Posts Tagged ‘primary school’


October 10, 2008

I have a theory that you are who you are in primary school and that once you reach high school it gets beaten out of you, and replaced with the never ending chase for the cool. Of course, cool is a concept that reaches you even in the younger years, but it doesn’t become priority till adolescence. In primary school you define your world, and your sense of self. The person you are is never again as simple as it was back then. You know yourself, your own character, and thinking is pure and untouched by society’s misgivings. The world is colorful, beautiful and limitless. If you can somehow keep the primary school you as a part of yourself, then you can remain satisfied that you know who you are, and this makes life concrete.

I have a shocking memory, and I’m prone to blocking things out that don’t agree with my happiness. My brain likes to suppress things, and forget them, so as not to remind myself that I’m not actually as perfect as I like to think. So by the time I started to struggle with my identity and with life’s problems, I had no sense of my primary school self. That girl was gone. I never realised why I was so lost, but it was because I’d lost my central narrative. You can’t move forward into the future if you don’t have a past to build on.

I’ve done E twice in my life. The second time I did it was with my sister and her boyfriend, on a particularly boring night, in the lounge room of my dad’s house while he was out. Anyone who’s done it before will recognise this atmosphere as perhaps not the best for a bickie. When you’re out, you feel the rush and its all about the experience, feeling the music or whatever, its focused externally. But when you stay in, with minimal distractions, the focus goes on the internal and you start to pick apart your brain. In the beginning its in a positive light, and in the end it turns on you, as you come down.

My defense mechanism of never digging too deep and letting sleeping dogs lie was deactivated. At the start I didn’t realise, but later on it frightened me. I’m always afraid of going too deep, in conversations or thought, in case I reach a place I can never come back from, where everything changes for good. But I couldn’t stop pulling myself apart, thinking and dissecting who I was, what made me.. Was I a fuck up? What was I? And then suddenly, one word was on the tip of my tongue, a word that summed up everything: Clystrombreddie.

So I laid in bed unable to sleep, out-of-my-mind smashed, with this word in my head. It seemed to mean nothing, I didn’t understand it, why was I remembering it? What did it mean? Clystrom-Breddie. It came from cly-stromboni, which I thought may have been some kind of instrument, but google has since disproved that theory. I associate it with a cittern, which is a medieval guitar, which I remember from Sleeping Beauty, a movie I used to watch over and over.

Breddie is a word I added onto everything, it was my secret word, that related to my steady-eddie, which was one of those things you use to eat on in bed. I used it to draw on, pictures of princesses and my sisters in houses full of chocolate and lollies. ‘Steady-eddie Steven Breddie’ is some kind of phrase that got me in trouble once. I think my sisters friend had a crush on that Steven Breddie guy, and I liked how it rhymed so I tacked it onto the end of steady-eddie, but then when I said it at school the girl flipped it. I was banned from saying it, so I shortened it to ‘breddie’ and only whispered it, but it was always on my mind.

When I was younger I was all about words, stories, books, rhymes. This was what I created my world with. I used to make up words with special meanings for me and my sisters, codes we used in primary school, they sounded like gibberish but held very precise ideas and definitions. I can’t remember them all, but some float back to me since that night, like Clam Broodie. When my youngest sister was a baby, she was so beautiful, with blonde ringlets. Everyone in my family called her Dan Beauty. I altered this to Clam Broodie, which became our word for the epitome of beauty in the purest way, like baby Dannielle. It was the highest compliment in our eyes.

This shit is wiggety wack, but its me. Clystrombreddie made me remember all this and more, it was the key to my primary school self, to who I was. I am a medieval guitar filled with booze, and the clock from Beauty and the Beast, bay horses with stars on their noses, biro marks on my fingers from drawing on a steady-eddie, the color green (dark, not tropical) and gumboots, ballet, some kind of Enid Blighton adventurous ‘British’ mentality, fairies and elves, brown hair in ponytails, squirrels and owls, oranges and apples, books, sugar dandies (wtf?), rabbits and princess dresses.

That girl was smart and kinda outgoing, and she fucked up too, even way back then. She was head of the class and very competitive, tried to be the fastest runner and the quickest reader. If you can picture that, you’ve seen my primary school self, the purest me. I can’t believe some crazy ass trip gone wrong pulled this all out of me, with that one word, Clystrombreddie. I still don’t understand what it means, but I think it was my word for myself.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that gleam in your eye is so familiar to me

And I know its true that visions are rarely all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you do

You’ll love me at once, the way you did once

Upon a dream..”

Umm, this is an example of one of those posts you’re allowed to ignore, so if you think I’m crazy right now just pretend you never read this, you don’t know what Clystrombreddie is and I’m the same old Luli as before (except now you’re more inclined to avoid me). Sorry for going too deep, but sometimes I guess you just have to.