The old run down gold Jaguar 

I wonder though, when did it all change?

Did it all happen in front of my eyes but as the saying goes, I was so blinded ?

Upon silent reflection - a painful reflection, I now see how things began to change far before I could put it all together. To me it was a sudden storm, where everything fell apart. Skin shedding so much blood that they became tears. Dark waves of harsh water crashing far beyond the shore, destroying everything. Left with nothing but the reminiscence of sea foam desperately coupling onto anything that stuck out the sand.

After the storm, the result was a somber darkness that sat as an overlay to the sky - it stayed that way for a very long time. Storms pass, but for the sun to shine the rain must fall - a fateful cycle.

Of course there was no physical damage. But when all fell down, it was bricks atop of a lifeless  body. A lifeless body filled with blue, and expected to carry on with her daily life. She blamed herself for a long time. She wasn’t good enough she thought. He was perfect, she thought.

He began to drink heavier, smoked more often - constantly seeking a high. Was it the feeling of nothingness that he was after? Could he even face himself in the mirror? Or was he proud. No one would ever truly know, doubtfully even himself.

He must be so much happier living life with fancy cars and distractions from reality, she thought.

Ironically, he didn’t even have a job. He spent the small amount of money he had on distracting himself from reality.

Fast cars.

Always a dirty cigarette in one hand, the cloud of smoke holding him back from any signs of self reflection and seemingly zero longing for personal improvement. It was the world around him that was punishing him he would say. It wasn’t his fault, it was the worlds fault.

And she was stuck underneath it.

She was replaced by a faster car that was in a completely different league. All the quick hits were like a flashy Ferrari that everyone would stare at on the streets. But she was the old gold Jaguar with a poor paint job and a few bumps on the side. She had no chance competing with a car like that, she’d never keep up.

She was the sleeper.

[For what she didn’t see was that she was beautiful in her own way; reliable, strong, and although not as flashy, would be adored by the right people. And she was powerful too, a mighty engine for a girl that size. She had drive and ambition, no one could stop her from going for what she wanted. And she would earn it all fair and square. The old Jaguar may not have appeared a first place winner, but it was a jack of all trades. ]

The old golden Jaguar didn’t know it’s worth, only watching the flashy cars zoom past in glory. She was envious of the attention the boy gave to the Lamborghinis, the Ferraris, the Porsche, the Bugatti. Those cars were simply a distraction for him, they were a facade for what happiness was meant to be. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t look at the old golden Jaguar the same way she did. 

She tried to pull away and remove herself from it all, but the heaviness of it all sat so deep in her heart. She felt so trapped. Longing for it all to just go away, but stuck in a loop. What was it, why couldn’t she just move on? She didn’t understand. He could mask all his pain by constantly looking for the next quick fix to make him feel better - alcohol, drugs, sex, even new women now.

Fast cars.

He wasn’t the type to get too many ladies, so when did he did it was sometimes surprising to him. And eventually he did get the ladies, and the old golden jaguar had to sit from a distance in the dark, bearing the pain of having to watch it all. Watching him pool attention to all the new fast cars flying past. I guess they were prettier, or kinder, or smarter, the old jag thought. What could she do? How was it fair for her to have to see it all unfold? She was being replaced by another flashy car. She couldn’t explain it to anyone, no one understood the way she felt. She couldn’t say anything - she shouldn’t care! Move on they all said. What they meant was You can’t keep up with the fast cars. At the time it really hurt. A person cannot replace the rush of synthetic serotonin. They shouldn’t have to.

[But I also realised I don’t want to be a fast car, zooming through other peoples lives so quick you can’t notice or acknowledge anything happening around you. Not able to cherish or experience gratitude for the slower moments in life. I don’t want to swish past my life without feeling anything. Everyone might love the appearance of the Bentley, perhaps envious of the presumed lifestyle, but once you become a Bentley you likely wouldn’t notice the beautiful yet beat up old golden Jaguar parked down the street. You’d search for the “better” thing. Something faster, more attractive, younger, sexier. I don’t think it’s sustainable, the life chasing the fastest cars]

She felt like the grainy dirt underneath a forgotten car in a grimy car lot. The forgotten car that sat directly under the glaring sun, just ahead of the metal fence barricading the lot and the road. Timid grass dead from the summer heat mixed amongst the dirt she was trapped in. Perhaps that car was her own.

She tries to dig herself out but the dirt covers her back in. She wants to turn away, she doesn’t want to see the flashy car, but it follows her. Him with someone else. Him with something else. She felt like a silhouette in his life, once his little girl who he cherished and held in his thin arms. Now, a simple amusement and desirable body for sexual purposes, just adding to the list of what he needed to distract him from his real life. She felt seen as the exterior of a Chevrolet, but the interior of a dingy white Toyota Yaris edging just before its expiry. She wanted to be heard and seen, seen for the good person and hard worker she was, but she felt masked by the overwhelming pressure of it all. He had a hold on her, but there was nothing she could do to change him. He used to cuddle her hard and strong after having sex, now it was just another quick fix. Fast cars.

Whenever memories flooded her mind, she seethed in confusion and nostalgia wondering - When did it all go wrong? What happened to the boy I once knew. He had such a soft spot for her, he really loved her. She really loved him. She loved waking up next to him with the early sun shining through the transparent curtains, the light casting onto his fragile skin. She’d comb his dark hair through her fingers in silence, smiling at the way he held her stuffed childhood toys when he slept. So peaceful, she’d think. His arms lifeless across her body, his version of an affectionate omen of a distant hug and warmth.

The old gold Jag believed she was never to feel as special as she once did. Perhaps she was the fast car. But she was no longer the newest and fastest. It was truely heart wrenching, to see how naive the girl was, wanting to make him happy. She held onto any last reminisce of what was, aching to be cuddled and loved. But now it appeared he just wanted Fast cars & Quick fixes. He gawked at the attraction of all the other new cars, one not a sort of her own, and she couldn’t look away. It was a relentless cycle.

What she didn’t grasp was that other people noticed the timeless beauty of the old golden Jaguar. Sure, he didn’t, but others did. She’d push that all away, she didn’t want attention from them. It wouldn’t be until she realised the only true love she desired was her love for the old golden Jaguar - herself. That was what truely mattered.

She believed his fascination in fast cars all came into full force months after the events, though thinking back she sees the signs from over a year ago. The fast cars were the easy way out, no need for patience, hardship, working through things. Just keep driving fast, eyes ahead. [Always trust your instincts. Try your best not to let things blind you. It’s almost impossible not too, but you have to try your best, because 9 times out of 10 you are the one that ends up trapped underneath the bricks, blue and lifeless. You become purple and begin to move around your world as body without a soul. You sometimes turn red, angry at everything wondering why this all happens to you.]

This all being said, I can’t say how long it’ll be until you return to normal. When she finds herself again, I’ll return to normal.

Trapped. Lonely. Misunderstood.

Misunderstood. That’s all it was, she just wanted someone to understand. She wanted to rid of it all, she wanted to lift the dead weight off of her and throw it into a gigantic dam or body of ocean to never rid her life again. She was looking for an answer. Perhaps the answer was simply to disappear.

Not disappear she thought, more she wanted to shed her skin like a turtle or caterpillar, shedding painful emotions and hardship and confusion and madness for months until she revealed a stronger shell.

She didn’t want to be blue, or purple, or red. She wanted to shine inside and out, an opaque yellow gold - metallic and strong. Round headlights beaming soft light and a nostalgic leather interior with CD’s spilling out the insides of the front two doors.

[For the one to overlook the old golden Jaguar, or even just mistake its timelessness for over-run and boring. For they are to be the one who end up utterly run down and exhausted, unable to keep up with the high life forever. For the low rider to continue working hard and facing occasional breakdowns and mishaps, for they are to last on the road far longer. They may require more maintenance and check ups though, for that not to be mistaken. Care must be given to these old cars, as they are delicate, sensitive, and require a little more attention - though all in all they will always shine the brightest in the lovers eyes.]

As she drove off one morning playing an Alanis Morisette CD, she stared into her rear view mirror and saw herself - the old golden Jaguar, sparkling in the early sun.

The dead skin had been shed, and her crackled old yellow gold paint job sat like a beautiful battle scar on the left side of her car. She smiled when she looked at her scar, a reminder of her strength and inner beauty. A scar unlike no one else, the old gold Jaguar was special inside and out.

And all that mattered was that she knew.

The storm (i. waves and foam)

Upon silent reflection - a painful reflection, I now see how things began to change far before I could put it all together. To me it was a sudden storm, where everything fell apart. Skin shedding so much blood that they became tears. Dark waves of harsh water crashing far beyond the shore, destroying everything. Left with nothing but the reminiscence of sea foam hugging anything that stuck out the ground. The waves deemed the sea foam no longer useful, and with pity unloaded it without direction, for it to be sprawled in confused particles. It’s ok, the waves thought - it’ll dissipate into the sand eventually. It’s ok, the waves thought - we can continue to shed the foam forever, I’ll grow stronger and be happier. Maybe the foam will too.

The waves always thought they’d feel better when they removed the foam, it was dead weight that made their life harder. It was more effort to upkeep, having to consider the crash without hurting the tips of the wave before it falls into millions of white wash droplets. But there was no way for the white wash not to eventually dissolve. The waves wanted both, the waves wanted it all. They wanted the cushion and comfort and love of the foam, but they wanted the independence and freedom of the strong waves in the ocean, forming and crashing over and over. As the storm formed the waves grew stronger and darker, and the foam was no longer needed.

The foam was delicately placed onto the sand. Despite its decision, the wave still had deep sadness in leaving the foam behind. The waves would miss the foam, and still had love for the foam - though it wasn’t enough. The foam clutched on the waves with all its might and force, all the love and care in the world. But it could never stand a chance against the mighty strength of the waves.

The day the foam dissolved, the day the girl lost something. Something in her drowned, and for many months she tried to come up for air. She believed the only way she could go back was to jump right back into the ocean and become the wave.

But the wave had changed. It only wanted her as foam, for the waves own selfish pleasures. Greedy confused and misaligned, the wave wrecked more havoc in her life. Every time she returned, it was the same.

She continued crashing and grasping for air, she didn’t drown though, she was becoming stronger. And exhausted.

It took the foam a long while before she realised it was far smarter to watch the waves crash from the shore. And when she did, the part of her that drowned eventually came back to life. A silent yellow gold glow in her heart that eventually was swept into a new wave, a compassionate, loving, equal, and safe wave that enveloped her. This time it was different. It wasn’t a person no. It was all the foam that was washed out over years, all coming together as one.

The girl realised those who were once the wave eventually became foam too. In the end we were all the same, just taking different paths. Everyone has to be the foam at a stage in order to grow, dissipate into the sand and reflesh as a stronger weave throughout the eternal turmoil of life and the cycle of the ocean.