2. India like…

So why the fuck am I goin’ to India of all places? Why not Australia or fuckin’ Benidorm for two weeks like a normal person? Well the truth is ma man, I’m not happy. Haven’t been for a long time. I like to reflect on things a fair bit and I can’t remember the last time I could look at my life and say I was happy. Like actually happy, you know? I’ve been happy about certain things; Selic winning the league, getting Ian Brown tickets, discount need-to-get-sold-or-I’m-gettin’- ma-legs-broke coke, and some other shit as well but that’s about it. I can’t honestly say that I could look at my life, taking every single detail into consideration, and say that I was happy with the majority of them.

So let’s take a good look at the current state of ma life:

No relationship, no job, no job prospects, a growing drug and alcohol dependency, boredom, a searing contempt towards my “friends” and a fuckin’ mother on ma back at me to stop squandering ma youth. She’s the worst though. Givin’ it all that, “If ah hud the chance tae dae it all again son…” and “You’ve that many opportunities these days son”, as if I’m not fully aware how shite my life currently is, let alone how shite it could well become. I mean, it could be a lot worse obviously. I’m not a starving orphan in an Oxfam advert or a fly in a spider’s web or something. But given the fact that I’m young, white, educated, comparatively affluent and can speak English (well, Scottish but I see no point in being pedantic when I’m giving myself a hard time), my life is a shameful waste of resources.

Now let’s be clear here my dear, India is not the solution. I am fully aware of this. It’s not like there’s a job or future waiting there for me and it’s not like I’m headin there to ‘find maself’ or any of that balls. I just need a bit of time to work some shite out. I know that I can’t get that in Glasgow. I know that coming to that conclusion doesn’t directly point to India, but I reckon I can go there on the cheap, see some shit and get ma head straight. That’s the plan anyway, although I did hear that Ketamine’s legal there.  Might have shot myself in the foot there boys! Basically, I need to iron out the creases and try to work out what I really want from this life before it’s too late and I end up like every other cunt. Watchin’ the X-Factor in ma council house, kids at my neck, wife on ma case about the clogged sink, clock watchin’ all the way to the cemetery gates. Nah mate, FUCK that.

I’m very much of the “Made in China” generation. A 21st Century Boy. I like my kicks to be low in their cost and plentiful in their abundance, regardless of the suffering involved.  I care not for quality and have little patience to let it come to be. I’d rather have a hundred pairs of crappy sunglasses that warp and skew my vision than one fantastic pair which let me see life the way it ought to be seen. I am the 21st Century Boy. I can be a selfish, cowardly wee shite, who’s completely jaded by cheap thrills and instant gratification. It’s the way I’ve been brought up, though done little to change. But India shows promise in giving me a look at the other side of the coin. Cunts have been telling me how pure filthy it is over there, that the poverty is horrific and that I should have chosen Thailand instead.  But this is it right, I need to find out the real price paid for my standard of living. How much does it cost other people to put a Celtic shirt on my back, Levis on my legs and hash in my lungs? That’s how I look at it. I owe poor people enough to at least go and acknowledge how much they’ve contributed to ma lifestyle. You can’t just be ignorant about that shite. Everyone should know what it takes to make Britain and America and these places run the way they do. But I suppose if everyone knew, they probably wouldn’t run the way they do.

As well as having major bouts of white guilt, I’m also fucking bored. I’m sick and tired of every single one of ma stories starting in a sordid little Glasgow pub and ending at the edge of some random lassie’s bed with my head in my hands, only partially regretting the journey there. The same experience reoccurs week in week out. The only variable is the quality of substances I seem to pour so much hope and expectation into.

My life is like watching Romeo and Juliet performed by a different theatre group every weekend. Sometimes it’s better than others, but it’s always pretty much the same.  You’re enjoying it for the first wee while, the plot’s new and interesting enough to keep you entertained, but after you know the outcome and are familiar with the path towards it, it becomes boring and predictable. The actors are the drugs. Sometimes they can make each line count and truly add something special to the performance, other times they can be so bad that they ruin the whole thing. Once the plot has become so meaningless and the tragic outcome an accepted inevitability, you put your faith in the only variable; the actors/drugs.  If they are good at what they do, you’re prepared to sit through the predictable story until its grim and morbid conclusion. Which, in the case of our darlings Romeo and Juliet, it comes with accidental suicide in the name of love. In my case, it comes with staring blankly into a mirror on a Sunday night, contemplating suicide as a result of my quest for vacuous, transparent love. It’s basically the same thing but I would argue that my case is more heartbreaking than theirs. They actually got to die, whereas I don’t have the balls to put an end to the torment of floundering potential and drowning ambition that exists in me every single fuckin’ day.

So there’s part of your answer. A bit extreme towards the end, but that’s the reality of it. I’m very, very bored. I need to do something interesting and worthwhile with my youth, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. You see, I don’t want to go like my old man went towards the end. Get to forty-five and realize that my youth’s gone, so I grow a goatee, buy a leather jacket and try to shag all the single mums in town. Actually, fuck forty-five, look at my cousin Sandy. A fat, thirty-two year old cokehead bedroom DJ, who wears clothes intended for someone half his age and tries to ride birds who also fall into that category. Every time I look at him a little part of me shudders. Like actually shudders, because I can see maself in him. Sometimes I catch my reflection on a CD case or a mirror as I snort something and see his beady eyes staring back at me. Shooting warnings signs through the air at me. I genuinely worry about becoming like him or ma dad. Is that bad? Not wantin’ tae be anything like your family? That’s fuckin’ bad in’t it? Christ, I don’t even know anymore. But I guess knowing what you don’t want to become is a good start towards working out who you do want to become.

In almost every single way possible it’s a good idea for me to get the fuck out for a while. But there is one big thing pulling me back to shore. Her. Fuckin’ her man. Of all the things I thought might hold me back, I would have never guessed a lassie had the strength. After all of the women I’ve been with in my time, it would be my luck to finally meet one I like just before I’m leaving for while. This could have happened to me two years ago and changed my life. Who knows, it could have stopped me from flying four-thousand miles around the world in search of happiness. But sometimes that’s the way of things. Right place, wrong time.

The more I hang out with her the more I like her, like. It’s no just the mind-blowin’ sex, although that cannot be ruled out as a contributing factor, it’s her. Just the way she is and that.  After that first awkward morning we both kind of saw the drawbacks of our primitive instincts tae fuck things. It was healed by a bit of tender text messaging and a bit of Facebook chat back and forth. The following weekend we went out for drinks again, and when faced with the hump or home decision, I surprised both of us by opting for home. It was weird, it was like with that one choice I had suddenly become more attractive to her. I was like Hugh Grant dipped in Tia Maria at a granny’s birthday party. Hot stuff like. She’d always done it for me in that area, but it was nice to know that the feeling was reciprocated. We started textin’ more frequently, gettin’ together at least a couple of times a week and really enjoying one another’s company.

But this wasn’t what I wanted.

I’m about to say “Cheerio!” to this city, country and continent in a matter of weeks and I intended to make it a clean break. British Army style, no man left behind, you know. But I don’t know, I guess the lure of chasing love, something I can surely say that I’ve never felt before, was too strong to keep my plan on the rails. I don’t think I love her, but how can you really be sure at this early stage, particularly if this month long fling thing happens to be the longest relationship you’ve ever had.  I mean, I think about her a lot, I’m always happy to see her and I when I’m with her my bullshit filter is completely redundant. I just speak my mind and spout whatever shite I happen to be thinking about. I’ve never been like that with a bird. I’m usually too busy trying to think of things that’ll impress her and make her knickers hit her ankles. That’s the way I am. Or was. I dunno, but it’s nice, being able to feel comfortable enough around someone that you can completely be yourself. ‘Cause I can’t even say what I really think when I’m around my mates like. See I’m the youngest in our botched-together group of arseholes, so I kind of feel compelled tae watch my tongue and try not to come across like the wee guy. Particularly not the wee guy taggin’ about with his big cousin. Not a good look. But I haven’t had a connection like that with anyone since ma dad.

Obviously the thing with ma dad is playing a pretty big role in stressing me out and making me want to get away from this scene for a while. He died a while back you see. Two years ago. It’s been a slow road to recovery from that blow folks, let me tell you. I don’t feel like going into it now. It’s still a wee bit soon for me to try to articulate how I feel about it and judge how I’ve been taking it. I don’t talk about it you see. Rarely even write about it. It’s one of those things that feels far too big to tackle right now. It’s like gazing at the moon through the wrong end of a telescope. One day I’ll work it all out. Right now, I feel like I could almost write about the death of a family dog and its impact on my life. But the death of a parent, fuck that man. Too soon.

One day though brother, one day.

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31 thoughts on “2. India like…

  1. Estera says:

    I’m a little confused reading this entry and the the first one. also watched the vid on Youtube. nice one!
    don’t know what to say so I’ll just stop.
    P.S. Thnx!

  2. ... says:

    I thought you were free of facebook?

  3. jezusciesla says:

    Kid, I get here from Your video – nice thing. But things I read don’t match to picture of you which I had after watching it.

    Decide?

    • I’m not actually the character in any of these stories. This guy is like an amalgamation of the people I wanted to be growing up and who I’m glad I didn’t actually become. Bits and pieces of it are true to my life, but not necessarily my way of thinking. Dig? Thanks for reading by the way, I appreciate it 🙂

      • anukanuk says:

        i felt good when i read your reply..
        your thoughts are wondering and it is very familiar.. but anyway imagination feeds from the pieces of those character which live deeply inside of you. your mind has wings and i like the scope

    • BrF says:

      Dude! Seriously! You should have said this before!!!
      You need to put a notice in the beginning of this entry. Something like “Some parts of the story you are about the read are imaginary”. I felt so sorry for the guy! I’m not gonna say exactly for which parts of his life I felt this way, because I dunno which parts are real and which parts are of “an amalgamation of the people you wanted to be growing up” 🙂
      But keep it coming! I loved the way you write! Your descriptive narration is fascinating! Have you ever thought of writing a book about this guy? A novel maybe? I would buy it 😉

  4. Tove says:

    I have read everything on your blog now, and i just have to say i love the way you write, and as far as i can see, think.

    I found myself thinking that i could relate to what you where saying, and thought of different shit that is happening and has happened in my life that i would say to you if this last post was a conversation.
    But all of that is way to much for a comment, so i’ll just leave it for now. in my opinion thats what i want from a text, blog or short story.

    I am looking forward to reading more of what you write, and I will probably comment more, if your content keeps being worth commenting 🙂

    (Dont bother with the link to my blog, it’s in Swedish haha)

  5. whatup says:

    you suck, and your video about facebook sucked, and facebook sucks also

  6. Aisa says:

    Hi,

    I am sorry to hear about your dad, as much as this can mean to you from a girl you have never seen! I do hope you will be able to write about it someday, not so the whole wide blogosphere can read it, but for closure.
    I am personally still lucky to count my parents among the living, but my heart shudders at the thought of it becoming otherwise. I wouldn’t know how to live anymore.
    Anyhow, I really enjoyed reading this.
    All the best,

  7. Dan says:

    Amazing…
    i’ve just read everything, and i enjoyed all of it.
    Oh yeah, nice video aswell – you’ve helped me delete my facebook account! Lmao

  8. Munakre says:

    So i comment from very far away but i saw something in you. dunno what just i know that’s something… so i like it ; DD
    just stopping by. you can think i’m just a little girl that doesn’t know what to say ; D

  9. Justina says:

    Hi Ross (:
    It’s so sad, these words: No relationship, no job, no job prospects, a growing drug and alcohol dependency, boredom, a searing contempt towards my “friends” and a fuckin’ mother on ma back at me to stop squandering ma youth.
    But you know what? You can smile, because life just wanna your tear. And you don’t give it to life. You just smile.

    I found you as many people-from youtube. And you know, I don’t have now facebook. Thank you, you make me to compel get off facebook. Thanks, and I very proud of you, that you made this video. It’s for you:

    p.s I’m from Lithuania, sorry for bad English language.

  10. Maria says:

    Hey!

    Like your style of writing, its like fast and detailed.
    Dunno what to write but just that I want to write something. And why not taking her with you to India?
    And isint it typicall? Your planning a trip and have you reasons for going away and suddenly there she is!
    Its like a movie. God movie? I would see it.

    Whatever, keep on writing and Im reading. 🙂

  11. A N Other says:

    The lure of the DDs is clearly keeping you from leaving!

  12. Patricia says:

    Touching. Thank you. Keep writing! You have talent. 🙂

  13. miszczil says:

    Not wanting to be like family isn’t such a bad thing, I actually find it rather stimulating and also heard recently, that the Noble prize winner Czeslaw Milosz was during all his life accompanied by the picture of his father’s brother (real lame duck) – he even used to say, that it’s his uncle who he ows his achievements to.

    I’m quite keen on that kind of writing that you do, so I’ll probably take the liberty of following this blog (:

  14. isitt says:

    The FB video is great. Best of luck in India or wherever you land.

  15. In your video, you have one sign that says you have been clean for 5 months. Was that true?
    Glasgow, huh? Have you read any of Craig Fergusons books? “Great story”, as they say around the halls. He has been clean and sober for years.
    This story,(as “mixed” story/biography as it is.. hmm?) was an identifiable one for me. Boredom, drugs, narcissism, geographic cure, fathers death all at an age in which I could barely grapple with it all. I only progressed rapidly to some dark places I never thought could be. Then I got clean. Still am.
    My observance of life is far more appealing to read now, than my ego filled stories of pain and martyrdom when I was using. And I thought I was brilliant then…. At least now I know I’m a decent writer. Witty, dark humor, challenging and sometimes even suspenseful.
    I would love you know “your story”.

  16. i like lamp says:

    Hey. So I just came across your blog today. This probably doesn’t mean much to you, but I do hope your character finds some solace where ever he is. I left Pakistan for Glasgow in 2007 and here I am writing to you. It’s funny this thing; life.

  17. Sarah says:

    Seriously man, I love you.

  18. Sofie says:

    i found you through that nice video you shoot. and i was wondering: were you actually alone in the crowd, while shooting, or was there someone behind the camera?
    🙂
    anyway.
    it looked like you are somewhere in Asia, big city, english teacher, decent, smart, sensitive, experienced in psychedelic and psychoanalytic thinking, and it touched me

    knowing, that you are just going to become something like this, trying to escape Glasgow..i wish you good journey.

    and if you happen to stop in Prague sometime, i`d like to have a beer with you 🙂

  19. nabokov says:

    I’ve just watced your video. It reminded me Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues. It is really impressive.

    Anyway, I invite you to Istanbul to share our boredom if you are really bored. I graduated from university yesterday (really) and I have time for a guest to get bored with. Seriously! I think you can find here whatever you are looking for, a wide income gap in a multicultural, multiethnic and multireligious city of 15 million people in a peripheral country where you will be guided by a young and beautiful woman.

    and this is for you:

  20. Em says:

    I don’t really like commenting on these, but god damn you hit the nail on the head. It’s that stuck feeling that you get when you’ve got a routine established and then it just smothers you. It’s suffocating and you get antsy and manic and slightly depressed and shit that made you happy just doesn’t do it anymore. Some shit still works, but most of it doesn’t, and you can laugh but not like you used to. It just isn’t there anymore, like something went missing. At some point you realize that what ever the fuck is going on has changed you and you aren’t really sure who you want to be. Part of you wants to find the same things fun again, but the other part craves the change and you can’t say no to that fucking part of yourself. And you need to leave, get out of whatever city you’re in and start over for a little while; meet new people and get new memories and shit. That’s what you need and nothing else can satisfy that need.
    I’m stuck there right now, but I’m locked in for another 5 months and god knows how long after that. I read this and was like, motherfuck, this is it. And I should probably go back and read whatever the hell I wrote but I’m way too lazy and some of the crazy might get deleted. ‘Tell Alls’ aren’t really my thing. Obviously. I’m gonna stop before shit gets more awkward than it already is. But hey, thanks for making it eloquent.

  21. Tara says:

    aah man you should definitely write a book.
    in every one of your posts part of me connects to it in some way, and after reading some of them i get quite freaked out when i realize how alike i am to the characters. you’ve put my thoughts into words very nicely

  22. Liz Balfour says:

    Great FB video and talented writing. You are one of life’s creators. I think the reason you feel like shit is because our culture is shit. I had my head turned around by a book called “The Story of B” by Daniel Quinn a few years ago and it was seriously life changing – now into permaculture and planning to go live up a tree in Wales. I’m also an English teacher originally from Glasgow, but I’m 54 years old and I have wasted decades on crap that doesn’t matter. Don’t put up with it. Be the change. Best of luck for your future. (And write that book!) Liz x

  23. Tesia says:

    I hope someday you publish a book.
    Brilliant writing.

  24. Laura says:

    I just realized there was more than 2 posts in your blog! Anyway, the last paragraph particularly resonated with me as I lost my dad two years ago as well. I escaped from California to New York to try and make things better and “find myself” but I just brought all my shit with me. It was almost worse. It doesn’t matter if it’s been 2 years, 3 years, fuck, 5 years, nothing can compare to the death of a parent, and it stays with you forever. No one can understand unless they have been through it, which they hopefully will not have to until they are all at a ripe old age. I hope you did go to India, but I suppose I have to keep reading now, don’t I?

    • I’m really sorry to hear about your dad. I lost mine when I was ten. It’s a really hard thing to overcome, perhaps I was lucky in some way that it happened when I was so young. But I think changing your surroundings is a perfectly healthy thing to do if you feel ready for it, but like anything that takes a bit of bravery, it’s going to be hard sometimes.

      I hope that you’re getting on well and that you enjoy London when you get there! It’s a great town. But make sure you get up to Scotland. I’m from a place called Ballachulish up in the Highlands. An odd wee village with about 300 people. You should go! And Glasgow, you must go to Glasgow.

      Anyway, hope to see you back here again soon!

      x

  25. Elizabeth says:

    i was particularly affected by the bit about not wanting to be like your family and the almost hopelessness felt when you realize the flaws you share are theirs.

  26. cera22sela says:

    I actually cried when I read the last part….in my case my mom died last year,I don’t talk ’bout this very much, I lost all my feelings whit her, are buried deep In the ground whit her, …somehow I don’t realize what happened, she was taken too quickly… and I’m scared of what will happened to me when I’ll realize, when she should be there

    “It’s still a wee bit soon for me to try to articulate how I feel about it and judge how I’ve been taking it. I don’t talk about it you see. Rarely even write about it. It’s one of those things that feels far too big to tackle right now. It’s like gazing at the moon through the wrong end of a telescope. One day I’ll work it all out. Right now, I feel like I could almost write about the death of a family dog and its impact on my life. But the death of a parent, fuck that man. Too soon.” when I read this it was like you took every bit of my thoughts and put them down
    I feel empty

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