Fillys Frolic #20

It was one of those things that I've been meaning to do for a while. Now that the padding had disintegrated from the inside of my bicycle helmet, it was definitely time to buy a new one. I wandered into the bicycle shop and after a quick scan of the store to figure out where the helmets were, I headed straight towards them and stared at the myriad of helmets on the wall. Before too long, a salesman came over to ask if I needed assistance. 
"What's you budget?", he asked and it was a fair enough question.
"I don't really have one 'coz I wasn't sure how much they cost.", I replied a little sheepishly. Most of the helmets looked remarkably similar to me and I wasn't sure what the differences were. He picked up a helmet up with baby blue graphics and flipped it over, explaining the sizing mechanism then handed it to me to try on. I flipped it onto my head and as I tried to strap it up, my hair covered my face and entangled all the straps.
"Sorry", I mumbled, "I would normally do this with a ponytail."
He chuckled as I took the helmet off, flicked back my hair as best I could and put it on again while he helped do up the chin strap. It seemed to be ok, after all, it was just a helmet. Pointing along the wall, he briefly highlighted the other options. 
"What's the difference between this and that one?", I asked, pointing to a similar looking helmet with purple graphics.
"Well", he paused, "The one you have is a women's helmet, and this one here is a mens helmet. But guys tend not to wear purple.", he joked. He paused before adding, " Actually, they're exactly the same except for the colour so they gave them different names. I don't know why they do that, but they distinguish between the mens and womens helmets even though they are really the same."
"I was going to ask you that", I interrupted, "Do men and women have different shaped heads?"
He shook his head and smiled. 
"I actually like the purple", I said pointing to the helmet he was holding. 
"Oh, ok", he shrugged, handing the helmet to me to try on. I flipped it over in preparation for putting it on and wondered if I really needed to. 
"Not that it really matters", I though aloud, "They are both the same anyway."
"Oh, but that one might fit different because it has a different label.", he said with a chuckle. I giggled as I put it on. It fit as well as I expected, there were no surprises.
"Do I look more manly?", I asked him. He chuckled again. I giggled too and I guess this helmet didn't make me look manly at all so it's safe for me to wear as I attempt to cycle my fat away. Time to throw my old one in the bin.

More memories

I saw the brown striped wallet box on the floor next to my bedside table and picked it up. Before my wedding I had been given two new wallets. My wife gave me one because I needed a new one. She was sick of seeing me pull out my stretched and overstuffed wallet with frayed stitching and panels starting to separate. I really did need a new one. My inlaws bought me a new wallet as part of chinese wedding tradition. I was supposed to carry it during the wedding and since I had started to use it, inertia one and I decided to keep using it until it wore out upon which time I would switch to the one my wife gave me. Unfortunately, I never got that chance.


This box I was holding now was probably that unused wallet. I opened the box cautiously and peeked inside to discover that I was right. Light reflected enchantingly off the beautiful leather surface and that leather smell was still there. It would be a shame to let it go to waste and I was never going to use it. My mind ran through a list of possible candidates to whom I could give this special gift and I made a mental shortlist as I lifted the wallet out of the box to remind myself of how it looked inside.


As I opened the wallet, my neck stiffened as my heart fell. Sitting perfectly inside and showing through the license holder was a photo of my wife... or ex as the case may be. I remembered how she complained that I didn't have a photo of her in my wallet and recalled how she had specially bought me a wallet with a spot that would hold her photo nicely. My body lowered itself onto the bed and I sat there, numb, staring at the photo. It had been taken during our holiday to Japan and there she was sitting atop a statue of a red ladybird with black spots. This was our first day in Tokyo and we had exited from the wrong side of Shinjuku station and spent out afternoon walking around like idiots in the business district on a Sunday. But, we still managed to make fun of it this photo brought those memories back. My feelings of numbness were slowly replaced by despair as tears welled in my eyes. I knew I would not be be able to give this wallet away and I slowly packed it back into its box and placed it inside one of the large cardboard boxes into which were packed my old clothes. I sat back down on the bed, paralyzed as the tears trickled down my face.


My task of packing was no easier.


At this moment, I had set myself the task to pack a little more but I find myself procrastinating and writing this blog instead. Feelings of despair, sorrow, loss, pain and even a little regret remain. It probably doesn't help that I ran out of anti depressants today and I'm not seeing my psychiatrist for another few days. Neither does it help that my mom seems to feel sorrier for my ex than for me and then she wonders why I don't talk about stuff with her and tells me off for it. So I find myself weeping at my computer while writing about my feelings and sitting next to an empty plate of nachos. I really didn't need those nachos since I was full before I made them and now I'm satiated. They weren't even that good since I ran out of sour cream and didn't have any jalapenos...


About the only thing that I accomplished this afternoon was to wheel my motorbike out of the shed and into the driveway. But even that was a sad affair. My Yamaha TRX-850 that was at one point my pride and joy is now a dusty relic since I have been unable to ride it for some time. Given that I won't be able to ride it for some time into the future, I've decided it would be best if I sold it. Money from the sale would be most needed also. I haven't been without a bike for fifteen years and the thought of being without one leaves me strangely anxious and dejected.


When it comes to packing, some things can stay and some things just have to go...

Don't forget the 'b'!

Oops! I just discovered that the domain name "logspot.com" redirects to some page about an online bible college or something. Doh! And they aren't fussy on subdomains either, so if you mistype the address of my blog and forget the 'b' you'll still be directed to that site... ouch, that kinda sucks. So, remember, its www.fillysfrolics.blogspot.com 
Don't forget that 'b'! 
(Not that anyone actually reads my blog anyway.... lol)

Filly's Frolic #19

"Look at you in that beautiful dress", said the friendly receptionist at the rehab centre. I beamed and twirled a little just for effect. I had finished all my allocated sessions for the balance classes so I was able to wear something less utilitarian and more stylish to my visits to the rehab centre. 
"What shoes are you wearing today?", she asked. She always teased me about my heels since, as soon as I was able, I stopped wearing flats to my rehab session and opting instead to carry my runners in my hand while walking in on heels. I kicked up my heels to show her and she nodded in approval. The other receptionist leapt out of her corner, running to the counter and peering over. "I want to see your shoes", she explained as she leaned over to look before also nodding and remarking, "Nice shoes.. Very nice". If I had beamed any more brightly, I would have incinerated myself from the light.
"Look at her in her dress and heels. Doesn't that make you jealous?', complained the receptionist to my psychologist as she passed by. I laughed as my psychologist approached nodding and sighing. 
"I had a friend who used to steal my clothes and I hated it when he looked better in them than I did", bemoaned my psychologist. 
"Look at her legs and her feet", continued the receptionist. "Those shoes are just so out of fashion and they don't match your dress.", she teased sarcastically. "The colours on your dress are terrible and your legs have such a terrible shape. Oh, it's all just sooo awful". We both laughed as we wished each other a good week and I left to return home.


As I no longer had balance classes in the afternoon, I had a bit of time on my hands. I decided to start packing some clothes away in preparation for the inevitable time when I would have to move house. Some girls, when they transition to full time, take great joy in ridding themselves of all the male clothes they used to own. For some, the purging process is also healing and pleasurable if not uplifting. Unfortunately, I am not one of them. My tendency to attach emotions to everything I own probably contributes to my hoarding tendencies and also made the process of purging all those old male clothes difficult. I had gone through all those old clothes at one point and had placed maybe half of them into a bag for donating. Most of those clothes were the same ones that my ex had wanted me to get rid of for ages. It was ironic that the (male) contents of my wardrobe was probably what she wanted it to look like now that she was gone. 


I still had a decent amount of male clothing and since I wasn't going to be wearing them any more, I figured that I may as well box them up first. As I began doing so, the memories began flooding back as I touched each item, folding it and stacking it neatly inside the box. These shirts that were custom made by my ex's friend who was a tailor and that were made around the same time as our wedding. This shirt from Atelier which I loved because it had that cute little man logo. My ex had bought me a fleecy jacket from the same company and  I loved wearing it and became very distraught when the tab of the zip, which was also the little man logo, fell off. She bought me the shirt soon after; she spoiled me so much. That thought hollowed my chest and watered my eyes. I continued on stoically trying not to let all these emotions and memories affect me, resorting to even taking a break after some time. As I continued, those memories continued to flow. These board shorts which we bought at Wilsons Prom one year when I discovered that my waistline had grown and I didn't fit into the ones I currently owned. These clothes that were given to me by my friends for Christmas in an effort to make me a trendier guy. All these memories of a time with particular friends that I will never be able to revisit. 


A tear dropped from my eye as the feelings of loss became too much. I packed one last t-shirt into the box and placed the box on the floor next to the bed. Sitting on the bed, I sobbed softly for a moment. Even after this time, the pain was still there. I'm glad the memories remain because I never want to lose them but I long for the day that I can remember with happiness rather than anguish.

The Lefty Likeness

Imagine if you were born left handed but because of something that happened in your foetal development or the environment or the way you moved about after you were born, your right hand became stronger than your left and was more dexterous. As you grew older, you were encouraged to use your right hand and may have been actively discouraged to use your left. Had you been born left handed, they might say, then it would be all right, but anyone who is right handed and wants to be left handed is an crazy, immoral and sinister being. All your protests were met with evidence that your right hand was so much better than your left and so you must be right handed, but you knew that it was only because that was the way you had been brought up. Years of practice at doing things with your right hand meant that you could do things with it really well and years of hiding your left handedness meant that it really had become a less skilful hand even though you always felt more comfortable using that hand.


At some point, you decide enough is enough and you're going to use your left hand after all. Maybe you were lucky and using your left hand again came naturally to you. You were able to immediately go out in society and use your left hand with ease with nobody ever suspecting what you went through. Lady luck isn't a floozy and doesn't shine on everyone, so maybe you only used your left hand on tasks at home and continued to present yourself as a right hander in public. Maybe that's as far as you went but maybe you found out that you weren't the only one that was going through the same problem and decided to join a group of people that met at a private location every month. At each meeting, everyone would openly be left handed and greet each other with left handshakes and write lots of letters left handed. Members might give each tips on how to do things better with their left hand and point out how you might be trying to doing something incorrectly. Some of the members even went out to the local Leftorium each week and drool over the one of only three ever left-handed cars whilst purchasing a replacement left handed can opener. You feel so comfortable there because no-one is judgemental and even righties are allowed in without prejudice. After every outing you feel so sad to have to go home and pretend to be a right hander to your neighbours.


Maybe at some point you decide to take it further. You are going to live your life as the left handed person that you are.... Except for work because that is too important to jeopardise. You wouldn't want to put anyone in a difficult situation if you were unable to use your left hand like you'd been using your right. So every week you go to work as a right hander and then come home and live as a left hander and every weekend is a party, leftie style! Then one day you decide that you need to be completely open and you decide you need to fully transition to a leftie. People who knew you before are a little surprised as they had no idea and they bombard you with questions about why. Since you left it so late to transition, all those years of exclusively using your right hand have set it and you really aren't good at using your left at all even though you are so much more comfortable with it. Some people notice your clumsiness and think you're just a clumsy leftie doing your thing. Others stare and laugh behind your back whilst others ask if you were ever a rightie and ask you all sorts of questions about why and how. You try to answer these questions to the best of your ability and they nod and say "ok" but you know they really don't understand how you feel.


You battle on through the perceived shame before realising, one day, that there is nothing to be guilty about. You are and always have been a valuable person who deserves the same love and respect as any other person. You lost friends because they didn't like going out to dinner with you because you'd always bump elbows and you had to stop playing guitar in that band because they didn't think you were anything like jimi hendrix and you kept jabbing the bassist with your guitar because you weren't use to the new space arrangements. But, that was their loss, not yours. New friends and new opportunities can always be found and friends who lose you over such a matter are shallow and not true friends. After all, life is for living and you need to live the rest of your life with integrity. Live it with respect for yourself and with total harmony for your beliefs and feelings. Friends, enemies and insults may come and go, but it will forever always be only your life.