I’m not in much doubt that the universe was conspiring to tease me the other evening by broadcasting two of my favourite films at the same time: Hook and Finding Neverland. I know what you’re thinking (“Rufio! Rufio! Ru-Fi-OOOOOOOOOOOOOh!”).. no, not that. Well, maybe that. I probably think about that chant at least four or five times a day. But no, I know you’re just thinking that that would be a criminally insane venture–to watch two movies simultaneously on regular cable, with ad breaks? What kind of maniac would attempt such a thing? Apparently, that would be me.
Not as maniacal, it should be said, as Captain James Hook himself though. Do you remember his shoe collection in the film? Christ, no man on earth needs that many pairs of waxed-black dress shoes. Not even a cobbler possesses that many pairs. Insanity. I do, however, agree with Hook’s sentiments in regards to clocks. He hates the __cking* things, as do I. And let’s face it, as a concept of nature, time is a fallacy.
There’s your first poignant sentence of this post. Here’s the next one: Cap’n James would almost certainly hate the new Apple smartwatch-bullshit-thing. Smee, pass me the hammer would you?
Anyway, as I took it upon myself to act as Captain, navigating as I was between the waves of commercials, the message of Scottish-born J.M. Barrie**, the story’s real-life author and subject of Finding Neverland, truly hit home.
Today is Friday 3rd April 2015. I’m 26 years old–soon to be 27–have a college degree loitering in one of my suitcases ready for its return home, and Predator, with that ex-governor Arnold in staggeringly “good form”, is on in the background as I type this. My experience in my field is limited, I remain thousands of miles away from my family, and many of my close friends who I’ve had the pleasure to meet since my second stint here began (and those from my first), are dispersed all over the country; I very much miss a number of them. I’ve one failed relationship to my name, a few months travel under my belt, and frequent the gym most days to keep my mind and body active. I’ve become much more of a book-lover in the last year or so, am less of a drinker, and have a heightened awareness of living healthily, but not to the point where I can’t satisfy my everlasting sweet tooth once in a while. Whilst I love the idea of becoming a writer, I sometimes let myself down by not fully committing to seeing an idea, or thought, through. In recent weeks, I have been accepted into graduate school, although I’m not sure in my heart of hearts if that’s the direction I honestly want to take. I’m uncertain about a good few things, but I do know my first passion will always be football (soccer) and I’ll do my utmost to continue playing for as long as I can, starting tomorrow when I have a trial for a local team here. For the remainder of this year and beyond, I hope to do just that, as well as make plans for my next trip(s) abroad and writing more about the things that give me pleasure than I have been. In addition to these pastimes, I wish to explore my spiritual side a lot more often, having begun to do so with positive results these past few months. It may not seem like much, but as shorthand versions of events go, that’s pretty much it for me.
But even after the ups and downs, the certainties and uncertainties, the dreams and the realities, a part of me has remained constant that I will never, ever, take for granted: my humour.
The “older” I get (age is another fallacy), the more I realize its importance to who I am. I live to laugh. I live to make others laugh. I love to make others laugh. A lot of that has to do with how I was brought up. British humour is a wonderful thing, and I’m so thankful to have been raised in a household, and amongst family, that burst with the funny gene. I can hear my grandparents’ jokes and stories now. Boy, do I miss them too.
So how does all this relate to the adventures of Peter Pan I hear you squawk? Well, I guess my point is this: Staying young in heart and head keeps you young no matter what. Plus, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing, nothing more attractive than a woman who can make you laugh. I met one fairly recently as a matter of fact. But hey, I’m a lost boy scrabbling around trying to find his marbles. “Humourous” bones aside, my imagination is all I have left. Bangerang.
**before his death in 1937, Barrie passed on the rights to Peter Pan to Great Ormond Street [Children’s] Hospital in London, which has significantly helped fund the institution since