Looking back, looking forward, living now

Seeing as I've been updating my PhD blog a lot recently, I took a look at this one the other day and was incredibly saddened by what I had written. I can't believe for so many years, I was in a really bad place. Whether it was quarter-life crisising or something more sinister, I really don't know. Another thing that cheered me, though, was actually the humour that was still there despite everything.

I turn 30 in three months' time and I have to say I have such incredible perspective and I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. Or perhaps that is an over-statement, but I certainly can recognise things for what they are. I think – at this stage in life – you can really see the true beauty and sadness of your younger years. I think about being 17 with Kat Fiction and driving around and having the time of our lives. We drank... A lot. And we also dreamed a lot. And to think back on the times, even the crazy arguments and conflicts, makes me smile now. We were having the time of our lives, but we didn't recognise it. And now I think of me in my early 20s, so desperate to achieve and be someone. So desperate to be famous... I wish I could go back to him and say, "Allan, relax... And take more drugs."

Hahaha... I only add the last bit because I was actually so uptight and so scared of losing control, and it was the time of my life where I could afford to lose control the most. I worried about silly things like looking cool, or whether other people would think I was a slut for sleeping with too many people, or whether I looked stupid when I was drunk. Now I think, "Who really cares?" I didn't appreciate the true power of my youth and beauty, but what makes it so beautiful is that exact thing. However, I wish I'd listened to myself and not the people who I felt were cool. Discriminating what is cool and what isn't is merely a way of covering up one's own insecurities and projecting them on to other people.

I think I feel the best about myself than I ever have. I know myself well and I know how to enjoy myself. I don't judge the man in the mirror – I accept that he is a positive, confident guy who likes to laugh the loudest and wear the most ostentatious shirt in the room. I never ask what's wrong with me – I am actually okay. I now recognise that the way people react to me is not to do with me – it's totally to do with them.

One of the most monumental changes that has really helped me was a complete change in lifestyle. There was luck involved - for which I am extremely grateful. I was offered the chance to do my PhD, including fee waiver and small bursary at Falmouth University. Achieving a doctorate has been one of my life's dreams, but I always thought it would be when I was 40 or 50 and saved up enough money to do it, but I had been trying since 2008 to get funding. It took 4 years and I ended up being supervised by a completely different department than the one I thought I would be (photography rather than performance), but in doing so, it has challenged my limits and let me learn a new skill. And what's more is that I'm progressing well: I have thought to myself that I have always been able to write, but I could never paint or draw. Perhaps photography has provided a medium through which I can express myself visually without having to rely on paints or pencils.

I also landed a part-time job at Immediate Media – the new company that has just purchased all the BBC titles – as Creative Solutions Editor. I work 3 days a week and make a liveable, but not extravagant, wage. I work with such a great team of people it makes it so much more bearable. I genuinely like coming to work and for the first time in my life I know I'm doing a good job without having to be told. And what's more is I feel like it's working for me, rather than me working.

People ask me how I am flippantly in conversation and some days I just want to say, "Amazing. I'm great. I don't think I could ask for anything more." But I usually respond with, "Good – everything's really good right now" and I try not to follow it up with too much more decoration, for fear of sounding smug or like I'm rubbing it in. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm 'on track', and there's no aspect of my life that I would change or substitute.

I could say that I wish my social life was better, but actually it feels like I am more accepting of the transient nature of friendships and I know that I will always make friends. I am not evil at heart and people find me positive and sociable – that's all you need to get by. I could say I wish my love life was better, but I really don't. Typically, I sacrificed a lot to work hard to get to this point, but I have always been an 'all or nothing' kind of guy – either I love you or I don't, and I can't really settle for anything in between. I'd rather wait for the one I love than love the one I'm with.

In the Mary Poppins novel (this is not in the film), at one point the children ask her, "What do you wish for Mary Poppins?"

And she replies, "I never wish for anything, children. I'm perfectly content with everything just the way it is."

What a wise woman she was.

Dreaming of you

I had a dream about you last night. In the dream we had met, and you had aged just in the way that I had imagined. You had grown your blonde hair into a floppy mid-length style and you looked at me as though you were trying to look through me.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” you replied coldly before walking on.

But I decided I couldn’t let you pass by. I decided to fly over to you. I levitated – I cannot explain why because I cannot explain the physics of dreams. And I felt a great sense of sadness. I pleaded with you to stay and to talk things out. I wanted to say that I was sorry – sorry for all the horrible things I had done. I wanted us to kiss. I wanted us to make amends.

At first you just looked at me and walked away, but then later – as if by magic – you reappeared. You told me that I better be serious and you cried. Then we kissed and I knew that it was the kiss that would bring us back together, because on some subconscious level – although I never told you, although I always denied it and told you it wasn’t so and even if you asked me today I would still refute it – I still love you.

And then I told you that I loved you and that we should make a go of it again.

When I woke up, I remembered that I had already told you I was sorry in a café last year.

We had bumped into each other by accident. You tried to ignore me, but I stopped you in the street. I asked you if we could talk. I bought you a ginger beer and, while I sipped my coffee, I stuttered over an apology; tried to gloss over all those feelings I had concealed. How I punished myself for breaking your heart, how I should have been more careful with your feelings, how I had blamed myself all these years for the pain I had caused.

And you simply said, “To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it that much.”

And – although I could finally stop blaming myself for everything – we parted awkwardly and unfulfilled. I told you if you ever needed me, you could just call me and I gave you my card.

As I walked away, I remembered that you knew those details and if you had really wanted to call, you would have done already. Then we both tried to forget that we knew each other at our best, at our worst, at our most vulnerable. All those words we shared have faded into oblivion and been glossed over by time. You’ve probably forgotten the strength, loyalty and companionship that existed between us.

But I haven’t.

There was a day nearly six years ago now when we rolled over in bed, naked and laughing after a passionate embrace and you said, “Do you think one day they’ll make a film about us?”

And we looked at each other, smiled and then burst into fits of laughter once more.

A postcard to my younger self

I thought I'd share this beautiful song, which sounds like something I wish I'd written from this point in time to a younger Allan

Father's first words

Dear Allan,

Thank you for your letter I have been on holiday and I only read it this morning.I have sent a reply through the post which you should get it in the next few days. Please read it and then we can go from there.You now have my e mail address

Pete

A letter to my biological father

Dear Peter,

This is going to be as much of a hard letter for you to read as it is for me to write. If you hadn’t already guessed by the name, it’s me – Allan. I’m your son and you are my biological father.

If you had asked me a few months ago whether I wanted to get in touch with you or not, I would have said, “No. I’m not interested in someone who has never been interested in my life.” In fact, if I’m honest with you, I’d go to the point of saying I was angry. The thought had never really played on my mind like it does with other people I seemed to see on TV or hear on the radio about how much they wanted to find their father – like they felt they were missing a part of themselves. I don’t feel that way at all. I’m an adult now and I could sit around wondering what life would had been like if you’d stuck around or I could get on with it. I chose the latter.

What changed my mind and why now? Okay, it sounds stupid but recently I was listening to a song by a country singer called Mary Gauthier. The song is called “March 11, 1962”. It’s the true story of a phone conversation she had with her birth mother who abandoned her at an orphanage and when she was 40, she decided to track her down. She called her. Her mother still didn’t want to know her because she was so ashamed of what she did, but Mary finishes the song by saying, “I guess I just had to thank you once before this short life goes by.”

And those words have been ticking in my head ever since. After I listened to that song, I burst into tears. It touched on a nerve that I didn’t know I’d been concealing all this time. I didn’t realise that there was any pain, curiosity or heartache in me about this issue and it turns out there was. I think I just repressed it all this time because there was no other choice for me. I didn’t allow myself to think about your existence because of how much more complicated it would have made life for mum, for my sister, for the person my mum married who I know as ‘dad’ – the new family we had built together. In many ways it still does, so you have to appreciate how much courage it took to post this letter.

I have to say this is one of the hardest things I’ve done. I spoke to mum about it and she didn’t seem to understand how difficult it was for me, but she told me to do whatever I had to do. I think it was something I had to do by myself as a grown man in order to put the past to rest and all those secrets and dark shadows over my life. I’m sure you have them too – I imagine you might have a new partner and you could have told them about your children that you don’t even know. I have no idea how that feels for you, or how you even feel about the subject. Perhaps you’ve kept the information to yourself to make life easier. Perhaps I even have half brothers and sisters I don’t know about. Whatever the case, I want to assure you that I don’t want anything from you and I have no expectations of what kind of relationship we will have.

I don’t even know if you know what it’s like growing up without your biological father – I can only tell you what I have experienced. From my perspective, I have very little idea about who you are or what you were like. Mum was very honest with me – she told me that the dad I had been living with was not my real dad when I was 5 years old. It was after a friend’s birthday party. I don’t think I really understood what she meant at the time but as I got older, it sunk in. Whenever I asked questions about you, the answers I would get in reply were very vague. “Do I look like him?” “No, not really.” “Where is he now?” “Oh, I don’t know – driving taxis and still living.” Mum only told me teeny bits of information from which I have a sketchy picture. I know you have a twin brother and a sister too… Mum also said you had a really creative, musical and intelligent family. Am I right in thinking your mum was a piano teacher? Perhaps I made that up…

Part of my anger stemmed from the fact that you weren’t there throughout my childhood, or even tried to have a minimal level of presence. No birthday cards, no calls, no help when I was down or at my worst… I turn 28 this month and to date there has been nothing. But now I understand that there is also awkwardness there: when something is left for such a long time, it’s more scary thinking about what would happen if you do do it rather than the consequences of what you will happen if you don’t. It becomes very easy ‘not to’ bother and then it just eventually fades away over time. As an adult, I can now say that whether you were scared of confronting the issue or whether you genuinely didn’t care, it doesn’t matter to me. The fact is that we have an unquestionable genetic link and to keep on going through life denying that you don’t exist to me is foolish. One thing I have never been is a coward and I think it’s finally time to confront an issue that has hung over me – as much as I have tried to pretend it didn’t exist for so long.

I want to say from the off that I’m not looking for a ‘sorry’ or to place blame on anyone. I’m not looking for any ‘answers’ from you or discuss what happened in the past. The past has passed now: neither you nor I can change what happened, so there’s no point in us trying to even broach that or talk about ifs and buts. Whatever happened between you and mum is none of my business and I’m sure you both had your reasons. Whatever happened after then is also your business. I can imagine having two kids at 21 was a really tough deal. I’m 28 years old now and I’m still not ready to settle down. Both you and mum were young – I do understand that. These things happen in relationships and I hope you don’t begrudge mum either. It has been such a long time that whatever happened, I’m sure it’s water under the bridge now. I’d look forward to meeting anyone you had built your life with and hope that they would embrace me equally too.

I am also not looking for any father replacement either. I have a dad who is the guy who brought me up and he can’t be replaced. It would be nice if we could develop some kind of friendship, though. I’m not expecting a gushing emotional reunion – I’m just looking to stop denying a part of my past that’s so fundamental to how I came to exist on this planet. I don’t even know if we’ll have a bond – we could be worlds apart. I think the most important thing is to banish all the cobwebs from the closet and… Who knows? Maybe we’ll learn to be friends or maybe we’ll decide to both walk away from it. Either way, the closure on this issue will be there.

I have no idea what your feelings are – perhaps you’d rather not know and you’d like to forget the whole thing, which I would totally understand. I have no judgements or expectations of you at all. But it would be a shame if when I’m 50, 60 and then you could be gone, we would never have known each other, never even spoke not even once. Even if we didn’t speak, what about your mother – my paternal grandmother? How would she feel? And then there’s the regret factor; that if it doesn’t happen – if one of us doesn’t have the courage to break the silence – we might both miss our chance. I didn’t think it would be me who would do it, though. I always wondered what I would do if you turned up unexpectedly or called me, as you have probably wondered 1000 times what it might be like to get a letter like this. Well, now you know. How does it feel?

I want you to know that I grew up to be a very wise, intelligent, creative and diplomatic man. I’ve lived in London for the past decade. I first moved down here when I was 18 to study my BA in Drama with a Psychology Minor and I graduated with a 2:1, and two years ago I graduated with merits in my Master of Arts degree in Contemporary Performance. For full time paid work, I’m a journalist and I write for a local magazine, though it’s always been my aspiration to be a musician/ performance artist/ playwright/ best-selling author/ [insert other ‘head in the clouds profession’ here]. I do perform across the UK a bit, mainly self-made theatre pieces.

You should also know that I’m gay. However you take that news, it’s just to avoid all the awkward conversations about marriage, kids, etc… There won’t be a white wedding (which even Mum has difficulties with). I hope you can accept this – I know learning all these things about someone you last saw as a baby is a lot to take in. But I’m not your stereotypical gay guy: I love indie and electro music (Bowie, Depeche Mode, Kate Bush, MGMT, Bat for Lashes to name a few… Am mad on music), I play guitar and synths, I’m really well read and you would not catch me dead at a Kylie concert! Well, maybe if I'd had a few drinks...

I’m sure there is a lot more to say. If you never reply to this letter, it doesn’t matter so don’t feel pressured. I understand this is a huge bombshell. This is just my way of saying, “Hello, I’m fine and I’m alive.” More importantly, I’m saying I don’t hate you and I’m not a big bad scary beast who is going to dredge up horrible memories. Like I said, it’s not productive and it happened a long time ago now. Plus, if you ever did see me, you’d know that it’s not my style to dwell on things if there is a good time to be had. I’ve enclosed some photos of me so you can see how I turned out, as well as a card with my contact details on it. Feel free to drop me an e-mail (if you’re tech-savvy!) or you can write me back if you desire. Maybe we could have a pint next time I’m back (I believe it’s your round. Hahaha…).

There is no right or wrong thing to say in this situation. I’ve pushed all my old feelings aside to write this letter and now I think it’s time to stop hiding from the past and to confront whatever it is we’ve both been ignoring all these years. We’re both strangers to each other, I know that, so you don’t owe me anything. Nonetheless, we could be civil to each other and look back and say, “I don’t know what I was so scared of in the first place.” I would like to approach this as a positive, proactive experience rather than an emotional melodrama. If you’re feeling shocked or confused, then I say let’s just pretend we’re two old friends who haven’t seen each other in nearly 30 years and take it from there.

It would be good to hear from you, even if it is to say you would rather not maintain contact. I’m a big boy and I can take it. As long as you’re honest, I can’t fault you for that.

Take care and give all my best to your family.

Best wishes,

Allan

And then... A gift

So after my last post, life inevitably throws a curve ball in order to ensure that things are much more measured. On Friday night, I Was due to perform my installation Censortive Information as part of a club night in Bristol. When I arrived at my B and B, I found out it was located in a gay sauna and the man at the bookings desk told me they had no record of my reservation. Brandishing a confirmation e-mail from Expedia, I made him phone them and ask them to relocate me as quickly as possible. My luck was in – I received an upgrade to a suite at the nearby Holiday Inn with en suite and full breakfast with no extra charge to myself. Flustered, I ran to the performance space and set up. By this stage I was thinking “I just want to do this and then get it completely over and done with.”

So the night progressed and everything occurred as planned, with some minor hesitations from the audience. When I was finishing, someone leaned over me with a long blue overcoat peering very intently.

“So people have painted over this? It’s quite interesting – I think I really like it,” he said, with a very detectable Welsh accent.

I turned around and saw an extremely handsome man with dark brown hair and steely grey-green eyes – he was almost like Steve Jones from T4.

“Yes,” I said, “And thanks... I did it before and it was much bigger.”

“Where are you headed now?” he said.

“Home... Well, to the Holiday Inn actually,” I said.

I noticed his friends were all around me somehow.

“Let’s all of us go get a drink,” he said, very decisively waving his hand in a circle around all of us and then pointing in the direction of the bar.

Standing, laughing and joking with his friends, everything was going well and I was actually quite relieved that after such an appalling start to my Bristol trip, I could manage to wangle a random night out that would make the visit worthwhile. And then:

“You have really sparkly blue eyes,” he said, as if it had slipped out by accident. He looked down at the floor almost immediately and realised what he had said, “Sorry,” he said ashamedly, “I shouldn’t be coming onto you.”

“I’m hardly offended,” I said. “In fact, quite the opposite. I’m very flattered to hear it from someone as handsome as yourself – thank you.”

Of course, more drinks ensued and we sat next to each other at the next bar. He placed his leg next to mine so they were touching. What I loved more about this is it felt like we didn’t really need to say anything. It was known between us. I liked him and he liked me. At this point I’d like to keep myself in check before I vomit, but to have a mutual attraction is extremely rare. I felt really lucky that he liked me and that is something that makes one feel alive.

We went back to the Holiday Inn – which made me thank God even more that I had to be relocated as taking a potential date to a room above a gay sauna gives completely the wrong impression. He stayed with me till the morning and wanted to buy me champagne via room service. I laughed and begged him not to. I grabbed hold of him from behind while he was brushing his teeth in his He-Man underpants. We kissed and he dragged me back to bed. He stuck around long enough to meet for coffee with my old university friend Fran. He was perfectly sweet and characteristically cheeky, pushing the boundaries with his jokes and seeing how far he could get.

When he slipped to the toilet, I had to ask Fran if she thought he was out of my league. I don’t think I have ever ever asked this question about someone before.

Before he left, he asked to take my number.... Which I thought was hilarious given that I was going to give it to him anyway. I actually asked him not to go... I wanted him to stay. And I partially wanted him to ask me to stay.

He called me later that night. His words were, “Now, I really would like to see you again. Would you, in theory, would you... Is that something that you would like to do?”

And me, totally surprised that I had made someone nervous said, “That’s something I would like to do in practice”

Whatever happens beyond this juncture – whether I see him again or not, whether it crumbles within a few weeks or not, whether we really get on as two people or not – I am thankful for that one night and for this lovely feeling inside that makes someone feel desired, if only for a short while. It is definitely a gift from the world.

Older, wiser... And older

At the moment, I'm trying to cure my writer's block by writing about anything. So I've decided to try and grab onto my thoughts and scribe them while I can.

It's no surprise to anyone that my life hasn't turned out quite how I envisaged. Since I moved to Balham two and a half years ago, I have been stuck in my own little cocoon. I go to work and I come home... I am mostly alone. And when I am not alone, I am seeing David – he is 'a friend with benefits'... Thing is, he's been a friend of this kind for well over two years. And part of me knows that we both know that it will end one day. So we don't talk about it, because not talking about it is far easier than talking about it, arguing about it and then meeting up again and inevitably having sex.

I am alarmed at my constant ability to form unhealthy, co-dependent and fiercely intense friendships that always end in tears and heartache.

I don't really meet anyone new. I have become very lazy. Going out seems pointless and love seems almost impossible – like a dream I remember but I woke up from a long time ago. I work. And work and work and work. Every day I think about quitting my job and every time I tell someone that I write, they tell me how lucky I am. I haven't met any new friends, really. And the friends that I do have, I just don't feel like I can talk to anymore. They all think David and I are 'going out'. The truth is I have been sleeping around and not telling anyone because I know their answers will be so predictable and I am so fucking tired of hearing them justify my own behaviour to me so it makes sense to them. Part of me wants to keep on taking advantage of my body while I still have the time, but ultimately I am incredibly lonely because no one knows completely what is going on and I can't be honest with anyone. My life feels extremely stale and crumbling like a biscuit in the Sahara.

I've realised that I have spent a lot of my life actually very scared and inside my own head. Someone said to me recently that "thoughts require perfection, and that's a pretty impossible ideal to live up to." Part of me thinks it's hilarious – instead of being in the moment, I've been away in my head where almost anything can happen. In many ways, it's much more appealing: if I want to imagine that something sensational and exciting for me is waiting just around the next corner, anticipating the next second it will all kick off then it is. In fact, I'm already there in my mind. I don't know how many films I have been in, how many songs I have sung, how many wonderful adventures and things I have achieved in my imagination.

I wish that they translated to reality. The fact is I am a nobody – a nobody, just like everybody else. I was an idiot. I wish I had behaved differently when I was younger. I used to believe in destiny and now I don't believe in anything. In fact, I find it quite hard to get passionate about anything nowadays. I can't do anything. I can't be creative anymore... I am on the verge of giving up and yet I can't give up because I won't let myself. I'm always kicking my own backside for nothing.

I just wish I could be happy. I often think 'there must be a piece of happiness here for me in this life'... But then I think that perhaps humans are programmed that way. We just can't 'accept' things... But then part of me thinks I have not taken enough risks. Perhaps I took too many. Sometimes, I think that happiness lies in simplicity – a retreat far away from everything, a small Scottie terrier called McDougal, a fire crackling, a job at the village pub, a whisky every evening... And nothing more. I can't tell if it's me, or if it is the way I grew up that makes me covet 'success', but I think we were lied to. We're told that we can achieve anything in this life, but I really don't think that's the case anymore. To be able to achieve anything you need money and connections... The rest of us are fucked.

I spent some time researching today's up and coming stars and you know what? They all went to the BRIT school, or their parents paid £18,000 for them to attend RADA, or their family were already famous. I'm not sure I believe social mobility exists nowadays. We don't live in the 80s anymore, where someone like Julie fucking Burchill can start off manning the reception at the NME and end up as a hateful cow who writes for the Observer every month spewing her worthless opinions about how bisexuality doesn't exist.

The woman answered phones. How is she in any way qualified to give her opinion?

No – we're all meant to make do and mend at the bottom of the heap while the privileged do what they always did and expect us to respect and admire them while they shit all over us.

I know I sound bitter, but it's the truth.

By the way, Kat, you're the only one who subscribes to this so if anyone is reading it, it's just you. And I doubt this is news given the approach to 28.

Most days I feel like I am decaying and my body is starting to reflect that. I feel like I will never be loved in the way I once was. I am no longer the youngest or prettiest in the room – I'm just hateful old cowbag that no one wants. And still a lot of the time I feel like I wasted a large part of my 20s. Since I turned 25, life has been rather stagnant. Small victories – be it in my performance or writing – only feel like a thing I 'must' do on the way to something bigger. I can't enjoy them. Sometimes I don't and if you don't there's no point in doing them, right?

I feel like everything I do is sub-standard and my work gets in the way. It interferes with my mind and I am fatigued most days – I can't think, everything's foggy. I don't text or call people nearly 5% as much as I used to. I come home and I'm tired, I wake up and I'm tired. I want to quit and I'm too scared to face the financial insecurity on the other side.

What I really need is a shake up. A change. A new life somewhere else. If I can't kill myself then I have to kill off who I am.

But then I'm scared.

And also tired of creating these little fantasies... Because ultimately that's what's preventing me from achieving anything solid in this life.