In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Alphabet Soup.”
Xenogeny noun, Biology 2. the supposed generation of offspring completely and permanently different from the parent.
I stood and watched the train track, hoping that a train would come. The bridge I stood on, if I closed my eyes would remind me of my time in London. The midnight walks to to the 24 hour grocery store to buy something to eat. Usually jelly beans and vanilla yoghurt.
I miss that. I miss being so independent of time, people and incessant responsibility.
But no train came, so instead I just photographed the tracks, and headed further along to the beach. I sat at the very top of a sand dune, and watched the early bird tourists attempting to fish and do what I am assuming was exercise. It just looked silly to me.
Christmas is coming and I feel nothing. There are lights and signs and twinkly shiny expensive things all perfectly displayed everywhere. But it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I feel like I would be betraying my instincts by celebrating anything on a day filled with over zealous family and friends when it has been a lousy year. I am not standing in some long queue to pay for something that has been marked up by 200% just so that when they tell me its on special, I can nod and smile stupidly pretend that makes any sense.
When I relay this to family I realise how different we are. How… far removed I am from the routine and the cultural ‘non negotiables‘ that I grew up with. Brothers and parents who it all comes easy to.
At my own family gatherings I feel like that spare wheel at a party. I am the slightly crazy one who may or may not do something unpredictably awkward or… harsh.
I am okay with that. But I am still wish, that sometimes I could just relax and enjoy the screeching children, the awful Christmas music and the over emphasis on gifts and giving – even if it is unintentional.
I would rather be at a soup kitchen knowing I am actually doing something good. Something that makes a difference. Even if I don’t actually know how to make soup… it would feel more real than sitting around eating expensive food, making small talk, and trying not to be annoyed at how much noise the kids make.
Maybe I am the Christmas Grouch. The kids seem to be oblivious to the twitching scowls and the red faced effort I make to keep my mouth in check.
Besides… I love them all, so just being near them is nice. Even if I am willing to duct tape them all in silence after an hour.
Mocking Bird Down 