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I guess I've always wanted to be different. Unique. Special. Haven't we all? And I've always had to accept the fact that I live a life of tupperware boxes, cornflakes and plastic-coated rain macs. I am shrouded in sheer normality.
It's just the way my mother was. At the slightest hint of attention she became practically hysterical. So she tried to avoid it by making sure nothing she does is at all out of the ordinary. As a single mother she fully embraced the idea of living as a statistic.
I was always difficult though. I lived in a make-believe world of dragons and spacemen and princesses. I couldn't distinguish fantasy from reality. It was as if I was trapped in my magical storybook world and, try as she may, she couldn't find a way in.
She didn't know how to handle this curly haired, partially insane little girl. So she bought me playmobil and wax crayons that lay untouched in their cellophane wrappers at the bottom of my toy cupboard, gathering dust.
In the small library at my primary school was a book of flower fairies. It was beautiful. I spent every breaktime in there sitting on threadbare beanbags, studying each page and every single minute detail until I knew each and every fairy off by heart. My favourite was the lavender fairy, she had my long dark hair and fair complexion and I imagined her to be the sister I never had. I turned the pages of the book during lessons or in bed, and in my dreams the lavender fairy took my hand and whisked me away to her magical kingdom.
One day I put the book in my blue nylon book bag and took it home with me. As soon as my mother saw it her Christian upbringing kicked in. Demons she said and threw my beautiful, beautiful book in the bin. I tried to retrieve it later on but it was at the bottom underneath potato peelings and teabags and scrunched up tissues. My mother tied the ugly black binbag closed before taking it outside. In the morning, the bin men came and took it away.
With that book, my lavender fairy, my fantasy world, my imaginary friends and my daydreams all disappeared. I tied my hair back, got my crayons out and became the ordinary little girl my mother had always wanted.