Tag: Life

The Pull, Part 3

Nearly two weeks after receiving my first offer, I am thrilled to reveal that today, a second university place was offered to me for Creative Writing. Upon seeing it in black and white on my Kindle screen in my bedroom, I shot down the stairs to relay the good news to Dad. As I did so, I was beaming from ear to ear, and Dad said that I looked like I’d just won the lottery. It certainly felt like that – the first offer felt unreal enough, but the latest one has escalated that feeling to truly indescribable levels. When I spoke to Mum on the phone to give her the news, I mentioned that now we have reached the proper decision-making part of the process, it feels as though we are on the home straight – and in response, she said it is as though I can almost touch it. University was closer than ever before a fortnight ago, but now I have one hand on the trophy. I hope that I will soon be grasping it with both.

As aforementioned, both of my options must now be placed under the microscope so that I can decide once and for all where I will be going. I am aware that it may be a trickier process than I expect, since both universities would be excellent destinations, but with the support of my family and friends, I am confident that I can reach the best possible outcome – and you will know by now that I can’t wait. Onwards!

Mason

The Pull, Part 2

Happy New Year to you all! Please allow me to start 2018 with a swift update on my university situation, as promised. I was most excited to wake up this morning having lunch with a couple of friends ahead of me – but imagine my elation and surprise when, at around 11:20 this morning, I spotted an email notification telling me to check my applications-in-progress for an update. Of course, I spent a split-second thinking of the worst-case scenario. What if it was a rejection? I found myself simultaneously getting excited and trying not to set myself up for a fall, but as it turned out I need not have worried.

At once, I hurriedly logged into my UCAS Track account, to be greeted with the news that one of my choices was offering me an unconditional place on my chosen Creative Writing course. It is difficult to describe the joy and relief I now feel with this outcome – I only know that it’s big, and that I can now begin looking to the future in earnest. I can’t accept or decline the offer until I’ve heard from my second choice, but it is a major boost and I couldn’t be happier. University seemed almost unattainable for me two years ago, but as of today it is closer than ever. Watch this space, people!

Mason

Christmas Eve Fever, Part 2

So, the second-best day of the year has come again, and I find myself seated comfortably in the front room just as I did last year, watching the lights on our Christmas tree enchant me as they always do. We have now introduced a string of warm golden lights alongside the regular multi-coloured lights, and whilst I was initially sceptical about how they would appear together, they do ultimately compliment each other very well. As they fade slowly in and out, somewhat hypnotically, they can have a magical effect on an otherwise dimly-lit room. They entice you, drawing your eyes towards their vibrant embrace, and for a moment you can lose yourself fully in the magic of Christmas.

That never changes, it’s the same year after year, but in this instance – as we head into 2018 – I feel like the lights are a bright appetiser for an exciting twelve months to come. As I write this, I am on the brink of finishing my university application and sending it away, and when I do it a period of intriguing uncertainty will begin as I await an offer. Of course, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be wanted, but the apparent strength of my personal statement has given me a lot to be optimistic about, so I intend to keep my head held high whilst I wait for news. The excitement has made Christmas that little bit better for me so far, and whatever happens I will keep you all updated on the situation from the start of this new year. Right now, however, I must live in the moment, and that means eating, drinking, being merry and watching Casino Royale with my nearest and dearest. Whatever you’re doing tomorrow, and for the rest of December, make it happy, stress-free and fun. I know I will. Merry Christmas, one and all!

Mason

Adam

Christmas cards were duly exchanged at the meeting with my aforementioned friend earlier this week, as we passed an hour or so sipping Coke during a very valuable catch-up. In many ways, it was an encounter that subtly represented a very important element of the festive season today. Christmas is a time for friends and family to come together, be they close by or further away, and whilst there are many people I’ll be glad to see in December, I’m especially thankful that I got to reconnect with someone more elusive at this special time of year.

The meeting has given me not only another thing to smile about, but also another cause for reflection. In this instance, I am thinking of Adam, a fellow wheelchair user with whom I briefly exchanged emails and wrote a post about last year. I remain very grateful that he remained on this site for long enough after accidentally finding it to read and appreciate this content, but perhaps he has forgotten this since I regrettably failed to maintain the chain of communication. He showed me nothing but interest, enthusiasm and support, and there is nobody but myself to blame for the fact that he has received inconsistent replies. I did openly invite emails from visitors on here, after all! My conduct has not been indicative of the friendship in abundance at Christmas, so it must change soon. I will make it a (hopefully successful) New Year’s resolution to get back in touch – after all, as he lives some distance away and we have never met, it is up to me to reach out just as my friend did. If I am successful, who knows what kind of friendship could develop? He could even join this band one day!

Mason

Good For The Soul

I recently heard the words “good for the soul” uttered by a character on an episode of Home and Away (popular culture is never far away from this blog). If I remember rightly, they were referring to the effects of a bowl of chicken soup, but I wanted to think about some deeper applications of the phrase. So my natural instinct told me to ask around amongst some of my friends. One offered the predictable – but not incorrect – suggestion that “friends and happiness” were good for the soul, whilst another suggested “allowing yourself to make mistakes” was healthy. On the other, more unexpected hand, there was Will’s answer, namely “if I don’t believe in anything to do with spiritualism, I’m not going to believe in the soul.” Interesting.

After asking just three people, I already had a fairly wide range of responses to my question, but I was still convinced that there could be more, so I continued to privately ponder it whilst gradually forming this post. I have been writing this over several weeks, and there was a time when I wondered whether it would see the light of day; just when all hope seemed lost, though, I found just what I was looking for. As a regular user of Facebook like many others, I am used to messages coming and going on a daily basis, but I came across the kind of message I’m not so accustomed to last week. Logging in as normal, I spotted a message from one friend – who I haven’t seen in some time – which looked an awful lot like a very unexpected invitation. “Would you be free…”

I had only opened the initial drop-down inbox menu, so the end of the question was cut off. What would I be free to do? Instantly, I had to find out. It was indeed an invitation, met by the widest of smiles spreading across my face. The friend in question was one with whom I talk quite happily very often, but even so, I wasn’t prepared for the fact that they were actually asking me for a meeting, not the other way around. “Would you be free one evening on the week of the 18th? I have a Christmas card I’d like to give to you!” Wow. I had just had a clear example of what was good for the soul unwittingly handed to me on a plate, and it warmed the cockles of my heart. Very festive. Having felt as though I was holding people back for the majority of my short life so far, it was wonderful to see more evidence suggesting that maybe this isn’t the case after all, and that people want to see me as much as I want to see them. “I think seeing people is an important element of Christmas, more so than the frugal exchange of gifts,” said my friend. Amen to that. Of course, I gladly accepted the invite and we’re meeting this coming Thursday. For them, it might be nothing more than a pleasant evening out with someone they like, but for me, it is a simple but remarkable Christmas surprise that will be very much appreciated. It confirms that to some extent, I am worth something to people, and if my friend is reading this, they can consider my soul duly enlightened.

Mason

 

You Don’t Know What You Have Until It’s Gone

Guten Tag! My name is Angharad and I am a friend of Mason’s. He has kindly offered me the chance to contribute to his insightful blog, so without further ado, here is some insight of my own!

I take many things for granted. Arguably, all of us do, and it stems from that wise old cliche of “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone”. This is, admittedly, the primary realisation which never fails to stop me mid-tantrum. Why am I screaming that my internet is slow when there are people not three miles from my house who have to sleep on the streets? Selfishness is an addiction, but realising how lucky you are, even on the worst days, can be the cure.

My dog died on 21 August 2017, shortly after his 11th birthday. He was a very springy Springer, who coped incredibly well on just three legs. He was a rescue dog, and one of the kindest spirits I believe I will ever meet. I used to mock him mercilessly because he was such a character; I mistook his joy for life as pure, unbridled stupidity, but he never failed to make me laugh. Whether it be by chattering to me like a dolphin (he never barked), dashing away to bring me his toys, Manky Frankie (a soiled toy fox) or Rooney (an equally rancid stuffed raccoon), or simply by waking himself up with a particularly loud fart, it always ended in myself and my mum laughing – and, in the last scenario, fleeing the room. I didn’t understand how important that dog was to me, and to my family, until he passed away. It made me wish that I had never mocked him, or abandoned him to see other people, or even spent so much time at university instead of spending time with him. I think we all take pets for granted, even though we know they have shorter lifespans. The house seems more silent every time I walk through the door; it made me realise that we typically wish for the thing we cannot have, namely more time.

I take my family for granted. My grandparents have always been there for me, and they have always supported me. My aunt, as well, who was ever taking me out on day trips and spoiling me rotten and taking time off work for a DVD and Chinese night. My mother, who has sacrificed so much to give me great opportunities, whilst dealing with so many different obstacles and tackling every single one of them. In retrospect, I an incredibly fortunate to have been born into such a supportive family. Of course, I wasn’t aware of this when I was younger, choosing instead to ignore most of their advice and kindness. It is only now that I live away from home, that I understand I need to show them how much they mean to me. I need to ensure that I call, and that I visit, and that I appreciate what they do for me.

Maybe we can’t stop taking things for granted, because we’re not always aware of it, but we can take a moment to be thankful for the things/people we recognise we take for granted. I don’t just mean family, either, but anyone who is of significance in your life. Pets, friends, partners, even neighbours. One particular neighbour springs to mind: she has also accompanied me through life, and she’s become a very wise, down-to-earth woman. As well as keeping in touch, I wrote her a heartfelt letter months ago, explaining how much she means to me and that she is basically my third grandmother. She appeared very grateful, and this isn’t an excuse to toot my own horn, it’s simply an example of something that everyone ought to do for those they love. After all, when you’re feeling down, what better way to be cheered up other than with reminders from loved ones that they love you?

We all lose loved ones eventually; no one is immortal. Therefore, I strongly encourage you, reader, to pick up the phone and call someone you love and tell them that (that you love them, not that they’re not immortal – the last thing people need is a reminder of their mortality). It doesn’t have to be an outright “I love you”, it could be something as elegant as “what would I do without you”, “you’ve been such a big help”, or “thanks for a great time”, because we live in a society where things move so fast that it is very easy for people to forget, and for people to be forgotten. Communication is essential if you want to be content, and if you want to help others be content: humans are social creatures, whether we like it or not. Even hermits are bound to miss even the most mild social interaction. Now, to link this with festivities, Christmas is a beloved celebration, for the secular and the religious alike. If you know anyone who might feel left out this Christmas, it never hurts to extend an invitation. We all take so many things for granted, more than we can know; the least we can do is acknowledge this, and thank the people (and pets!) without whom our lives would be utter chaos.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

Angharad

 

 

 

The Day I Fried a Snake

“I saved my pocket money for three weeks. I didn’t buy anything. No comics, no crisps, no sweets. I went to a pet shop and bought this tiny green snake instead. A grass snake they called it. When I got home I played with the snake. It felt warm and soft. I was scared but I still had to hold it. I liked the way it wrapped itself round my fingers like an electric shoelace. And then…. then I realised. I could never keep it. Not as a pet. Where would it sleep? What would it eat? Where would it go when I went to school? It was a stupid thing to to buy. So I had to get rid of it. But how? All sorts of things occurred to me: flush it down the toilet, bury it, throw it from a tower block. But all the while another thought was taking shape. A thought so wonderful it seemed the only thing to do. So I got a frying pan and put it on the gas stove. I put a bit of butter in the pan and turned the gas up full. The fat started to crackle and smoke. I dropped the snake into the frying pan. It span round and round and its skin burst open like the skin of a sausage. It took ages to die. Its tiny mouth opened and closed and its black eyes exploded. But it was wonderful to watch.” – Presley’s monologue, from The Pitchfork Disney by Philip Ridley, 1991.

The piece you see above was both the best and worst thing I ever had to perform during my A-Level Drama course. I loved it because it was surreal and it gave everyone who ever heard it the shivers, but on the other hand it was also the closest I have ever come to suffering for my art. I never read Philip Ridley’s full play, so I can’t tell you about the context behind it, but I found this in a book of monologues for students and just knew immediately that it could be a winner. A large part of our grades for the course was due to come from our monologues – but unlike our previous end-of-year performances, to which we could invite anyone we liked, these would be given only to the rest of the class, our teacher and the visiting examiner. By this point, my class only actually consisted of a handful of other people, but I was glad of this when it came to choosing my piece as I knew I would have a smaller and more intimate group to try and unsettle. But how would I do this? I needed to gross them out in some way, and after a week or two of thought I knew exactly what to do. I needed to fry the snake in front of their eyes, leaving them open-mouthed and speechless in response…

OK, so frying an actual snake wouldn’t have gone down well with the examiner or the RSPCA, so instead I had to find what I’ll call a “stunt snake”. This came in the somewhat predictable form of a raw sausage, which would slide around in a real frying pan and be squashed and manipulated mercilessly in my fingers as though it were alive. Having taken a trip to Tesco so that I would have some bangers to hand, I made sure I had one on my person for rehearsals the next day – as well as a pan borrowed from the kitchen. Sure enough, my plan for the piece worked like a dream, even though I realised I was going to have a problem with raw sausage meat getting stuck underneath my fingernails. Even when I washed my hands vigorously after every run through, it wouldn’t always budge immediately – this is what I meant by suffering for my art. As time went by, however, this soon became a very small price to pay, because the end result was something I became immensely proud of. In just two minutes or so, I had the chance to perform something that would completely captivate its tiny audience – not because of me, but because it was sheer surrealism in the truest sense. For once, I couldn’t wait for exam day.

Now, let’s bypass all of the build-up to the big moment and cut directly to the chase. Imagine me there, with my lamp, frying pan and stunt snake ready on the table, being given the signal by the examiner to begin the monologue. What residual noise there was has now completely died away and I am now alone in my performance space, with only my meticulously-rehearsed lines in my head for company. They’ll never desert me, surely?

Wrong. For the first and only time in any Drama lesson, I drew a complete and total blank. I searched frantically for my opening lines, but there was only rolling tumbleweed for what seemed like a lifetime. It got to a point where I was sure I was only seconds away from being failed and ushered back into the audience – and it was then that the piece spluttered into life as I remembered what I was supposed to say. I sailed through the remaining dialogue with ease, but the silence at the beginning was still in my thoughts, overshadowing everything else. I was convinced that I had totally sabotaged my own A-Level grade, and that for my classmates, the teacher and the examiner, it was also the elephant in the room. The biggest surprise would be saved for last, however, when it transpired that nobody in the audience actually noticed I’d forgotten my lines, and that the examiner thought the resulting pause was for dramatic effect. I believe it actually ended up improving my mark slightly – but unfortunately it wasn’t enough to prevent my D overall…

Mason

 

 

You Can Call Me Al

Somebody once suggested that, if I ever end up writing for a living, I should adopt a pseudonym to release my work under. I thought about this for a while, and at first it seemed cool that I could have some amount of mystery around my true identity, but I quickly put it to bed when I couldn’t come up with anything decent. Not only that, but nobody would ever know what I had written was my work! This blog therefore carries my regular birth name, as I hadn’t ever expected to replace it when it began three years ago, but this week I suddenly thought of a story I feel compelled to tell here. It gave rise to the most likely alternative I could ever have to “Mason Hawker” – and all through a simple misunderstanding.

If the weather behaves itself on Sunday, I hope to go back to archery again, as various reasons have prevented me from going since shortly before my birthday in August. Before that, though, the club held a session in early June that allowed us regulars to meet the newest arrivals to the group at a relaxed and casual shoot. The weather was perfect for it, with not a single cloud in the sky or breath of wind in the air, and the turnout was much bigger than I had expected – especially when you consider that we had previously been quite a small club, on a field off the beaten track. Dad thought that there could have been as many as 50 people present, meaning there would be ample opportunity for mingling throughout the session. Sure enough, we all chatted away to one another, shaking hands and making introductions as we shared bows (since there were more people than there were bows to go around) and snaffled chocolate bars with tea at half-time. It had been a positive shoot for me so far – I’m more rusty on some days than I am on others, but today I had hit my fair share of golds on the target, and I was pleased to have stretched the muscles in my arms dealing with a sixteen-pound bow. I therefore felt like I’d earned my cuppa and chocolate bar, both of which were gratefully accepted and went down a treat. As I sat quietly for a moment, pondering the morning’s results and the rest of my day, I could see one of the new members approaching in the corner of my eye, and quickly turned my head to greet them warmly. It’s taken us a while to get here, I’ll admit, but this is the point at which I was unwittingly given my potential pen name in just a single fleeting moment.

As is customary when two or more people meet for the first time, our exchange swiftly reached the stage where names would have to be swapped. The man to whom I was speaking was – and is – very friendly, but I was still determined, as I always am, not to trip over my words and make a good first impression. Naturally, therefore, the inevitable happened, and my hopes of avoiding any awkwardness were quickly flushed down the toilet.

He’d given me his name (which I’ve since forgotten, I might add). Good. Things were going well. All I had to do was say my own in return, and then my work would be done. I waited for the question:

“What’s your name, sorry?”

“Just say it, you idiot,” I thought to myself. My lips parted, ready to speak. And after a hesitant second, sound emerged. “Er…Mason,” I uttered timidly.

Note the “er”, which definitely was not intended to be part of the end response. My companion should have completely disregarded that first bit – and definitely should not have mistaken it for my first name.

“Al Mason?” he asked, somewhat confused by my unease.

I corrected him, of course, but there you have it – Al Mason, an inconspicuous fusion of my own real name and a misheard false one. It’s not going to catch on, but for the sake of this post, as my old drinking buddy Paul Simon once sang, you can call me Al. I trust there’ll be no such confusion on my next archery outing.

Al

Chinese Whispers

We’ve probably all participated in at least one game of Chinese Whispers at some point, when a group sits in a circle to listen to a buzzword or phrase become increasingly warped as it passes from ear to ear. In a carefree, social context like that it can be good fun, but Chinese Whispers are of course present in real life too, mainly in the form of upsetting and potentially damaging rumours. Some are today’s news and tomorrow’s chip paper, whilst others linger like bad smells for prolonged periods of time – with each assumed form being even worse than the last. They are constantly evolving monsters, and there can be no guessing what might happen next or when they might end. With that in mind, I asked some of my friends what the best and worst rumours they had ever heard about themselves were, and in one particular case I was pleasantly surprised to find a more positive way of looking at them.

The idea for this post originated with Emily, when one of our recent conversations drifted towards the aforementioned rumours. I promised not to mention any of them here, but I feel like I must say how uplifting it was to see the way in which she reacted to them. She would have had every right to spout pure bile and vitriol towards those responsible for spinning all of this, but instead chooses to look back on it almost as though it forms a fond teenage memory. “If you’re not laughing,” she told me, “it’s just sad. And no-one wants that.” I suppose that in refusing to be put down by what others are saying about her, Emily is depriving any given rumour of the oxygen it needs to thrive, and is therefore killing a parasite before it can breed and snowball into something more devastating. What’s more, she’s doing so with equal doses of humour and a thick and resilient (but never cold) skin.

Maybe the fact that Emily has had to deal with a certain number of these rumours means that her character has developed to some extent. I don’t know how she felt the very first time she heard something about herself, but perhaps she’s now better equipped to deal with the harsher aspects of life than she was, say, seven years ago, when we first met. She seemed to prove me right in her end summary, quite bluntly closing the matter with: “I’ve just learned to get on with shit.” Right. Can’t get much clearer than that. I then asked her if I could quote that to close this post – and, like the pussycat she really is, she said it was fine, followed by a smiley face. See? Hardened resilience, and then the more typical soft warmth that you can find under almost any set of circumstances. Good old Em!

Mason

Sixteen of Mind

Tomorrow is my 20th birthday, but by contrast to my 18th two years ago, I’m beginning to feel more like an adult as it approaches. As I’ve said to a few people this week, I felt like I had more maturing to do when I first became a legal adult, as I was 18 of body but 16 of mind. It was strange that – for want of a better term – the “safety catch” had been taken off of my life, and I was now free to drink, vote, bet and buy things like knives or fireworks if I wanted to. Even though I was living (and still live) within the bosom of my family, I was suddenly faced with so many more independent possibilities. The world could have been my oyster at any moment, and although I probably sound like a drama queen, that was a daunting prospect at the time.

After all, I had only finished Year 13 two months earlier (although I had a short-lived spell at another college to come after that). I felt security there, with friends, work to keep me occupied and plenty of people to consult if I needed advice, but beyond the subsequent course I had lined up I could be on my own – it would be up to me what to make of my life. Despite my real age, I just didn’t feel old enough to be confident in making those decisions for myself. Maybe my inexperience in adulthood at the time was to blame. Whilst two years seems like an insignificant period of time in the grand scheme of things, they have come with a number of changes and challenges, with my recently-ended one year work placement teaching me a lot about the workplace as well as how to conduct myself within it. I feel better now about my ability to progress further, even though there is little to keep me busy at the moment. I’ll spend tomorrow with Will, who has just told me that he feels 6 on most days rather than 16 or 20, and have as much fun as I can – it’ll undoubtedly help me feel even more optimistic about finding something to do soon. I have a feeling it could only be a matter of time.

Mason