Me-dulation : (Me Modulation) 

I’m reinventing myself.

That’s what I said to myself on the day after my birthday.

New Year, New Me. Time to make some  changes. I’m reinventing myself.

As if I have any idea who I am,  to attempt to create a new version of myself that is different from original me.

I think I am not the same person I used to be.

That the me of today is not the same me that I was a few years ago. That too much has changed for me to go by the same name.

Sometimes. I feel that I am a different person on different days to different people and this is all a game of illusion.  

That I am not two sides of the same coin, but instead two different coins stuck together by soluble glue parading as one. That just a splash of water will reveal my facade.

Even if it takes the work of nail polish remover to expose my insides, will I pass? 

I stand on the highest rooftop on the highest mountain and shout as loud as I can for everyone who cares to hear.

I AM ME! I AM ME!

but

Who is this Me I claim to be? Is there a way to define who I am for even myself to understand and agree?  Is there a word, a sentence, a page, a book, a movie, that covers the expanse of my life description? 

Would I recognize it if I saw it?

Sometimes, I agree that I will never be the same person I used to be. That I have breathed in the dust of a silver jubilee and it has wrecked my insides forever unclean. I am not the child of my mother. I am not my brother’s little sister. I am not your friend. I am not the writer I used to be.

I am not me. 

And I accept this.

This acceptance even, may change me. 

We’ll see.

CAPTURED: MARCIA

This is Part 3 of the CAPTURED Series. Please find Part 1 here: Captured: Noelle and Part 2 here: Captured: Peter

Enjoy and don’t forget to leave a comment afterwards!
– Amowi.

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Call me Marcia.

OK, so here’s a timeline of my life.

When I was 5, my mother left me. Well, technically, she left my dad. My little sister and I were just collateral damage.

When I was 8, I lost my first fight. It was with a girl in my class. She was wearing the same shoes as mine so I stepped on hers. She didn’t like that. She pulled out half my hair. I like my hair.

When I was 10, I won my first fight by shoving a shard of glass into a boy’s arm. He was 16. He touched my ass. He deserved it.

When I was 15, I “accidentally” shot my dad in the chest. Then I cried uncontrollably for a whole 5 minutes before calling for an ambulance. He died on the way to the hospital.

Fuck it. That whole story is crap. I didn’t have a troubled childhood. That’s the excuse people give for all the stupid stuff they do. My mother didn’t leave me. I never killed my dad. That was all rubbish.

I actually had a great childhood. Two parents that loved me and gave me everything. I was an only child. I went to a private boarding school where I made a lot of great friends. I made straight As in all my classes and graduated top of my class. How did I get this way? I got bored. It was so boring being the nice, pretty, sweet girl who did well in school and helped at home and wore pink blouses with Navy skirts. So I quit. I changed. I permed my curly natural hair and added streaks. I started wearing only black. I learnt how to shoot, how to wield a knife. I made some friends on the Internet and they linked me to some guys and suddenly, I was in touch with the right people and I was getting all these deals to do amazing stuff. I can’t begin to tell you how many people I’ve had to kill just on the whims of some randoms I found on the Internet that have enough money to buy Islands.
Anyway, I’m a nice person. A sweetheart actually, once you get to know me. I’m just bored a lot and there’s something about the fear in a victim’s eyes that gets to me. Excites me.
That’s why I took this job. Tom makes us move these different people around and every time we go to pick one up, I see that look of fear in their eyes.
Exciting!

But not this time. This new girl. Noelle. She freaks me out. She reminds me of myself. I don’t know why. I don’t know why she won’t do something about that mess on her head she calls hair. I don’t know why she dresses the way she does. We watched her for a month before we took her. That’s our MO. We watch the target for a while till we know their routine and all their habits. Makes it easier. And she isn’t like me at all. For one, she doesn’t wear any makeup at all. She keeps her hair natural and she doesn’t put any products in it. She wears jeans all the time. Big baggy jeans and huge flower print T shirts that make her look tiny. I don’t understand. Her parents are regular middle class folk. She uses the same route to school every single day. She’s nothing like me. I love to try new things out. I love to experiment and play with clothes and makeup and shoes. I have 6 piercings and more tattoos and I would love to get some more. We are nothing alike.

But she still reminds me of myself. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what exactly it is about her. Maybe it’s her eyes. They are the same shade of blue as mine. As you would see if I didn’t wear contacts all the time. Same shade as my mother’s eyes. Yeah that must be it. She sort of reminds me of my mother, and it’s not just the eyes. It’s the way she acts. Maybe when I’m done prepping the safe house, I’ll double back and take a closer look at her without she or Peter knowing. She won’t be acting so scared if she doesn’t know I’m watching. I scare people. I wonder why.

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Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated so email me at rowiehammond@gmail.com
🙂

CAPTURED: PETER

This is Part 2 of the Captured series. Please find Part 1 here – CAPTURED: NOELLE.

Thanks for reading. – Amowi

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Right now, my biggest fear is that something will happen to her while she is in our care. She is so fragile. I catch myself watching out for her all day. Making sure she doesn’t trip or fall. Half the time, I’m watching her sleep, watching her eat, watching her watch me. The last few days trekking through the forest with her were amazing. It wasn’t meant to be. I have been on many of these trips moving many ‘packages’ from one place to another. Been doing this job since I was 17 and in all these years, I have never felt for any of the people the way I felt about Noelle. She made me feel sad. Sorry for all the other people Marcia and I had transferred over the years.

I remember when I met Marcia. It was just a few months after I started working for the group and Tom had been telling me about this girl who was special. I was a bit skeptical about her specialness. I mean Tom is my boss and everything but he is known to exaggerate. I once heard him describe me as ‘gifted’ which freaked me out at the time and continues to freak me out even now considering the way Tom treats me. Anyway, I digress. So I had been working with Marcia since I was 17 and she was 18. Moving people from one place to another as Tom directed. Our job was to pick a ‘package’ from location A and move that package to location B with as little stress to Tom as possible. We were not supposed to speak to the package unless to give instructions. Simple. But I had failed. Twice. Once last year when the four year old girl we were transporting had almost died from an allergic reaction (which was Marcia’s fault- she was supposed to check the damn food!) and this time, the second time with Noelle. I don’t know how Noelle got me to talk to her. One minute I was just watching her and the next I was asking her questions. She had just looked so dejected. Maybe that was it. She had just given up. All the other packages kept begging and talking and trying to convince us to let them go but Noelle had stopped. She had just stopped talking and stopped asking for anything. It had torn at me and it had made me want to hear her voice. And so I started asking questions. Talking to her, trying to get her to fight. And I begun to enjoy the conversation. Maybe a little too much.

I digress again. I was telling you about meeting Marcia. She was like a fireball. You may think Marcia is weird now but when I met her she had dyed her natural hair red and it stuck out at odd angles and she had tattoos in too many places. Now her hair is permed, cut into a neat bob and it’s black. It has blue streaks sure but it’s mostly black. And she was high. All the time. Never shut up. Never stopped moving. But that’s not why Marcia scares me. Marcia scares me because during those first days, when she was hyper and everywhere, one day we were on our way to a location, running full speed through the bushes, this Marcia who never seemed to stop moving suddenly stopped still, ducked down and threw a knife so straight and so sure that it literally nailed a man to a tree by his left testicle. I am not kidding. It was the scariest thing I had ever seen. Turns out the man had a gun on us and was trying to pick a target but that’s a story for another day. Marcia is crazy and she is going to kill me when she finds out I spoke to Noelle.

Watching Noelle now, I think it crept up on me. I don’t know why I kissed her. I mean I know why I did it. It made logical sense at the time but in retrospect it makes no sense at all. I kissed her to reassure her. That’s what the plan was, but the kiss unsettled me. Confused me so much that now I needed reassurance and there was nowhere and no way to get it with Marcia two feet away from her at all times.

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Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. Email me: rowiehammond@gmail.com

Captured: Noelle

Peter was tired. He was stuck in the void between being slightly frazzled and extremely exhausted. I knew this because I knew Peter. I had not known him long but in the short time since we met, I had studied him so hard that I felt we were one person. Joined somehow by more than the ropes that connected my wrists to his belt. I was tired too, but I was normal tired. His was the kind of that sleep could not cure.

He stopped suddenly in front of me, checking the mapping application on his phone, he looked around us before turning sharply to the right, going deeper into the woods that I thought we were trying to get out of. I was so tired. We had been walking for days, stopping only so Peter could make sure he was on the right path or for bathroom breaks. We hadn’t eaten in 48 hours and we hadn’t slept in more hours than I could count.

Captive. Prisoner. Hostage. That’s what I was.

When Peter and Marcia had arrived at my house 5 days ago and thrown me in the back of their van, I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped. I thought it was a prank by my friends. I mean, I’m no rich kid. My parents are regular people with regular lives. I hadn’t imagined that I would soon be walking deep in some unknown forest with the man who had asked me to call him Peter.

On the first day, I begged and pleaded with them to let me go. I told them I was nobody they wanted. That my parents were not rich. That I was the first born. That my little brother needed me. I begged them not to kill me. On the second day, Marcia left us to ‘prepare’ the place. I was glad. The girl freaked me out, and not only because she had kidnapped me. On the third day, we lost our torchlight. It fell out of his backpack as we run to escape the bees that had been upset by Peter’s cutlass and we weren’t able to go back for it. By the end of the fourth day, we had finished our water. All we had after that were the energy bars Marcia had packed. By the fifth day, I had stopped begging.

Today, Peter had started asking me questions. About my friends, my family, the people I went to class with, what I was interested in, and I answered them truthfully. He seemed to be enjoying himself and I was too. It was nice to have someone to talk to. In a different place, a different time, with a couple of scented candles and some music to set the mood, we would have been on a date. That’s what I told myself as my wrists chaffed from the ropes and my feet hurt from walking all day. I asked him questions too and by the end of the day, I felt more comfortable with Peter than I had ever felt with anyone. He had loosened my ropes and we laughed as we walked side by side through the trees.

As we neared the camp, he pulled me back and held my hands loosely in his.

“I have to tie you up again”

“What?”

“It’s Marcia. She won’t understand. She’ll get mad and when Marcia gets mad….” He was shaking his head slowly with what looked like fear on his face. “I’m sorry, but I have to tie you up. I won’t make it too tight. Just promise you won’t try anything silly.”

I nodded.

“Okay? Promise”

“I promise.”

He kissed me quickly, furtively on the lips. It was so fast I could have imagined it, but I couldn’t have imagined the jolt that went through me with the touch of his lips and the way he held my hand afterward almost as if to steady himself as much as he steadied me.

He tied my wrists back together, and with a set look on his face, he pulled me through the trees into the clearing where the cabin we would use was set.

Belong To Me.

I got some good news this morning and immediately I wanted to share it with you.
I got as far as picking up my phone before I stopped myself.

I read somewhere that people in love always think the other person is too good for them.
That feeling of “What did I do to deserve you?” is what apparently keeps them in love.
Because as long as you think the other person can have better than you, you will do everything you can to keep them by your side and as long as you both feel that way, you’ll be happy. Because you’ll both be trying.
The old me would dismiss this piece of information with a derisive snort. Seriously. I deserve everybody that has ever walked into my life. I am awesome. There is nobody on this planet I do not deserve.
Normally, I don’t apply clichés about love and life to my life. But with us, I feel like everything is a cliché. Like I am living one long joke or story or whatever and you are the punch line. You are the climax. You are the end. I know. I am corny. I was never corny before.

The new me is suddenly finding clichés about love everywhere. She is picking them up like an interesting object you find whilst cleaning out your room. Familiar but long forgotten. She is examining them and looking at them in relation to her life. She is finding that although her mind is telling her that she does not need this object, that she was fine before this thing came along, her heart is telling her that it fits. That even while she shakes her head, her hands are putting it on the shelf in a space made right for it. That this thing is joining all the other things she keeps. It is now a part of her treasure trove. That this weird, different, new me actually likes the clichés. That the clichés are so accurate, they must have been written by me, somewhere in the future, I must have written them and then travelled back in time (because of course time travel exists in the future) to tell them to myself in odd ways. Through books and corny Ben Stiller movies and friends.
And the new me wants to tell you everything.

What stopped me? What made me consciously put my phone down and do something else?

That feeling that I did not deserve you. That you were not – that you ARE not – mine. You do not belong to me. I cannot just tell you everything because you will probably leave for someone better and I will get hurt. I don’t want to be too hurt though so I will not tell you everything. I will wean myself off from you. Gradually in an effort to make my healing easier. I will not belong to you.

The new me knows that the old me would never have gotten herself into this predicament. That the old me would not have even wanted to share anything with you in the first place. Such is life.

Three hours later, after crying through a stack of books and eating a truckload of ice cream I am suddenly realizing that I am still as awesome as I have always been. That the new me and the old me are all just different sides of ME. Like an alternate universe in a star trek episode, I switched from one to the other without realizing that bad Spock and the good Spock are both just different sides of the same Spock. So I am still awesome and even if I don’t deserve him, he doesn’t know it yet and he probably doesn’t deserve me either and that is what is amazing about this world and about clichés and about all love stories and movies that two people who don’t deserve each other, who have no business being together end up with each other.

And I call him and suddenly he is here in my house, sitting with me and talking to me and right in the middle of us discussing Dorian Gray over a glass of cheap wine (isn’t it odd how people always end up having deep conversations when they’re tipsy?), he looks straight at me and asks “what did I do to deserve you?” and I laugh a laugh that is part relief and part intoxication and many parts awesome and answer “I have no idea.”

It is such a good feeling to belong to someone.

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Just a couple of housekeeping announcements, I may not be posting as much on here ( sorry. or not) but you can still read stuff from me and other amazing writers on thersvpshow.com just click Authors at the top and find me-Rowie Hammond – in the list of authors.
Second, i am looking for a guest writer to help me with a couple of things. So if you’re interested, you can email me at rowiehammond@gmail.com and also, i am forever answering your questions, about my blog, about writing or even personal questions about my life. I will put them on here or just shoot you an email at your request. So you can also email me.

And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated so if you have the time or are super busy, try to leave a comment.

Peace & Love in the motherland.
Rowie.

Just. Friends

Every time I see you, warmth crawls up from the pit of my stomach and transforms itself into a smile.
I stay, staring at you with that plastered on my face until you notice me.
Baby. My love. Hey. You. Hello. Hi.
It doesn’t matter what my lips say.
My heart is saying.. “Hello, soul mate. Please stay”.

I believe that for every person, God gives another.
Somewhere, out there.
There is someone made just for you.
And for me, that person is YOU.

You fit me.
Like a warm blanket on a cold night,
You are what I need.
Exactly when I need it.
Before I ask for it.

Don’t get me wrong,
I will not marry you.
Or even date you,
No.

Because what we have is more than marriage.
More than stolen kisses and tangled sheets.
More than under-the-table groping.
More than legs so intertwined that I do not know where my thighs end and yours begin.
More than ‘my ex, my next’

What we have is friendship.
The kind that will not, CAN NOT die.
What we have is 2 am conversations about relationships.
What we have is me laughing at you for being in love.
What we have is movie nights and sleepovers and inside jokes.

We are Just. friends.
The word ‘just’ assumes that what we have is a poor substitute for what could be.
Just. Friends.
Because ‘just’ also means ‘exactly’ or ‘right’.
Because this world. This universe. Out of all the parallel universes that could be. This one exists so that THIS could be.
Hello. Soul mate. Please. Stay.

Rowie. 21/03/2014 1:10am

Vanity Card? Sexism

So i’ve been thinking about Vanity cards a lot lately.
I watch the big Bang Theory and i always make it a point to read Chuck Lorre’s Vanity Card at the end of each episode not only because they are usually witty and interesting but also because they give you a kind of peek into his mind.

anyway, i think this is a vanity card. not sure. whatever.
i want to talk about sexism.
one of my dreams is live in a house by the beach, alone, with like 5 dogs. okay maybe 3 but you get my drift
so i mentioned this to a friend and she says something like ‘that’s sad..’
i was confused for a second.
and then she says ‘at least they’re not cats’
and then i got it.
and then i was pissed.
why have we been led to believe that we cannot be happy without a man?
what can a man do for you that you cannot do for yourself? (except the mind-blowing sex)
i mean. It is YOUR problem if you think a person cannot be happy until she is married and pregnant or that a woman who lives with dogs( or cats) must be a sad woman.
It is YOUR problem. do not transfer this unto anybody’s dreams.
I would LOVE to live in a house by the beach with 5 dogs. with or without a man.
He will be a nice addition but i will not be sad without him.
depending on the guy i may actually be happier without him.
This is probably why some women are in relationships with losers but feel like ‘any man is better than no man’
it makes me sad.
I lost the point of this post. I’m just ranting.
Issokay.
so i may be starting vanity cards now..
because i hear it’s something the cool, creative people do and i want to be one of them..
lol

till later,
Rowie.