A Question

The bizarre, the awkward and the downright different charm me.


They lack convention and I find this truly refreshing.


There is nothing wrong with convention. It is convenient, clean and possibly even elegant in its understatement and ease of understanding of what is “acceptable”.


However, to me it lacks the depth of character that truly bucking the trend requires and depth of character is interesting.


I would say this, for this is me of the yellow trousers in the past talking. The me who has stood at the fringes for a lifetime and felt truly “otherwise” to society. Where “the” way seemed truly incongruent and illogical to me so when I find somewhere that seems to hum with resonance, I fall in love.


So the coffee shop that has the grumpy waitress and the appalling service but also has comfy sofas and an old school feel to it – that is a special place.

The poem that so obviously has no meaning to anyone but the writer has a beauty of its own.

The mishmash jangle of colour in a loud print or garish painting.

The tiny cinema that seems stuck in time.


The hint of contrariness, and the stubborn refusal to be assimilated into the norm, the tiny hint of difference and I stand there, drawn in and itching to give into it.


But I do stand on the edges – I am one thing and the other. Assuming convention and craving the opposite. Afraid that to openly swim against the current will drown me in opinion and yet finding myself unconsciously paddling desperately that way anyway.


I want to wear the yellow trousers and like myself when I am.

I want to wear the yellow trousers and still be accepted by convention.

To walk the middle way.

“Who am I to wish for this integration?” I hear myself ask as I write.


“Who am I?” – the eternal question which begs to be answered every day, which proves elusive, as slippery as a fish.


Or is it more like, “Who am I today?” and do I have the courage to answer truthfully?