For one of my modules (Writing the Self - a study of autobiographies) the Assignment includes an 'Experiment'. In other words, we get to write a brief autobiographical peice in the style of one of the authors we've studied.
Now, the autor I was most enamoured by was Marguerite Duras. She writes in a feminist prose style called Écrituré Femininé (I've probably got the accents in the wrong place... but oh well). Basically, this style is fluid (literally in terms of movement through disconnected thoughts and times, but also in terms of imagery) and supposedly 'feminine'. It's classed as writing 'from the body' (yeah, I've studied feminist criticism... can you tell?)
So, in order to complete this assignment, I thought I would test out her style in my blog. This will probably get copied and pasted into my work, so for once my blog will be productive!
Here goes:
His hand cups my chin and he looks at me with eyes that are clouded by emotion.
"Your face is so lovely." he tells me.
I don't see how he would know. He's never seen my face.
This face I wear isn't mine - my face is captured in a photo.
I'm four years old, crouching by some pots as I play hide and seek. The smile I give the camera is genuine, cheaky, and completes my face. One finger waves at you, pointing straight up, perpendicular to my face. My eyes sparkle with childish fascination. I'm happy.
I'm eight, and I know that this is the best time of my life.
My mother looks on me fondly and agrees with me. So proud of her smart daughter.
I spend three years worth of birthday cakes wishing to stay eight forever.
The slowly increasing number of candles mocks me with each attempt.
I don't tell mother incase she thinks her daughter stupid for trying.
I fear getting older, but look forward to being Old.
I look at myself and try to imagine what that will look like. Old me.
All I can picture is wrinkles and short brown hair.
I'm nine, and the boy who wants to play Mum's and Dads is pinning me down in my tent.
His body rubs against mine, his groing against mine. Our clothes rub.
I don't understand. His logic of mothers and fathers making children is clever I suppose.
Dad gets mad at him for closing the tent. Fears for his daughters dignity.
Though Voyerism is a form of participation...
My lips are swollen after the boys rubbing and kissing.
The swelling never seems to go down.
The feeling evoked wasn't pleasure - nor was it pain. It's curiousity.
I was always curious. You can see it in the photo. It still lingers in these eyes.
Alone, I explore my body - looking for that womans hole they tell me a baby will come out of.
I find a pee hole, and a poop hole. Guess I haven't grown the baby hole yet.
Mother always uses the term 'child bearing age'. That must be what she means.
Later, when I've more than found it, I still can't use it's correct terminology. Boy's have P.P's, girls have Ver-J.J's. The anatomical names - Penis, Vagina - make me blush. The slang terms make me feel ill.
I don't know when I lost my face. Maybe it was in the tent. Maybe it was in a bed. Maybe not.
Either way, I'm sixteen, and the woman in the mirror is a stranger.
Certain features linger. The eyes don't sparkle anymore, but they're the same colour and shape. The chin still protrudes like a ball from the end of my jaw.
The girl stands there, looking for herself and finding only fragments.
My mother always complains that she looks in the mirror and sees her own mother looking back at her. She doesn't look at me through mirrors, and I begin to wonder if I'm adopted.
My sister says she sees mum looking back at her in mirrors.
I consider that maybe it's age that does it. My sister is 12 years older than me.
The little girl adds another reason to her list of 'Reasons to Never Grow Older' - loosing your face.
Well, it's only supposed to be 250 words... don't know how many that is, but it's a good start.
I think it's possibly too linear for an accurate representation, but oh well.
I'm going to go on with blogging about recent affairs now.
My best friend is giving me the silent treatment.
I'm not sure I deserve it, but oh well.
Let me explain a couple things:
- The worst punishment I ever recieve from my best friend is the silent treatment. It's the one thing that hurts me the most. It makes me panic inside, and I don't know why. I used to think it was because of the abandonment issues, but now I'm not so sure.
- What I did wasn't so bad in my eyes, because it wasn't hurting anyone. Well, it didn't appear to be at the time - though since last night I've started to think it might have been hurting him...
The thing is, he always says he'll be by my side - no matter what. So when he calls me an idiot and tells me to clean up my own damn mess it hurts a lot.
But I have cleaned it up.
So why am I still getting the silent treatment?
There's part of me that wants to scream so loud. It's so frustrating. Because I just don't get it.
Then again, it feels like there's been something he wont tell me now for ages, which has also been driving me insane. Paranoia?
--Rant Over--
I'm still really missing Mathieu.
The weirdest thing about this is that I class him as a best friend already. Not the sort of best friend who you tell everything to, or that you always go to for help, or that you share every moment of happiness with... but the sort of best friend who you just want to spend all your time with. Who just understands (even through a god damn language barrier!) what you mean when you say things that other people can't seem to grasp.
In a way, he made our friendship circle complete.
Seeing him sad tares me apart.
Seeing him AND Li sad makes me want to cry.
They miss each other more than Mat and I miss each other. You can just tell.
---blows dust away and runs in a different direction---
I've been making dificulties for myself lately.
I call it activating self destruct mode.
There's more than one way to hurt yourself. There's two main categories though: Conscious, and subconcious. I'm good at the second one.
You see - the way that it works is you do things that seem fun - like staying up late on runescape instead of doing your work, or seeing a friend who wants to play dirty games. It's a laugh and a joke... but then the work doesn't get done in time and you don't pass your degree... and your friends game ends up hurting you deep inside where you swear your heart is supposed to be...
Thing is, you kid yourself that you're not doing something that hurts you.
You say "No, I'm having fun. I'm doing what I want to do. I'm happy."
Sometimes you just need someone to grab you by the shoulders, shake you, and tell you to stop. Sometimes you need a kick up the arse. Sometimes you need someone to tell you off before you can see that you're hurting yourself.
The conscious type isn't as easy to pretend isn't happening. You cut yourself 'by accident' while shaving your ... arm??... You scratch yourself till you bleed, but insist it still itches and carry on through the layers of dermis. You burn yourself on the iron when it falls on your leg... were you even ironing? You can only claim clumsiness so far. Then you have to accept that it's on purpose.
We all of us go through rough patches.
I just haven't found any soft ones yet.
Maybe I had them all when I was young.
No wonder I wanted to stay eight.
My dreams are strange, unhappy things lately. A blossom of hope will ploom outwards on occasion - to be squashed by others.
The man of my dreams kisses me, tells me he loves me... I'm so happy...
Then someone else walks by and he wont stand close to me. Wont acknowledge me. Leaves.
I guess that sort of thing is highlighting what I feel all the time around this one guy.
He'll hold my hand. Lean in close. Cuddle intimately. But if anyone walks in he lets go of my hand. Leans away. Lets go of me and moves over slightly.
It's like he's been caught doing something naughty.
You would think I'd confront him about it - but I don't know how. Don't even know if he realises.
Don't know if he realises that he gets all huffy if I get with other boys.
Thing that's really annoying is that I quite like the guy. Closest I've come to fancying someone in a long time if I'm honest. The mixed messages, and the almost teritorial protectiveness, is kinda confusing.
I just want things to be simple again. Just want to be able to understand what's going on in my own life for once.
It's seriously like living in a daze as life rushes past me. I try to grasp on to something so I can look at it long enough to get my bearings, but they never stay still. They slip through my hands like water.
****FRUSTRATED**** dot com
Anyway, I'm gonna sign off.
Hope you're having a better week than me!
Blessed be xx
No comments:
Post a Comment