Every time I put pen to paper, I ask myself, who am I? I’ve never discovered that answer. Upstairs in my vaults, I’m a youth, or a young man. That has never changed. I have gained some wisdom. I still make emotional decisions. I’m spontaneous and I have made some disastrous plans in life. I have these conversations with that inexperienced me, the adolescent.
I’m not sure if we use words or exchange instant messaging, but we do communicate with each other. He disagrees with me. He thinks I should have done better in life. I think I never had the chances. There’s the nature/nurture split thing. No divide really, he was awarded the socially deprived full bhuna as we say in Glasgow. Gifted with average intelligence and right hemisphere good, left hemisphere bad. Hence, physics, maths, and other analytical subject attempts were dismal.
Home was never exactly Green Gables or Walton’s Mountain. Such circumstances come back to bite throughout life. So, how can anyone cast dispersions before you know the complete story? The youth and I both agree with that conclusion.