Little Wanderings [Open]

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

Yuri’s question is an overly familiar one, although it is rarely quite so straightforwardly addressed. It is a part of polite conversation to ask people where they are from, I suppose, but when people generally question my origins I feel they are saying something else. I feel they are asking me where I am originally from, why I am not like them, because my skin is the colour of cocoa butter and fudge – a milk product of a kind, but not white. Though, perhaps it is all in my head. I am so accustomed to being the outsider, the accused, that I automatically assume everyone will treat me this same way. I guess it is a result of my own discriminations that causes me to not take offence to that same question simply because it is Yuri who asked. It is because she is different too. It is because she is not from around here and would be better to equipped to sympathise. Her abnormality makes me comfortable because normal people tend to make me nervous. She and I are probably less alike than my comfort around her dictates, but I am willing to find out if that is true or not.

“I am from Cape Town, South Africa,” I say – my confidence approaching respectable levels at last. “I came to Harper Rock for… work.” She must recognise how that confession is rather rehearsed, but I do not enjoy telling the whole truth of it. I try to detract from that bland tone to ask her a question, to make the conversation less about me and my oddities and more about her. “And where are you from?” It would have been best to end my prattling there, but the words skipped off my tongue before my mouth had time to close. “Do you model?”

I am as curious as a cat. My grandmother always used to comment on how my nose would always be stuck in the air, not because I wished to snub the earth, but because I was always searching the Heavens. I am fascinated by the mysteries of the world, hoping to expand my horizons even if I cannot decipher the whys. I am all about the experience, which is probably why I flit from one occupation to another. For my time, I was a runway model, a cover girl, a high fashion diva. My look has never been particularly commercial; I am tall and lithe with an angular face. Most agents were remarkably accommodating, all things considered, and the other ladies made me feel welcome. In fact, a lot of my closest friends were found this way, living in the glare of flash photography. It was a world all its own, a world that lifted me away from the darkness and held me in a shell of opalescent fancies. I wanted for nothing – too humble to want for the material – yet I always felt like a part of myself was being denied. As long as I was aesthetically pleasing and could follow commands, the world would be my oyster. Perhaps I was simply afraid of being rejected, so I left on my own accord.

I heard rumours of Harper Rock, or should I say, I heard rumours of magic and did not care where in the world it was happening. My modelling career had afforded the luxury of travel, board and amenities for years to come. I was always frugal and careful. Despite the tension between myself and my family, I still follow my duties as the firstborn to give them a comfortable life. I do not need to work, even now, but I choose to. It is grounding to have responsibilities and I suppose it is partly because I want to feel useful to somebody again.