murmurs by Jasmine Low
Draft 1: Written 27 July 2004
I’ve heard the murmurs for some time now. It comes, and goes. It appears when I’m in an almost unconscious state. Not a euphoric state, just a state of unaware. My book has long been written in my head. Chapters after chapters of murmurs from under my breath. I hear it. Every word, every sentence, from one story to another. But the moment I try to crystallise it into black and white, it’s gone. Just like when I try to write down my dreams from the night before.
Just five minutes ago while on the throne, I had visualised how the story would begin. How I would begin telling. How I would draft out legal contracts of release to be signed by those I quote. Just ten minutes ago, I was reading, getting inspiration from an anonymous writer who used her anonymity as a shield to story tell truths surrounding her life. Just half an hour ago, I was imagining through eyes of actors on the television screen how I could too be an actor — only that my story would be my life, real, raw and tested. Not conjured. And just an hour ago, I was sharing stories of my love life with a new friend over a caipirinha.
I’ve problems backtracking. I often forget what I had for lunch. I forget conversations. I’m just forgetful. I’ve got problems backtracking. But this evening, something changed. The murmurs in my head this evening were memories of things that had been said to me on one of those breakup days.
Jamie was seeing somebody else. She had fallen, she said. Her new lover dared her to leave. Her new lover dared her to stay. ‘Stay. It’ll be easier’, the other SHE said. For many years, I believed that it would have been easier to leave. Because she left. But this evening, my thoughts are challenged. Chatting with a friend going through one of those breakups, she explained why it was going to be easier for her to stay. A notion I once challenged. Now, I shall take my leave.
-Ends-
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