Grow new life

The plant in the living room is dead. The leaves look sad and depressed, they’re hanging their heads, they’re giving up. I cut off some of the dead leaves so more energy could flow to the ones that were still alive, somehow that explanation made sense, but to no avail. I tried watering it, but now I’ve drowned the plant. A few baby-leaves have started to grow from the base of the pot so not all hope is lost. However most leaves are dead or very close to the end and I have to witness this living organism fighting for his life in the corner of the living room. Who thought I’d ever care about something as trivial as a plant? A plant used to be a waste of space. Now I consider it a roommate.


I’m getting older, and I’m changing. 

The other day I wanted to buy a new car and found myself looking at SUV’s. My friend asked me ‘why an SUV?’ and I heard myself answer that it was easier to get into. My friend delicately said it was an interesting answer for an athlete.


I’m getting older, and I’m changing.


A couple of Fridays ago my friends came over to have dinner and seriously tear up the town after. I’d gone to the best butcher in the neighborhood and bought the most expensive piece of meat I could get my hands on. Later that night we never made it into town. We just sat there with our bellies full of tournedos drinking wine and gin & tonics and other things we could mix. Not so long ago I remember feeling appalled when people told me they enjoyed dinner parties at home and didn’t go out to nightclubs anymore. I would scroll through contacts and hit delete.


The one time in recent months I did make it out to a nightclub I ended up flirting with a girl on the dancefloor who definitely seemed interested. When she asked me how old I was I told her how old I was and that was it. She laughed and said, quite literally: ‘Sorry, but I’m not going to do that,’ and walked away rolling her eyes as if I had wasted her valuable time. I tried to turn the situation into some kind of joke and not take the whole thing to heart but I stood there awkwardly with my gin & tonic bopping my head to a hip-hop tune I didn’t know and knew very well it was a dark day in party-history.


My hair is diminishing at the temples, I believe they call it. I tried buying pills of which the pharmacist said ‘this is a beautiful product’ but they obviously don’t do anything for a receding hairline. I pointed out several grey hairs to the hairdresser and suggested we’d color the whole thing. ‘Elvis used to color his, right?’ I tried to smooth over the embarrassment of the question. ‘To be honest, dude…’ he said, ‘it’s really bad for your hair. I don’t suggest you do it.’ When I asked him what other options were available, he replied: ‘Wear your grey hair with pride.’

- ‘Fuck you, man.’


Last Saturday mum and I went to the market. We went there to run an errand, a simple errand which proved not so simple, and when we couldn’t find what we were looking for I ended up buying an old-fashioned secondhand reading chair. Not much later I was making my way through the market stalls back to the parking lot with a massive chair on my shoulder, mum giving directions so I wouldn’t crash into things. By the time we got to the car the chair had lost several relevant looking pieces and fallen apart.


Now I find myself sitting next to the fireplace writing this piece. The chair creaks and squeaks when I move so I try to sit still when I type. My roommate in the corner is trying to grow new life.