What would you say if I told you about a story so old it predates time. A story about adventure, companionship, and blood. A story long forgotten by those who remain.
I woke one day to the busying noises of activity stemming from beyond my blinds. Like any practical 20 years of age fledgling, I decided to turn around and drown out the spasmatic noise. They say the 21st century is all about technological advancement, the keys to the future, but really it’s about a bunch of self-centered old men dropping their copious amounts of money into the earth to strip it of anything valuable. Global warming, pollution, degradation of the environment, heck even all the once-flourishing species being driven to extinction. Don’t even have to mention the good old dodo, now very dead.
But who am I to talk, the default noise of a battered D8 ringing at the foot of my bed to add further annoyance to this already very annoying morning.
“Damn it can’t I sleep”
Frantically lunging to turn off the annoying weather callout now being blasted through the phone, I hit it hard at bliss to the peace once again. As an upkept member of society, the first thing I do is check through the phone using the internet, such a beautiful thing, to see what’s trending on social media. And there I was just a few minutes ago complaining about global warming.
After a brisk search through of anything popular, I pop the phone back in place and stroll almost zombie like to the bathroom. Ready to go I drift out the house door embraced by noise, dark skies, and lots of rain.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
“Got to love good old British weather”
Now you might think that why would someone like the lashing of the rain, (which I assure you has nothing to do with being a masochist) well as someone brought up all my life in Britain, despite my Asian heritage and tanned skin, built with cells to defend against the long-forgotten sun. After a long time, you just forget about such privileges and little rain is very good rain.
Considering myself as a decently fit individual, I begin pepping myself to start the normal routine of running pushing aside the elements blocking my path.
After a long VERY wet run, I once again see the familiar sign of home Trice road, waiting for me to return victorious and peppered with debris gunk flung of the muddy paths, I push through the last of the hurdles and arrive to the gates of my castle, my kingdom, my home. A humble 4 bedroom semi-detached house at the end of the street standing tall against the raging road works going on the adjacent road.
I rush to enter, the warmth filling my heart, pouncing to the favored spot in any home for a young adult, the bathroom. Flinging my clothes I jump into the bath/shower rinsing myself of all the gunk and once more remembering the advantages of living in a first-world country. Born as a new man from the power of heated water.
And then it dawns on me, the fear and the regret, the heartache many of the unsuspecting feel.
“Ah fck I forgot the towel again cant anything go well”
Rushing out of the bathroom to grab a towel, in a trail of humid air and water full-floor trying to complete this tedious task before the fellow members of what is called a family, wake up to see me swinging around my morning glory and once again judging me as a child brought up with Asian heritage but lost to the unsuspected environment of British habit. Hey, that’s just how Asian families are if you like running around literally as the personification of commandos then you do you, my friend.