night. Home is not defined by a place, by a house, an appartment, a city, a country. It's defined by someone you love, someone with whom you are most comfortable with, and wherever you are, you're home as long as you're with them. That's what I feel for my friends. That thing exactly.
And then the most extraordinary thing happened. Simple, yet extraordinary. Ray moved closer, as I was lying on my back on the rock, lay her head on my chest, and held me as tight as she could.
"I can hear your heart beat," she said, "when I'm with you, I'm home".
I feel tea cups falling, smashing just like the remainder of my paper airplanes. Electric currents pump the darkness around me but there’s no real fire.
I see the black tears inking up my already tainted memories. The tea bites back, no sugar to make the mirror easier to take.
I sense the reflection unfurling, the perception distorting, the reception unsounding. And I know now, gravity is our source of anguish.
And so it is. Just like I knew it would be - great, and spectacular.
I am left with a general feeling of awe, admiration, contentment, satisfaction and sadness. Like the feeling you get after you enjoy a quiet, short night together with friends, the feeling of a bright new day dawning upon your window shutters, casting new light and expelling the darkness. It's the start of a new era, a new day, perhaps even a better life.
I have lived every year of my adolescence alongside Harry, Ron and Hermione. They have kept me company when others did not, they gave me hope when all seemed to fall, and they have remained loyal friends - even if imaginary - throughout my ages 12-18. I belong to the Harry Potter generation, and no matter how many people may squint and snicker at the supposed rudimentary writing by Rowling or the childish telling of the story or even the absurdness of it not being real, I stick by Dumbledore's words:
"Of course it's happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"
I grew up with the characters, laughed with them, cried with them. They are real people, and I thank, thank, thank Rowling for providing me a basis of morality, education, experience and entertainment to last me throughout the most troubling years of my life. I feel it all, they are like my friends, being my age and all. What they go through, I go through. Everything is subjective when it comes to the symbolism of it all. That's something Dumbledore would have smiled at, I believe.
I mourn for the deceased, and I smile at the victories - though they are scarce, they dominate the whole novel - the whole legacy, to be exact. Because, overall, this isn't a story about wizards, this isn't a story about magic, this isn't a story about good and evil. This is a story about love, a story about friendship, a story about all that we hold dear in life and all that we learn. This is a coming-of-age tale of great importance. I only hope others take from it the good examples I have and learn to grow from them.
And so, it is over. With the finality of the Harry Potter series, comes the end of my childhood. This was the final chapter, and now I believe I am ready.
