Uni, if anything, has been a massive learning curve. In my independence, I've found all about the weird intricacies of my mind; how happy eating tinned sweetcorn makes me, how closing any drawer in my room after having opened it requires more effort than it's worth and how I am in absolutely LOVE with literary symbolism.
I'm very stubborn, though it might not seem so. I listen to others and accept their opinions but interpretation allows me to always be 'right'. The thing is, I couldn't care less if I was right or wrong, I just want to have a say. I want to say something that makes someone stop and think;
actually, you do have a point. In an argument, I don't think there is ever just one winning statement. Maybe I'm biased because I can't debate for toffee but I believe that each person can win in the same debate with multiple good points and so whilst I may agree with what you're saying, I can counter your statement in more ways than one.
I was walking home from Uni today in black leggings, some brogues, my one and only scarf draped round my neck with a vest top, red coat and woolen cardigan in-between. It's an old cardigan, one of my favourites. It has a hole, only small, and, despite the fact that I can sew, the great tear in the fabric never worried me quite enough to have me fetch my needle and thread. In fact, it's a good job I never did, because I probably wouldn't be sat here writing this post.
My hands, in the winter, seldom leave my pockets. I love the image; girl walking through a street of fallen leaves, ankles boots, hair pulled back and her hands burrowed in a coat.
So there mine were, in my pockets when two of the fingers fell through the hole. I looked down and saw them poking through. A pair cold reeds quilted by wool. I walked, for a moment, thinking of nothing else but a scene from
The Polar Express; when the young boy takes his hand, puts it through his dressing gown pocket and finds it empty. His two fingers come poking out the end.
I don't know why I had the need but I began to question: what does this mean? I was reliving a scene from a cartoon film. But why?
(Yes, these are the kind of things that go through my mind!)
I concluded, after much thought and multiple possibilities, that someone was trying to tell me something. The boy in the film loses the bauble that he was given by Father Christmas. If the boy believed in him he would hear a ringing when the the ball was shaken. If he didn't he would hear silence.
What had someone given me that I wasn't meant to lose? Was someone
going to give me something that I was supposed to keep hold of? Was there someone I needed to believe in? Something?
Or was I just meant to sew up that hole?
This all occurred in one 10 minute walk from the bus to my front door. But it's the symbolism. I don't know why I
had to attach some meaning to the laziness of not sewing up a hole. What if I'd have looked at my fingers from another angle, what would I have seen? What if I hadn't have looked at my fingers at all? Or was that just it; was I meant to see?
Things like these will endlessly entertain me. I could think of a thousand scenarios. A million interpretations. Symbolism will just never fail to please me. But, in a sense, I'm so glad that it does. I think I've always been a little eccentric. The oddball. The kid obsessed with watching the butcher fill sausages - I'm literally obsessed! But I don't think that's weird - well, maybe the sausage part - it's definitely not a
bad thing; it just makes my life a lot more fun!
