Sunday, 06 February 2011 at 13:11

People are judged on their past, among other things.

Things like personality, looks, honesty, candour, cuteness etc. Unfortunately, these other things mostly turn out to be irrelevant in front of the torrid onslaught of yesteryear misdemeanours and memorable misconduct.

People turn into outlines. Filled with the same stale, old colour, regurgitated every time to turn them into the same thing. Over and Over again. No corner given. No explanation. Because you did that, you must be this. Ipso Facto.

Basically, you are already doomed, before any relationship, unless you meet someone who will never get a whiff of your past, six degrees of separation notwithstanding. You have already spent most of your life perjuring yourself, and now no one even wants to hear the truth.

Ever wondered why it is called a chequered past? Because that is what was tattooed on the back of misbehaving sailors by a whip. A criss-cross pattern, which would be a lifelong reminder of their deeds.

We have the same tattoos. On which we are judged and perceived and categorised. I wish that were not so.

I wish people were more accepting of patterns.

I, for one, like my black and white and grey squares. They make me colourful.


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