Month: August 2019

The icy blast of winter air served as a wake-up call,
Winter’s fury persisted even as the sun gave its all,
The fields resembled a Siberian wasteland, the grass and trees similarly frosted,
People young and old began their day layered from top to bottom,
The cold was miserable, but I didn’t mind,
This day had finally arrived, been impatiently waiting for some time,
It’s the last school day before the two-week winter break,
Students and staff united in good cheer, we’d all longed for this date.

Soon it was lunctime, the day’s almost over,
Just two more classes afterwards before we ride off into the desert,
Some teacher left a classroom unlocked, did someone spike their water!?
An empty classroom full of rowdy teenagers, could be a recipe for disaster,
One of the oldest, too, on campus, rather cramped with a faded teal carpet,
White walls, slightly scuffed, the air stale and probably polluted,
Fooling about in here between classes would be on par with crossing No Man’s Land,
Levels below vandalizing the school, but still the punishment would be rad,
Add to that a stereo and a CD full of rap tunes and you have yourself a party,
We turned the volume way up, it was time to go crazy!

I wanted no parts of this shit, but my buddies were all-in,
It was the last day of school for two weeks, might as well join in,
Sat in the corner of the room as those fools went on a rampage,
It was the year 2000, wrestling and breaking was all the rage,
Wrestling was up first, practically everyone jumped in,
It was like a royal rumble, or whatever they called it back then,
Heavy metal blasted from the speakers as those chumps recreated moves from TV,
They were smart enough not to jump off tables, let alone use them as weapons, the consequences would’ve been nasty,
Channeled their inner Stone-Cold and Dwayne Johnson, before he became an actor,
A few accidental punches and slaps but no one was injured,
The ‘crowd’ went wild, egging on those wannabe alpha males,
Like a scene from Gladiator, but this crowd was surely entertained,
Someone changed the music, it was time for break-dancing, spilled out into the hallway,
That little classroom was quite short on space.

I’d ceased to be neutral, the energy’s contagious, the whole scene was just ridiculous,
Excitement over the pending school break sent the student body delirious,
Coupled by raging hormones and soaring egoes the dancers put on quite a show,
Handstands, steps, tricks, spins and then some, others were unsuccessful with headspins but it was all fun,
We caused quite a racket, surprisingly no one dared to complain about it,
With the stereo on full blast the party went on unabated,
Looked like a scene from Saved By The Bell or maybe a street party in Compton,
Or perhaps in an abandoned building in the rough side of Brooklyn,
We felt like outlaws having a good time but then reality came calling,
The damn bell rang, lunchtime’s over, time to get packing,
Headed back to that classroom, arranged the furniture back in order before bolting, it’s like there was nobody there,
Looks like we got away with murder, that was one lunch break to remember.

Love this tune, breezy duet by Mariah and Krayzie Bone,
Sprinkled with flavor from that classic Willie Wonka song,
Looking back and reflecting on the year that was, the trials and tribulations,
Of lessons learned in the heat of battle, counting blessings and what was taken for granted,
Separating the weak from the strong, uncovering what was there all along,
So strap yourself tight, this’ll be quite a ride,
The year’s almost over, I’m just happy to make it here alive.

16.11.2018

Warning: This post contains plenty of clichés and cheesiness

Another visit to Dr. R’s clinic at the hospital was locked in for the 16^th of November to check my haemoglobin and iron levels, following yet another blood test the previous week. Accompanied once again by my parents, we made our way to the hospital and waited in the spacious waiting area not far from where Dr. R’s room was located, behind one of several doors on the fringes of the waiting area lined with green chairs and sofas that were overlooked by several flat screen TV’s tuned into daytime talk shows. It was early afternoon in the middle of spring and while the winter blasts had gone into hibernation for another year, the pesky winds and pollen in the air made for some rather irritating days.

If only these meds can do something about the hay fever.

Having said that I would much rather put up with hay fever for the rest of my life than have to live with colitis but I digress.
My parents and I were eventually summoned into Dr. R’s office where she told us more good news; my haemoglobin and iron levels were well into the healthy range. I’d already been told by Dr. B a month prior that I was more or less back to normal but it is always gratifying and reassuring to hear from a medical professional that my body was in good working order after a rather grim diagnosis like ‘severe pancolitis.’

Cue the happy dancing in my mind once more, this is another victory to celebrate.

Needless to say we walked out of the hospital and drove back home in high spirits afterwards. I still needed to take my three serves of Imuran and Mezavant every day until further notice but as long I was healthy, it was all good.

I went for a walk one day around this time and as always, I allowed my mind to wander. I’d usually ponder over the usual subjects; family, friends, work, life, martial arts, working out, music, books and all that but on this particular day, my mind touched up on a few compelling places, the first being the year that was and the bumpy, wacky and, dare I even say it, wonderful odyssey that I’d gone through from the moment I began to notice symptoms to the present day. I’ve already banged on ad-nauseam about the battle itself so I won’t go there again, but during that walk I reflected on little things that had kept me going psychologically during those bad times. As clichéd as it sounds the war against colitis gave me plenty of time for deep thinking and soul-searching that taught me how to appreciate those little things, such as the sweet taste of the oatmeal that I ate every morning during breakfast with a banana and a boiled egg on the side (yum!), the smell of the air as the sun shone while I was outside loading up on vitamin D and even the feeling of excitement I would feel before undergoing those walking drills every few hours, the only means of exercise I could muster while still anaemic. And of course conversations with my parents and sister, no matter how random the subject, were also a great way to keep my head above water and every now and then I would also receive some messages of support from friends even though I hadn’t seen anyone outside of my immediate family for months. These interactions helped to remind me that there were people looking out for me and that I was blessed no matter what.

Great meditations there, Kid. Marcus Aurelius would have been proud.

I was devastated and downright pissed off in the days following my official diagnosis but over time, I grew to appreciate the struggle. Perhaps this was the crucible that would test my character and fortitude. After all, nobody said life would be a smooth ride. Sooner or later severe challenges would come our way to find out what we’re truly made of. But don’t get me wrong, a part of me remained angry at the fact that I got this fucking thing seemingly out of sheer bad luck and that there was, apparently, no definitive cure for it yet but I took it one day at a time, doing what I needed to do to keep my body and mind in the best shape possible and once I shifted my mindset from ‘why me?’ to ‘bring it on!’, I found myself thinking about others who were in far worse shape than I was. Severe pancolitis was a literal pain in the ass and not something I would wish upon even my worst enemy, but I also wasn’t fighting a losing battle for my continued existence and was still able to function ‘like a normal person’. So what if I was shitting out blood and gradually became a frail and lethargic shell of myself? It wasn’t fun but others were making funeral arrangements after exhausting all possible treatments for the cancer that had ravaged them, others were getting through another agonizing day trapped in a body locked-up by paralysis, their minds being the lone surviving crew member of a damaged vessel that will never sail again and of course there were people out there living on the streets, some coping with the severe trauma of a wretched experience with no one to turn to and others being beaten down every day by their lonely battle with their vices.
The list goes on and on.
I thought about all of that and wondered who the fuck I was to cry and complain.

Get over yourself, Big Guy. Compared to the suffering of others out there your bitch-ass got off easy!

My meditations continued as I walked and I also thought about my average day-to-day living before the colitis struck. To be more specific I was thinking about the way I worked out. Prior to colitis, I did strength training during mornings before beating up a punching bag we had at home at night on one day, then performed sprints on a treadmill in the garage in the morning before beating up the bag again at night the next day and I’d alternate between days for five or six days. Modesty aside, such a routine gave me a ripped and lean physique like Bruce Lee’s and I took pride in the fact that I was able to power through each day without fear and it certainly helped me in the Wing Chun Academy, as a student and as an instructor. But weighing in at the mid to late 50kg mark, while still reasonable for a rather vertically-challenged man such as myself, wasn’t exactly solid and having to constantly adjust loose trousers despite wearing my belt almost to the last few notches that would strangle most men and having most of the clothes in my wardrobe, even the smallest sizes, feeling baggy on me wasn’t exactly a good look. At times I looked like a little kid wearing his father’s hand-me-downs.
And so I decided during that walk to cut running out of my routine.
I was already punching and kicking the bag. That was good enough cardio for me and was a lot more fun than running. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against running and will continue to swear by its benefits, but I never really was the runner type. As a kid I was too chubby to enjoy it and as an adult I did it to keep fit but hated every minute of it. I already knew other ways to achieve the desired outcome with the added incentive of having a blast along the way in a far shorter period of time and so I decided to ditch the running shoes and leave it to the road warriors.

As I neared the end of my walk my mind took a trip back in time, about eight years to be exact. Between 2010 and 2013 I’d started a blog in which I would give my thoughts on random topics, mostly weird and wacky shit that I’d read about in the news. I was younger, angrier and more cynical back then, the result of being bullied in my youth, even by so-called ‘friends’ that eventually became bullies themselves, and so I spent – or rather, wasted – a good portion of my twenties victimized by a ‘fuck the world’ mentality and trusted no one. Time and maturity, however, eventually saw me grow out of it and reading some of those posts now it is quite mind-blowing to me how much I’d changed since then. If I’d met that version of myself now I’d slap him across the head and tell him to quit being a little bitch, drumming advice into him in the same profane manner that my inner drill sergeant did for me whenever I was in an emotional funk. It would be the height of denial to say that I no longer recognize that person because at the end of the day we will always carry with us any version of ourselves, the good and the bad. But I’ve definitely learned to keep that bitter and cynical fool with the chip on his shoulder on a leash rather than allow him to control me.
I am also an introvert. Always have been. Sure, I’m genial towards my family and friends and well-mannered towards people I meet, even during the height of my ‘fuck the world’ years, but to be honest I tend to keep everyone, even my nearest and dearest, at a certain arm’s length and have a very difficult time ‘letting people in’ so to speak, even to this day. I can open up to a certain extent to some people but even then, they ain’t going to know my deepest thoughts and true feelings. Over the years I have become very, very, very good at masking how I truly felt on a given day, maintaining an upbeat and/or stoic facade even if I was feeling like shit, physically and/or mentally and that’s why no one, not even my parents and sister, knew how badly I had been suffering until I finally came clean to them. I am well-aware that such behavior can be self-destructive but it’s just the way I am and some habits can take a lifetime to break.

On the odd occasion that I do open up to others I tend to express myself far more effectively through words than I ever could through speech and through that old blog, I was able to speak my mind and express my opinions about certain issues and events far more comfortably than I would if I was to talk about it. But somewhere along the way, I gradually stopped writing as work, life and the other things that come with growing up took over. I guess you could say that I totally forgot about writing, which was a damn shame since writing had always been something I felt I was good at, even as a child. I was an average student at school but when it came to writing stories and even essays, guaranteed I would get a good grade. Jack-of-all-trades I was not but I came to see writing as my specialty, though I am far from being among the world’s best.
I’ve thought about getting back into writing again for years but would end up in that dreaded cycle in which I’d start off motivated then gradually taper off and then before I know it, the project is in the scrapheap. But that walk, coupled with the recent memory of the stumped faces of some of my friends and family when I told them what I had been dealing with, rekindled the writer within.

If I’m gonna be cursed by this thing, I might as well turn it into a blessing.

And just like that I decided to start a blog in which I would tell my story, not just as another outlet for whatever ill-feelings I still carried within me and as a means to show the masses what I could do, but at the very least to do my bit to spread awareness about this disease.  And I was not going to hold back, I was going to recount every last ugly, agonizing, colorful detail in my own words. Plus the more I thought about it the more I thought that it was a rather interesting and colorful story, guaranteed to amuse, entertain and shock readers.
I hopped into the car and drove home with a big smile on my face that day. Finally, I’d found my muse. I never thought I’d ever form an alliance of sorts with my enemy but sometimes life is funny like that, a theatre of the unexpected. But don’t get me wrong, it would be a stretch to say that I am thankful to have ever been afflicted by this damn disease. I may have come to see the positive side to it but it didn’t change the fact that suffering from colitis SUCKED! If I had a say in everything that ever happened to me in my life colitis and I never would have ever become acquainted.

Up at 5am on Monday in the middle of Winter,
Snoozed for five minutes, seemed like two seconds, hoped it would go on forever,
Threw off the blanket and sat up rather quickly,
Felt the full force of Winter’s fury, fuck going to work I’m chucking a sickie.
But I pushed on, ignoring the sweet call of the mattress,
He who has the gold ain’t scared of no cold, gotta make sacrifices on the way to greatness,
Stood up and stretched, gathered my work wear before heading for the showers.
Six minutes steaming, didn’t want it to end, carrying on a conversation in my head,
Stepped out at the count of three, cold chills attacked, almost had me doing jumping jacks.
Got dressed up, ready to roll, had a quick breakfast before heading out the door,
No time to feast when you’re living on the fast lane,
Time is short, gotta keep my mind on the game,
This will be a long day, the week’s barely started,
Hopped into the car and gunned it, still too early to deal with traffic.

Parked the car at the library, five minute walk to the station followed,
Body no longer feels hollow, total opposite to my eyes,
These peepers have yet to energize,
Walked through the back of the mighty shopping mall,
Revamped a few times through the years though vandals did a number on the walls,
This wide open space still devoid of crowds, like a mass exodus had gone down,
A few short hours will bring change, shoppers and junkies will soon populate this place,
Benches remain unoccupied, covered in bird shit, the result of sitting directly beneath trees,
A mob of galahs got their party mode on whooping and hollering as they please,
Caterwauling up the branches like hyperactive kids on Red Bull,
Passed through the trees and felt the brunt of their noise in full,
Mocking and taunting, perhaps? At the human weaklings that can’t handle the early morning,
‘Gotta bundle up in the cold and rain? How’d they place themselves atop the food chain?’
Paid those feathered fools no mind, I’m just trying to stay awake,
Taking comfort in the fact that I won’t have to finish late.
Left those birds behind and kept on moving,
Train must be here soon, got no time for goofing,
Broke into a powerwalk, became a half-walk half-run,
The cold air like acid as it scraped against my lungs,
Made it to the train station in time with five minutes to spare,
Already a few souls on my platform, equally zombified with blank stares,
Listening to this tune by 2Pac on my ipod, remix of an old song,
Inferior to the original, still I nod my head along,
The train arrives, chugging lazily before coming to a halt,
The driver’s face said it all, he’d rather be curled up in bed like a ball.

Sat on the top level of a middle carriage, two others there to keep me company,
Early starts and winter mornings are a toxic marriage, I guess I’ll just think about the money,
Still dark outside, the air at North Pole levels,
Turning up my earphones until it’s at dangerous decibels,
The train stops at my destination, time to spring into action,
Seven hours of hard grind just to bring home the bacon.
Now the sun’s rising, the dark of night fades to an early morning purple,
Shivering through my coat and sweater, man I hate this weather.
Approaching my building now, let’s put on a happy face,
I step in and pass through reception, at least there’s heating in this place.

Back into normal routine, so glad to be here,
Free at last, but not so fast, still taking pills for the next few years,
Meditating, contemplating, reviewing the situation like Fagin,
A few hits, some misses, better think it out again,
I done come a long way and now things are looking up,
Gone through the conveyor belt but still no finished product,
Never gonna give up, I’m on the way out,
Obstacles be damned, gonna see this battle out.

3/11/2018

All Souls Day rolled around on the first Saturday of November, a day on the Christian calendar during which worshippers would take time to remember their deceased relatives. For my family it meant going to mass at the cemetery before sitting at the resting place of my late grandmother, waiting for a priest to bless her headstone. It would be the longest amount of time I’d spend away from home since the road trip a few months ago.
Sounds all well and good but there was a catch – there was nary a restroom in sight at this place. Yes, I felt healthy again and could go out and about with confidence but attending an event that would last for most of the day with no visible restrooms? Yeah, innocuous as it might have seemed it was going to be a challenge of sorts for yours truly and I’ll admit that the anxiety that came with the fear of another flare-up and a possible ‘accident’ instantly reared its ugly head, clinging onto me for the better part of the morning like a creepy ex-partner that refused to accept the fact that the relationship had crashed and burned like the Hindenburg

Fortunately, the angry, profane drill sergeant within who had previously pushed me towards resuming ‘normal life’ intervened and gave me the mental bollocking that I sorely needed at the time.

Boy, you kicked Colitis’ ass like a BOSS!!! You haven’t had any relapses or accidents, all this negativity is all in your fucking head!!! Stop thinking like a fucking weakling and get out there!! You’re a motherfucking BEAST!!!!!  

It wasn’t exactly John Hartigan from the film Sin City willing himself to soldier on in order to save Nancy Callaghan from the yellow bastard despite facing certain death from the noose around his neck but it was the type of pep talk that I needed to pull myself together. The anxiety might have been there but that didn’t mean I had to let it overrun and beat me down and once the drill sergeant had his say I was back to my normal self.

Anyway, I woke up on the morning of All Souls Day and had breakfast with my parents before returning to my room to engage in a bit of reading, an activity that I credit for helping me during my recovery and which I still engage in to this day to ward off stress and anxiety. It felt good to open up a book and embark on a half-hour adventure in my mind following a nice morning meal and it helped to ease some of the nerves that, at the time, were still swimming through my mind like Michael Phelps on steroids.
Just a metaphor, folks, not accusing him of anything!
I kept the blinds rolled up and the window open, allowing the spring air and sun to seep through. Man that felt so good! The book I was reading was set in a small town in the Arizona desert so I felt like some sort free-spirited adventure, riding on horseback across that desert without a care in the world as the wind blew through my hair. It was only me and the elements, my trusty steed and various rocks and cacti that framed the unsealed road under the blue sky that was tinted a slight pink from the earthy dust.

But before I knew it, half an hour passed.

Having rested sufficiently, and following the foul-mouthed motivational speech from my inner drill sergeant, I gathered my clothes for the day before heading to the bathroom to shower and dress.

Alright, let’s do this.

Later during the day, following a one-hour service, my family and I camped around the resting place of my late grandmother, waiting for one of the many priests that led the service to make their way towards us to pray for her soul. My grandmother’s resting place was overlooked by a line of trees that blocked off a steel fence that separated the cemetery from a residential area, providing some shelter from the sun. The only seating available was a small stone wall that the line of trees was situated on, surrounded by some flowers that framed a pebble stream. Sitting atop that wall for a long period of time was a literal pain in the backside. Luckily I had trained myself a long time ago to be able to stand for long periods of time.
My grandmother’s resting place was one of many spread out through a vast green field and as I gazed throughout the area I had noticed that some families had set up picnic spreads and some even erected small tents and covers to ward off the sun.
A priest arrived after just a little over half an hour of waiting and we quickly said a prayer for my late grandmother before he blessed her headstone. My parents and I then bade my aunt and uncle good bye before driving out of the cemetery and heading to the nearest grocery store for some afternoon shopping before driving back home.

Mission accomplished without incident. You were sweating bullets for nothing again!

I guess I was. That inner voice wasn’t done chastising me just yet.

Stop selling yourself short, Boy! You’ve proven time and time again that you can handle all the shit that life throws at you yet you still refuse to believe in yourself. What the fuck kind of bitch-ass shit is that!?

Color me humbled, that foul-mouthed son of a gun was totally in the right.

If there’s anything that this particular day had taught me it was that while I had all but won the physical battle (I won’t call it a true victory until the day I am well enough to cease medical treatment but I am well on my way), the mental battle continued. Truthfully, and not to sound clichéd, this turned out to be the hardest part. I could take all the medication in the world and live as cleanly as possible but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have horrible thoughts and paranoid feelings that one day I’d relapse badly, that my body will find a way to reject the treatment and that the disease would undergo some form of deadly metamorphosis.
You’re probably thinking, “Just don’t think about it” and “think positively” and believe me, I tell myself that over and over again whenever I find myself caught in that funk and while I’m always able to snap out of it, some days are harder than others.

I’ve suffered from bouts of depression and anxiety since I was young. It’s never crippled me to the point where I’ve become a danger to myself and others and I have ways of keeping them at bay, but there have definitely been days where I found myself not giving a fuck about anything anymore and others where I cared too much about stupid shit that won’t matter in the long term or fearing the worst about everything. Did either one of those fuckers spring up during the height of my colitis war? Damn straight it did! You bet your last dime that I was depressed over the next few days after receiving my diagnosis and there were definitely times where I’d silently freak out over whether or not I’d ever be ‘normal’ again, scaring myself stupid whenever I felt the slightest hint of pain or discomfort.
But I am fortunate to have good people in my life, both near and far, to keep me in check and remind me that it wasn’t all bad. I also had my coping methods that included, but were not limited to, reading, writing, music, working out (though that was limited during the thick of my recovery) and just standing or sitting outside staring at the sky, whether it was watching the puffy white clouds floating through the endless blue like cotton balls during the daytime or watching ghostly apparitions hovering past the moon in the hypnotic noir at night.
Staring at the sky is quite a soothing, meditative experience. Go ahead, step outside now and try it out for the next ten minutes. It’ll be time well spent.
All up, they all helped to pull me out of the abyss and back into the light, as well as remind me that I was a true fighter, possessed more strength than I thought and that I never folded.    

I’ll never fold.

I got through that day in one piece without any problems. I am still on the right track. I just have to keep on fighting.

Dear Kid,

What’s the matter? Why the tears in your eyes?
you’re ten years old in ‘95, what a time to be alive,
homework completed, the wretched specter of school abated,
you’ve earned a brief parole period you should be excited.
Mom’s in the kitchen preparing dinner, smells like good food,
she can’t hear your boo-hoos, your room’s locked, the TV’s blaring in the living room,
your parents look out for you, you have a stable home life, too,
you ain’t suffering at all so why do tears flow like Niagara Falls?

So you’ve been pondering the concept of time, of life and death,
ventured into the deep end, wound up feeling overwhelmed,
how your precocious mind wandered this way remains a mystery,
but as long as you’re here you may as well accept some harsh realities,
none of us will get out alive, it’s just a fact of life,
the hardiest individuals will fall, so will the strongest empires,

Life’s so good for you now, bet you want it to go on forever,
it don’t work like that, Kid, you’ll grow older but hopefully, wiser,
first comes high school and university, then out in the world to build your legacy,
being an adult sucks, it’s a lesson that you’ll learn soon enough.
You young ones can’t comprehend what life’s like on the other end,
it ain’t like a video game or cartoon show, no reset button or channel change when you’re dealt a low blow,
some mistakes could be life-altering, some straight-up deadly,
literally and figuratively, the world can be kinda scary,
grown-ups are free to do what they want? Who sold you that lie!?
school and rules are nothing compared to real life,
you, too, will run the gauntlet that’ll test your spirit and guile, not to mention your will to survive.

Death is inevitable, no one is spared, you already know it,
it’s difficult to accept but you’re just a kid, why even think about it?
you have many years ahead, further challenges to be met, so go and dry your tears,
you may not know it yet but you are in the midst of your golden years,
you can’t predict the future and the past is done, focus on the here and now,
do your best in school and keep your room tidy, respect your elders, that’s your responsibility,
be good to people, even if some won’t reciprocate, two wrongs won’t make a right,
there’s enough jerks in this world, don’t join the herd, guaranteed you’ll sleep well at night.

You’re only young once, might as well do it in style,
it’s ok to misbehave once in a while, to run riot and go buck wild,
go outside and play, practice those fighting moves you saw in video games,
act the fool with your friends until your mother angrily calls your name,
don’t take these years for granted, make sure you can look back misty-eyed on ‘em,
learn to count your blessings, in the end you’re one of the lucky ones.

There you have it, Kid, keep your head up and smile,
you’re doing just fine, for now appreciate the joys of being a child,
get yourself cleaned up, Pops will be home soon,
the sun’s going down to make way for the night moon,
enjoy dinner with the family, cherish moments such as these,
bonds forged with the right people and memories will never die, extending beyond even the sands of time.

Another morning walk, great way to start the weekend,
the masses still asleep, chaos hasn’t started yet,
the air still crisp with the smell of morning dew,
no cars passing through, I can still breathe without the urge to puke,
the sun’s come up but the morning chill persisted,
made sure to bundle up, to hell with feeling sick and bedridden,
alone with my thoughts, listening to a tune by TQ,
reviewing the week that was, now in my rear-view,
a few odd niggles perhaps, but who the heck is counting?
No point getting hung up on what won’t matter in the long run,
life wasn’t meant to be spent stuck in quicksand.

Drifted away from the park, passed by my old school,
where days were spent studying and acting the fool,
ain’t much has changed, save for a new building or two,
new trees also planted, that place still looking good,
the shopping area lay not too far ahead, down the road, after a row of homes, where the old train station served as a dead end.
The shops remain closed, their owners still laid up in bed,
felt like I’d stumbled upon a ghost town or post-apocalyptic scene, like a plague had wiped the city clean,
Had me cringing, thinking of some Black Death shit,
sure was hella nasty, some of those chapters in early human history,
took a walk through some narrow lanes, the side of buildings tattooed by street art,
decided to pass through and got a taste of the sucky part,
disappointingly the paths remain littered and neglected,
leading to the back of buildings and parking lots, equally derelict and deserted.

Passed by a store, foreign-owned and sporting a typo on the window,
neighboring a vacant lot, finally leased and ready to rock,
soon I’m staring at the station, fenced away from the road,
an old building stands across, now a pub, said to be over one hundred years old,
the station’s facade remains the same since childhood days, though not for much longer,
construction work had started, a facelift if you will, that sure is a downer,
I see a few joggers now, a group of cyclists and some cars now making an appearance,
store owners now also gracing the scene with their presence,
the day has begun, time sure did fly,
ghost town no more, this place has come to life,
headed back north towards the car, parked in front of the home I once lived,
it’s still in good nick, a preserved relic, I wonder who now owns it?
Time to call it a morning, that’s enough for today,
enjoy your day, folks, I’ll be back next Saturday.