I was just reading a friend's blogpost on profanities a few days ago and I started thinking. I never use profanities because I find them distasteful coming from a woman's mouth. Or to be absolutely clear, I use them in my head but never utter them out loud (an emphatic Fuck/fuck it/fuck her /him uttered to myself can go a long ways to letting of steam). But sometimes they seem so much cleaner. Because a profanity uttered out loud is infinitely honest in comparison to untrue words. Like a wound allowed to bleed clean, it frees the one that uses it of negative energy and does not carry the putrefaction of negativity that festers with false assurances that one is not angry.
And then I thought, pofanities are just words at the end of the day. It is how you utter them that makes all the difference. The right inflection and they can go from disgusting to sexy, abuse to endearment. Much like words. And by that measure words can become profanities too. Like a necklace of beads, words strung together aesthetically on a beautiful thoughts can be poetry and inspiration. But haphazardly impale them onto a string of negativity and they can be weapons of abuse and degradation. Ironically both can outlive those who utter them, outlive existence itself...
Once allowed to see the light of day, they become messengers for the people that use them. Carrying love, hate, inspiration... But we who utter them often forget that they also become ambassadors. Carrying the additional hidden message of impressions; good bad and ugly. Impressions that are often bigger than the words because they are dependent on those who receive them to attain their final potential. Received right, words will convey messages to perfection, realizing the reason for their existence. Received wrong, however, they have the potential to destroy. Those who realize this power of words are writers of worth. And for them words unfurl themselves in their full glory.
But words and profanities, unuttered, unwritten are unconceived dialogues that will only give birth to blank pages, empty silences... it is in their diliverance that the true meaning of their existance lies...
When the time to leave the security of the four walls came, I blindly followed the dictates of my mind. For a while I oscillated, one part of me regretted having to leave when I could have stayed; the other part patted me on the back for having taken such a difficult step. Then one day I woke up to the fact that I could not expect to move forward when I had one step in the past.
There’s a familiarity about the “clang” of school gates when they close behind you for the last time, but I am not here to take a walk down memory lane. I shall leave that to the movies where the clang is more often than not coupled with a “THE END”. What I am here to do is testify that this clang is a beginning too, to tell about beyond the walls …
My mind goes back often to those to the friends of those lovely idyllic days. Loyalty to your class – Unity was all-important then, friends were to die for and it was easy to promise forever. Beyond the walls I found different friends, the hang around when they need something kind, the use and lose kind, the loyal kind, they all came and some of them stayed and each of them left a legacy that molded me into what I am.
You don’t leave behind teachers either. Beyond the walls there is always a twist on the road where you will meet someone who will teach you a new lesson. An urchin girl – with barely enough clothing on to her covered taught me that if you want even a simple piece of can turn into a crown.
School days never come back. They can’t be recreated but inside those walls I learnt the things that will help beyond those very walls. Those walls that we felt grew every year, they represented jail and we likened ourselves to prisoners, each with our own number, but today 146 is like an omen of good to me and it’s presence works towards making or breaking a situation.
Beyond the walls lies a life just waiting to be embraced, new experiences, a stretching of the wings as it were. Learning that you can do it. Depending on yourself. All those races at school that disappointment in the loss, that exhilaration in the win. We’re the same runners, the prize is as important. Only the race is different. We still cry when we lose, are ecstatic in our wins. We still make mistakes.
And when life gets a little to tough to handle, I can always go back into myself…In me, where I carry that magical place “Behind The Walls”.