Author: Nique

November 29, 1991

April 10, 2017

Friday. The dream I had last night was so weird… 

                                              I wrote out a long dream, but it’s not that interesting so I’ll spare you. The take home is that it was an anxiety dream of sorts, and perhaps one of my first instances of semi-lucid dreaming. The same scene kept happening over and over – an old lady trying to kill my mother and I – and I kept replaying it, each time more successful until finally I managed to get her to the police and escape. It was also one of the first times I dreamed in French. What’s more interesting than the dream itself was my penmanship as I was writing it down. My handwriting gets increasingly sloppy to the point where I had trouble reading it. It seems I felt it was very important to transcribe the dream, so I guess it had a big effect on me.

Friday, December 20, 1991

X-mas vacation began today. I have lots to say. That rhymes! (Taffy stuff, candy gram, crush development…)

                                        Oh god, here we go.

Did I ever talk about Taffy before? Well that’s Robert Taffendon my homeroom, History & EMR teacher. He is wonderful! First the candy gram story. It all began with me first comeing to the school. He always tells stories and he sometimes mentions his wife. Jane and I always pictured his wife as a blonde bombshell (I guess because he is a blonde babe). Every day at school we would see Mr. Taffendon with this other teacher (Mrs. Laventholl or something) so we were like, hmmm, he is always with that lady, she must be his mistress. Well one day in one of his stories he revealed that she was his wife. Jane and I thought this was hilarious (although we were disappointed). So every time Taffendon would pass by our table at lunch we would crack up. We dubbed him Taffy and her Missy, by the way. Before x-mas they were doing the candy gram thing. So we sent one to Taffy explaining why we always laugh at him. He thought it was hilarious and he loved it. Now I would like to think that I have this special, unique, student-teacher bond with him.

                                      Cringing. Nice of him to play along and pretend something so inane was funny though.

I really like Taffy. At first I had fantasies about him so I thought it was a crush. I guess it still is somewhat. I have the utmost admiration for that man. I always feel happy when I’m around him and I miss him already. I thought of going to school today just to see him but then decided not to get up early if I didn’t have to. He is going to Florida for x-mas (I think he’s Jewish). Jane is going too! I hope she gets some pictures of him so I can have some and put one in that thing I am making him for the end of the year. (a 1991-1992 memorabilia of Taffy.). Earlier in this diary I wrote that I wanted the perfect guy. Well, I have found what I think is the closest thing to it, but he can’t be my boyfriend because he is at least 24 years older than me, he is my teacher, he is married and has a child. It truly makes me sad to think I can never have him for my own. Maybe I do love him. I guess I’ll never know!

                                     Part of me thinks this is hilarious and part of me is crippled with embarrassment. I do distinctly remember Taffy but not what he looked like. I just googled him in an effort to remember but there are no pictures readily available. I did find him on ratemyteachers.com and found that he was still teaching at BHS up until a few years ago and kids still love him. He really was a great teacher, and I guess the novelty of such a thing fueled my infatuation. By then he was probably used to kids crushing on him and was completely unfazed. One of my clearest memories of him is a time I was the first one to come to class. I sat at my desk and he asked me how I was. I replied that I was fine. He said that I didn’t have to lie, that I didn’t have to say the expected pleasantly and could answer honestly if I wasn’t really fine. I guess he could tell that I was an unhappy kid. I don’t remember what I replied but that interaction always stuck with me. I really appreciated an authority figure giving me permission, if you will, to be authentic.

 

 

Green & Black

April 5, 2017

Green, somewhat distraught by her recent interactions with Grey, decides to seek out her good friend Black. Black can always be counted on to take control of any situation, and steer it in the right direction. Black takes Green downtown, where they walk down the most bustling street in the city. Green confesses to having turned somewhat teal after her day with Grey, and wonders if there is anything to be done about the current state of affairs. What state of affairs, wonders Black suspiciously. Green acknowledges that the world is neither good nor bad, and what some perceive as a dystopia is a utopia for others, and vice versa, and yet, she feels certain that she can do something to bring the utopia closer for all, or at least even the playing field somewhat. She’s never thought of herself as an idealist, but she knows there are things that could be done, and she’s never been afraid of hard work.

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Black, with a twinkle in her eye, smiles slyly and takes Green’s arm, leading her down an alleyway populated by dumpsters, broken bottles, and discarded cigarette butts. Look around, what do you see, asks Black. Garbage and graffiti, answers Green. Graffiti? Are you sure? Green wonders what Black is getting at, and looks more closely at the scene before her. She sees it now. It’s not graffiti, it’s art. The walls of the alley are covered in strikingly lovely murals. The colours are bright and intermingling, and add a warmth to this otherwise foreboding alley, even on a cold spring day such as today.

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Yes, I understand that everything is a matter of perspective, I’ve already noted that, says Green, slightly impatient. No, you don’t get it, chuckles Black. It’s not a matter of noticing something dirty and perceiving it as beauty, it’s a matter of deciding something is beautiful because it is dirty. There can be no light without dark, and no beauty without ugliness, but true contentment lies in finding comfort in the dark, in what is normally distasteful. Finding the power that lies in the twisted and obscure. If I were a sensitive sort, I’d be offended that everyone equates me with bad, muses Black. But I revel in it. I find strength in it. This artwork is only impressive because it’s in an alleyway. Context matters. If these same murals were in a museum they would be bland and uninteresting. But here, the trash that surrounds the art elevates the art. Here, among the debris of the city, the murals remind us to always look up, because there is more than what lies at our feet. We can soar if we are willing to reach.

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