Artist's Block

The term back at school has been tedious. I'm not going to lie to you, I've felt like giving up at least a dozen times each day. Some days I feel that my only purpose there is the break-time game of cricket. The whole ordeal with Jaffa had been depressing and I'd formed a serious case of artist's block. I'd decided to paint a portrait of a man, but for nearly a week I struggled and struggled to get the face right. Even then it felt wrong. Day after day I worked away. And by Friday I'd had enough.

I blanked the whole canvass. White primer straight over the portrait. And to tell you the truth, I've never felt better. Before the coat had even dried I was splashing colour up there and making a mess, completely different from before - I'm colour blind and have let it get the better of me. I use black and white and small brushes, and that's it. But not today. And from the corner of my eye I saw my muse.

Jaffa, the fat bastard, was in my class that day, avoiding me. All my anger, all the hate, forever boiling inside me - I let it explode on the canvass. I'd turned my emotion into a work of art at fatty's expense, and it felt good. Ever since that day I've been reenergized for the day. What's better than art where you can learn and humiliate your rivals at the same time? Well, utterly destroying them is one...

Jaffa always complained to me about the way people thought he was gay. Forever was he saying "Let's not talk here or they'll think we are lovers" or "Do you think she thinks I'm a homo?". I too all my life have had this problem. A well groomed, polite and smart man must be gay riight? Well, so thought almost every tormentor I've had over my limited years. I know I'm not, and am comfortable because I know who I am. And this knowing gives me the strength to joke about my sexuality. If people call me gay I say I probably am, followed by some witty insult. And it was for this portrait that I'd use my security, and Jaffa's insecurity, for evil not good.

Underneath Jaffa's mug, I'm writing "We Were Lovers!" or something of the sort, in a nice pink tone. This will of course be displayed in both the foyer cabinet and the end of year exhibition, where I'm musing with selling it for free, just so I can show everyone how worthless he is. As I said, I don't get mad, I get even.

A Friend Falls, A Lover Rises

Well, this has been a bumpy few weeks for me. Love and revenge have been making their rounds and I certainly have been buying in bulk. As soon as the first mask fell from my face of lies, my life has altered dramatically. People are beginning to know the real me. Slowly but surely, like a faded fort resting into the sea, my truth is crumbling into my real world. And although love has been the catalyst, the sense of joy which has entered my life is what keeps pushing me to reveal more about myself. Unfortunately, not all could handle the new me. 

Jaffa, surprisingly, was the first to go. Although the honesty was good for me, he offered nothing else. For an overweight foreign man, he talked a lot about his conquests and girls he had crushes on. For a man with only one friend too, he sure didn't talk a lot about me though. The other day I expressed how I felt, how he never inquired about me and only used me for advice, and the dog which I had fed bit my hand at its most vulnerable moment. All the effort I'd put into listening to his problems and soothing his ego had backfired when suddenly he was confronted with the fact that I might actually not want to talk about him for once. The results have been somewhat amusing.

In his usual passive-aggressive-I want-to-kill-you way, Jaffa stayed for the last meal he'd ever be having at my house and left. From then on, his words have been "I don't want to see you for two lifetimes" and "Fuck you". Fortunately for him, I don't get mad. Unfortunately for him, I just get even. Which is why I am painting my latest portrait of his ugly mug so I can ridicule him before displaying it in the school foyer. 

But where one falls, another takes his place. And Vikki is just what my life needed. We have much in common and for the last few weeks, I've been living of her love and our times together. From the moment I wake up, I'm thinking about her, until the moment I fall asleep. And even then I've been dreaming about her. When I think about how much she loves me, I know that all is good in the world and that I myself am a good person. I hope that you know love, reader, because it is a wonderful thing. It has turned a sad, lonely recluse into a person much more beautiful. And I hope the wave I'm riding never ends, because if it does, I know I'll fall hard without anyone who can catch me.

The First Mask Comes Off

Now, I don't know how many people cry for a week before they break up, but you can definitely add my name down as one. With many a sad Johnny Cash song and several tissue boxes behind me, I faced my demise last night and told Vikki the truth. I knew what to expect; rejection, disbelief and a lonely path ahead of me. The problem was I that I'm a dick and don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

So I just told her. There was silence at first and then Vikki said something which threw me. She said she didn't care. She explained that she'd been in a similar situation and that she knew there was more important things than physical being. I couldn't have been more wrong about her reaction. In fact, it only improved things between us. And most of all, it sent one of my masks crashing to the floor.

If one person can accept me for who I am, why can't the rest? Why should I care if the rest like me or not? If one person loves me, then that's enough for me. I've been putting this age mask over my face all my life and now it's finally been lifted and I'm liking what I see.

And with her simple acceptance of who I really am, Vikki has done me more good than she will ever know. I'm hoping to come out of the age closet soon, as I realize that all that hard work to hide who I really am just isn't worth it and it deprives others of seeing the real me. I'm not only cheating them, but myself too. Maybe it will set off a chain reaction in my life. I hope so.

For now, I am enjoying my new-found truth, honesty and acceptance. For the first time, I really don't give a shit about what others think of me. I guess all it took was a little bit of faith from someone else to help me along. And for that, I'm forever thankful.

Life Is Never Fair

All my life I've hated my age. It's like I was born several years too late, always just missing out on all the fun stuff by being too young. Recently I've been reminded of this fact - it's a big cosmic joke and everyone's laughing but me. Everything about me screams that I'm older: I like old music, am mature, wise. Heck I even look older. But I'm only 17.

It's like my soul's been put in a body which isn't mine - I know I'm not meant to be here. When I was 15 I couldn't play cricket for a team until I was 18. All the girls I meet are just that bit older. And I've lived with it - until now, when a situation arose which I know is a slap in the face meant to wound. 

All my life I've felt judged by my age. I was always in the advanced classes, but that meant I was also the youngest in those very classes meant to help me. I was almost never judged by my peers in a positive light, and their only defense needed to be my inadequate age. At the moment, everyone at my university thinks I'm 20 - I'm so scared of being judged by my age and not my birth years, I've put on another mask to hide my real self. Only a select few know my real age, and even then I detect my age becoming a factor in the way they perceive me.

And so it was the case when met an amazing girl online, called "Vikki". When she first asked me my age, I didn't know our friendship would grow into something more beautiful, so naturally I said I was 20. But develop a relationship we did. For most normal people, this would be awesome. For most 17 year olds, there'd be cries of "Score!" to be had. However, all I could muster was guilt and self-loathing. My own defense mechanism had worked against me. Again.

I knew the chances of me ever seeing her were slim, but since she only lives a couple of hours away, she began to say that we would as things got more intense. I know the difference between love and lust, and this was something special. We connect on every level and have a mutual respect for each other. I know that a person like that only comes around once in a lifetime, so I couldn't possibly pass it up.

And then the cogs started turning in my head: She's going to find out eventually, especially if you ever see her. You really love her, why are you lying to her? If you ever want this to work out, you need to tell her you're 17. The problem was actually telling her!

To make matters worse, she's just had a birthday and is now 21, and also has a brother who is older than me. That's a four year age gap and the nagging thought you're banging your kid brother. Life just isn't fair; the one time I find something that is special and mine, something conspires against me to deny me. If I was her age, I'd have no problem at all. We'd be a perfect match. But life's not like that is it.

I don't really care if I get her or not - I'd rather she was happy. And I really don't care if fate has conspired against me again - I'm used to it. What I'm scared of is if she says no, and I never find another soul that completes me as much as hers does. We're only on this earth once, and it'd be just damn cruel to let me lose on such a love to a few years. Love is meant to make you happy. It worked on me for a while, but now it's returned me back down to earth where I obviously belong. Life isn't meant to be this hard.

So I've prepared my speech, practiced my apologies and hoped for the best, but I know no matter how good a person she is, the relationship won't last from this and I'll be left on my own again with no one to love me for me. Get off this blog right now and find your true love - if you already have one, how dare you not be telling them how much you love them right now - because if anything, let my life be a lesson to you. Love is too valuable to waste.

A Friend Knocks

I don't have many friends. I have never needed any and the few I had turned out to be tools any way. I can't complain; I never sought popularity, but always wore just enough masks to be socially acceptable. I'd sit and observe below the radar, keeping out of the spot light so I could work behind the scenes, always dumbing myself down socially and intellectually so I wouldn't be a threat. I really did feel like I was a spy on an alien world sometimes, conforming to others.

Sure I was liked by those who got to know me, but I was also bullied like hell throughout my early life. This year it all changed though. I had enrolled into tertiary education for the first time. A new setting, new people - I wasn't going to pass it up. So I decided on a new me. Everything I did was probably the exact opposite; outgoing, talkative and witty. The problem is it worked.

I know it sounds strange, but I was suddenly popular, outgoing and well liked. The times someone did pick a fight with me it either bounced off or sorted itself out. I liked this new me. But for reason, I wasn't quite the same when at home. Sure I was happier, but remnants of old me kept popping through for a cup of tea. Each different side of me was conflicting but at the same time couldn't live without one another.

Am I this new happy guy or the old reclusive. Which is the mask and which is reality? Am I going mad? Sure there has been a history of mental disorders in my extended family, but I don't honestly believe that. Every day one side is either stronger or weaker and I'm finding it hard to divide the two. What I need is someone I can be open with who isn't a blog page. As fortune would have it, that someone happened to be knocking on my door at 9am this morning.

Sure 9am isn't early for most, but if you've gone to sleep at 4am that same morning you don't have to be a math teacher to work out the sum equals cranky. I barely had time to notice my pounding headache before I was embroiled in a conversation with, shall we say, "Jaffa"; he's Indian, larger than life in more ways than one, optimistic, vain, about 20 years my senior, utterly honest and incredibly loyal. Say no more. He's been following me around like a bad smell ever since we met at school, turning up at all hours to show me his artwork and telling about his dreams and life. On any given day, he'd annoy the shit out of me, but for some reason he's the only one outside my family I can be truly honest with. You couldn't get two more opposite people, but we get along like a bulimic and a toilet bowl. 

Maybe it's what I need, maybe it's not; I'm willing to ride it along to see what comes out. I could use a bit of honestly right now in my life and I definitely think that Jaffa can give it to me. Hopefully someone else can see what's really there behind my masks even if I can't.

Welcome To My Mask

Who am I? Right now, you are about as informed as I am. For now lets call me "Spawn Man" and you are my reader. I don't know what brings you here, but for me right now, it's an outlet to vent my thoughts and problems. Feel free to comment on the ongoing travesty which is my life. I don't pretend to be an emo - I am an emo, an old school emo who doesn't need black hair and goth music to be miserable. You wouldn't even know I'm a depressive; I'm outgoing, charming and happy. And that's where the page's title comes in.

All my life I've lived behind masks - they protect me, shelter me, allow me to fit in and most of all hide my demons. The problem is, who am I? I've put up all these masks and they all get used equally that I don't even know who I am any more. The more masks I pull off the more I find. Do I really want to know who I really am?

Maybe you have your masks, maybe you don't. If you came here to find salvation and joy, I suggest you find another blog. If there's any of that going around, I'll want to be the first to get it. Yes, it's not as if I want to be this way day in day out like those little Gothic freaks you see clustered in a pot smoking haze at high school. If I could snap my fingers and be happy I would. But then that wouldn't be very entertaining to read now would it?

You can expect from this blog a story of a normal person with issues going through his normal life. But we all know how life is anything but normal, so expect anything to be here. However, the one thing you won't see here is masks. I'm sick of masks and I'm sure you don't want to hear from a copyedited ray of sunshine or doom and gloomer. Straight from the heart and nothing else. And right now I feel like death itself. Read on...