She peers at me from beyond her flamboyant frames.
“What’s kicking girl?” She enquires.
Like all young adults, commitment is our kyriptonite.
It’s like something in our DNA doesn’t let us latch onto things. Instead, we feel safer compartmentalising and colour coding people via class or coffeeshop.
As a generation we are the proud creators of the ‘Situation-ship’ and in response, the 5th wave of feminism otherwise known as #Wastehistime2017.
We are also the shamed souls who wonder around shopping centres with no purpose. Our Friday nights consist of keeping the Uber economy afloat, as car registration is the equivalent of an engagement ring to society.
We cannot park, yet we still drive.
We cannot cook, so we do breakfast. All day, everyday.
We do not attend lectures, yet we we still turn up to Uni.
May I just say, it is as scary for those watching the exercise as it is to ride shotgun. At this stage, our identities are so fluid we simply have no idea what intricate details during our days stick and which fly away unnoticed.
Like a preschooler realising Google knows every question their parents do not, we feel so perplexed by all we don’t know.
With this uncertainty as a pivotal point in our days, selecting a background for our phones requires almost as much dedication as a one year relationship or a second tinder date, no matter how amazing it was. Apple (being the usual life hack) figured out said flaw and used it to invent their interchangeable screensaver app.
Every few seconds a flamingo, no a water buffalo or better yet, some Neplanese snowcapped mountains pop out from behind the Facebook page, inviting your mind to momentary escape whenever the social climate grows chilly.
Like everything in life, the downside of this wonderful application is that your battery life plummets, leaving you high and dry mid-lecture.
It appears our parent’s were right yet again- life isn’t that seamlessly sweet and karma needs to take a bite out of somewhere.
Like many of us, my WWE life smackdowns came late last year, leaving my world with a trump sized problem that made the notion ‘everything must happen for a reason’ seem rather bleak.
I always believed in it before. But this change left me sore and searching for a reason why.
I waited and waited for months and when my hope was not restored, I began to ask. Anyone, anywhere; it was like an infectious disease that wondered into my head, leaving a puzzle so perplexing, I felt I could never truly piece it all together.
And then Iris showed up. True to life’s rhythm, she inserted herself into my life when I least expected her to. And after a while she decided to stay in my subconscious and grow. Splintering my mind in her bold brilliance that blossomed all the way from New York City. The idea of Iris belongs to a ninety-five year old with a fashion sense so bizarre, it stands as a walking testimony that “one should buy clothes because of how they make you feel, not how they make you look” ( Rei Kombacho, Design aesthetic ).
In the form of a movie brochure she first found me in a bookshop, exploiting my call to caffeine. Not thinking much about it, she snuck into my bag and then again, to the inside wall of my wardrobe. Ever since, she has gifting my clothing and I with a morning pep-talk before we ventured out into the world.
A few months later she found me again, at work. Iris was established as the style ambassador for a shop. There she was, waiting for me every time I left the glass-fish bowl, all boutique become.
She peered from behind her doubled-lensed stare, as I trundled along in overly floral pleated skirts paired with oodles of pearls. What must have looked awkward, she saw, making it almost impossible not to laugh at the both of us. In juxtaposition, she was wearing a string of loud powder-puffs as an accessory, layered with her over-imposing frames which doubled as a face-mask.
I loved every inch of her, as it made me feel good knowing I wasn’t the only woman in the area being stared at for her confronting composition.
As the months flew by, I still felt I wasn’t any closer to gaining any answers. Does everything happen for a reason? Is so, what was mine? I needed to know what the payment was for the last few months of torture, as it certainly wasn’t a perfect rebound or refiller of love.
Then, Iris was back. I don’t know exactly how she had found me this time. Probably click bait, one early, semi-conscious morning. From then on she decided to take a seat behind my screen and hasn’t seemed to want to leave.
Just seeing her face, fills my day with bursts of caffeinated reassurance that everything will be okay. My own Iris shaped bread-crumbs that led me to gain my long desired answer.
I just needed a clear head to look back and see what was always there.
And so the Iris interventions’ kept on coming….
( FOR MORE IRIS EYES ENLIGHTENMENT, FLICK TO THE NEXT ARTICLE: “IRIS, THE SEQUEL!” )