The lost ones are those who are lost in the circle of existence. As a kid, I would travel from social setting to social setting, but I never really fit in. It wasn’t due to people making me feel unwelcome, I always had plenty of friends, I just felt like I always drifted to the outside… all the time. As soon as someone wanted to establish some form of closeness, I would push them away immediately. This is the reason why I ended most of my more intimate relationships pretty abruptly. As a kid, I would much prefer playing alone and observing my surroundings. I guess I felt that I had more of a connection to ‘things’ rather than ‘people’. It was something that always felt permanent and could not be altered. It was really attractive in a lot of ways. It was a really hard way to live as a kid, I didn’t understand why I felt like this all the time. It lead me to spending more time by myself or with people that would let me go by unnoticed. The first social setting that accepted my disconnection was the gang environment. In the gang culture, you could be as disconnected as you wanted to be, no-one judged you. It was also an environment where I had access to the raw aspects of life, something that an unopinionated ‘observer’ such as myself thrived on.
It wasn’t really the fights/violence that I was interested in, that kind of stuff went by like clockwork. It was everything else, the small things, the little communication that spoke volumes, that is was got my blood pumping. I was never the kind of person to stop and watch a fight, it was kind of boring, my thrills lied in the interactions before and after. While other kids were off doing whatever teenagers do, I would sit at train stations and watch the drug trade. While my homies chilled and clowned around me, I would drift off and watch the other world dance in front of me. I would ponder on their stories and watch the life theatre unfold in front of my eyes.
Many of my friends fell victim to drugs and I always appreciated the escape, I knew how it felt to want to get away from a reality that never connected with me. I was lucky to have my creativity and it allowed me to look at things with my own brand of perspective… It was beautiful.
After each day on the street I would get home to the insanity of home life (read last weeks post) and venture into the front yard, pen and paper in hand. I would write about my inner feelings along with stories that stemmed from my surroundings. This is where my passion for writing and filming came from… I just never picked up a camera until many years later.
Next week I’ll be releasing a short story related to my observations of my local drug trade.