gifting

 

I think often about the crisis of creating. As a boy I used to tell people I want to be a writer. I would write away in random notebooks, entire worlds of my own creation that were rarely revisited for a second sitting. I did not particularly want anyone to read them. My way of guarding against being seen was to not be too protective of the notebooks; nobody snooped through the stuff that was deliberately made to look carelessly strewn around. I think this is why I lost them too; when I left the house, no one knew all those volumes meant something to me. I have adopted this into my life in more meaningful ways than I realise. I have been told I am a difficult person to buy gifts for. It makes  sense to me; I find it difficult to let what I hold dear be known. A friend who was trying to be cheeky once said that I liked moving all the time because I was comfortable loving people from afar. Not that the sentiment was without truth entirely, but I think it would be even more accurate to say I prefer being loved from afar. Last night, I found myself rooting for and disappointed by Argentina’s defeat more intensely than I expected. The realisation that I would never watch the greatest player of all time ever again felt a piece of my life ending forever. I don’t think I could express that to anyone without them expressing a measure of surprise. It is easier to be loved from afar; you let your loved ones create image of you that you have to live up to. You try to perform to that standard, and relieve yourself of the responsibility of a real relationship. Everyone likes you, and as my sister once told me accusatorily, you get everyone to think you are one of them. So I watch my football games with agendas no one hears about and I have engagements with art that no one is told about. When I look at other people I wonder how many storylines they live that will die with them. They can’t all be comfortable being known.