Have you noticed, Life can be fickle, fleeting and profound all at once?
The other day, I was sitting reminiscing on the past five or so days— as I was just recovering from a debilitating vengeful bout of the flu.
Vengeful, or more appropriately, spiteful, in that for years I have successfully denied it access, telling it, “No, not me, not today mate…”
Of course, I’ve had the mild sniffles here and there, now and then (it’s important to have a good sniff occasionally, at the hoity-toity bunch).
Debilitating, in that, it laid me flat on my back, for 3 days straight and got me thinking, “ok wise-guy, where the hell did you hide that bloody Will… you know, the one where you left everything—on a whim and a dare—to the neighbour’s mongoose?”.
But all this is really NOT the point of this Note. The point, if only I can get out of my own way long enough to allow myself to get to it, is that:
While I sat there on the couch, my wife was listening to, and watching something on her phone (which is to say, she was doing what she always does on her phone, well, truth be told, she does use it for other things, say, to communicate with friends, pals, etc.)
I digress a lot, it’s my superpower.
Anyway…
By the way, is a Note supposed, or allowed to be this long on Substack? Wait! Is this even a Note?
Note to self: “Ask one of the Substack Superstars”.
Sorry! To continue.
While her phone volume was pretty loud, I wasn’t really listening (what with the painful sucker punch and all), but I heard a woman saying, rather heatedly, “Why does everyone say my mother is white, she’s not white, she’s a black woman, she’s from Granada…” (-or something, my brain was still a bit befuddled from the sucker punch from Flu, the sucker puncher) “…and Granada is a Black Island”.
Don’t know where Granda is, but I’ll take her word for it, but that got my writer's befuddled brain whirring (not where Granada is, but what she said about her mother).
So I thought, why do we insist on being labelled or identified with a colour (I hear someone say, ‘Well duh, it is the colour of our skin!!!)’.
I get that. But surely, it cannot be that simple.
Is it because it is cultural indoctrination, in-born, choice, or maybe because some people cannot bring themselves to believe, rather, accept the fact that we are ALL one race, regardless, of the outer cosmetics?
Imagine a world, where when we looked out, all we saw were people, not black or white or every shade in between on the colour continuum, but fellow human beings.
I couldn’t dig any deeper and I still can’t, coz you see, I am still a bit under the weather and all this thinking and writing and thinking and writing.., well, it is hard when you’ve been suckered punched, even if it is by the sneaky flu (no wonder her middle name is “snarky”—it can only be a her—but in my defence, should there be blitz, I AM still brain-befuddled).
But I am so tired. Writing while thinking deeply IS, tiring (especially if you’ve been suckered punched by you-know-who).
Where the heck is my duvet and skull-cap….?