The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.
My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.
Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.
So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.
So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.
I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.
And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.
There was motivation. I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample. I was going to give them the re-worked short story. Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’
Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.
But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself. We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.
One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.
It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected. I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.
I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.
Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.
The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party. I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble. No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.
Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?
But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.
Of course, we all know this word is a colour, or colour depending on where you live. You know, blue sky, deep blue sea, blonde hair blue eyes.
Very descriptive.
But it can also mean you are down in the dumps, a rather strange, for some, an expression that means you are sad or unhappy.
For others to have a blue means to have a fight with someone
And oddly, and I know this from first-hand experience, a red-haired person will be called bluey, or less pleasing either carrot top or blood nut. I used to ignore those people who used those expressions, except for my father-in-law.
You can do something until you are blue in the face, which means do it without result until exhaustion, another way of saying you’re wasting your time.
And if something comes out of the blue, it usually means it’s entirely unexpected. For me, that’s always a bill I wasn’t expecting, for someone else an inheritance.
And in some parts of the world, blue is used as a synonym for a conservative political party, for insistence, the Liberal party in Australia, and the Democrats in the United States
Blue should not be confused with the word blew, which is the past tense of the blow, which is wind causing an air current or blowing air through pursed lips.
That doesn’t mean that if something blew up it was just a giant air mass exploding because it can’t. If a bomb blew up it means it detonated.
And if that sounds complicated:
What if something blew my mind? Does that mean my head exploded? No, it just means it’s incomprehensible, whether good or bad.
Or
What if I blew a fortune on a three-legged horse? We all throw good money after bad, but you can quickly lose a fortune, or blew it.
It’s the same thing with opportunities, for instance, he had a chance and blew it. Yes, obviously something better came along, not, or he just ignored a sterling opportunity.
Stranger’s We’ve Become, a sequel to What Sets Us Apart.
The blurb:
Is she or isn’t she, that is the question!
Susan has returned to David, but he is having difficulty dealing with the changes. Her time in captivity has changed her markedly, so much so that David decides to give her some time and space to re-adjust back into normal life.
But doubts about whether he chose the real Susan remain.
In the meantime, David has to deal with Susan’s new security chief, the discovery of her rebuilding a palace in Russia, evidence of an affair, and several attempts on his life. And, once again, David is drawn into another of Predergast’s games, one that could ultimately prove fatal.
From being reunited with the enigmatic Alisha, a strange visit to Susan’s country estate, to Russia and back, to a rescue mission in Nigeria, David soon discovers those whom he thought he could trust each has their own agenda, one that apparently doesn’t include him.
Of course, it’s too good to be true, and Henry is going to have to steel himself when the holiday comes to an end.
It’s halfway through the holiday, and the conversation veers towards the elephant in the room; parting.
Then…
Michelle takes ill, the ravages of the past still causing her problems that she does not speak about, but requires a doctor’s ministrations, and discretion.
We learn she had been in rehab and left early. Grim determination is not enough to substitute for doing the time.
She recovers, but Henry knows something is wrong.
Once again out for a drive, Henry is overcoming that painful shyness, and awkwardness in her presence, and she is letting him via the door that is more than ajar.
After another pleasant dinner, he ‘escorts’ her back to her room, at the other end of the corridor, a metaphorical wall built between them, where she asks, innocently or otherwise, if he’d like to stay.
It’s that proverbial loaded question with a double-edged sword.
He does, and he doesn’t take it any further, afraid of what it might lead to, and disappointment.
But …
They sleep, fully clothed, on her bed. Another subliminal moment.
I had never been to a ball and had only seen what one was like on TV.
When I first received the invitation, on a gold embossed card with old style and writing in ink, real ink, I was astonished. I was not from a class of people whom one would associate with such a high-society event.
My father, when I had shown him the invitation, said it had obviously been sent to me by mistake, that it was some other William Benjamin Oldacre, not me. When I showed him the envelope with my address on it, he then said someone was playing a game.
I was inclined to believe him, so I called the RSVP number and spoke to a lady by the name of Charlotte Bingham, who had a very posh voice.
I told her my name, and then told her there must be some mistake.
“We don’t make mistakes, Mr Oldacre.”
“To be honest, ma’am, I am not a man of means, if you take my meaning.” I wanted to say I was just one of the rabble, but it seemed a little too blunt.
“You don’t need to be, to be a respectable and respected young man. Miss Emily said that you would find some excuse, and her instructions were if you were to call, to insist you come, and if you were having difficulties to call her on the cell number she gave you. I’m marking you down as a yes, and I look forward to meeting you.” The line went dead before I could reply.
Miss Emily.
My first encounter with her was anything but cordial, in fact, I had called her lazy, indolent, egotistical, annoying, and overprivileged, all in one breath. She was the typical rich brat to who the rules didn’t apply, the person who didn’t have to wait in queues like everyone else and whose schedules were made for other people.
Sadly, all the boys rich or poor grovelled at her feet, so it was a shock to her when I told her exactly what I thought of her. From there, we ignored each other, as much as it was possible, until a week before when we just happened to be in the cafeteria at the same time. I had been running late and almost walked away.
I joined Xavier in the queue, just as I noticed her with three of her equally bratty friends and a few people ahead in the queue.
“You must be starving,” Xavier said, “your nemesis is just ahead, and being her usual obnoxious self.”
“Unfortunately, hunger trumps common-sense.”
It was precisely the moment she turned around and saw me. Sometimes, she would make a sarcastic comment, but most of the time, she just ignored me. With one eye on her, I noticed as several others did, three boys, one of whom I knew, Oliver Richenburg, equally as entitled but not half as obnoxious, heading towards her.
It was clear if he was going over to her, that it was not a social call. In fact, I had heard on the grapevine, the social media account that kept up with all the rumours about the so-called social set, they had had an acrimonious breakup when she posted some telling details about his life. He had cheated on her, or so it was said, and it had spiralled out of control.
She had seen him steaming across the room, heading straight for her. Everyone in the hall was on alert, expecting to get a front-row seat to a gigantic bust-up.
“Brace yourself, the proverbial was about to hit the fan.””
This means I’m not going to get anything to eat, and without food, well, I was not a happy person. There was only one course of action. I timed my arrival at the exact moment the two faced off. Both were surprised to see me.
“Just…”
Oliver was just about to launch into his opening argument when I glared at him and said, in a harsher tone than intended, “Before you launch into what I’m sure will be just the right amount of outrage, let me say this. You’re an idiot. You had a girlfriend that most of us would give a right arm just to be noticed for five seconds, and you cheated on her. Wow, Oliver, you’re not going to have much of a married life if you can’t keep it in your pants.” I turned on Emily, “And you, well, you know what I think of you, but seriously, who posts utter drivel on social media in a language that only cavemen could probably understand. I’m sure I’ll get a spray before long, but quite clearly, we’ve all had enough. Take your cat fight outside.”
“Who…” She went from amused to angry in the blink of an eye.
“Who? Who what? Who cares. Get out of here the pair of you before I do something I regret.” I think I displayed just the right amount of unhinged insanity that they both left.
I looked over at the head of the queue; everyone was watching them leave. “Shows over folks, let’s eat.”
That following few days before the invitation had been interesting, to say the least,. I had gained an unwanted notoriety that raised my profile from the usual obscurity to fifteen seconds of fame, where people I didn’t know came up and told me it was about time both of them were put in their place, to there who just shook their head. What was more disconcerting was that she now noticed me, and I was not sure if I wanted to be noticed.
Now, getting an invitation, just took it to a whole new level. My first inclination was just to not go. It was for me and a plus one. There wasn’t a girl l knew to take but when my sister, two years older and a survivor of college histrionics, learned about the invitation she said we were going. Darcy was more of a tomboy than the average girl of her age, and a lot tougher. She’d also heard about the fracas in the canteen and had said, “You could do a lot better than to pine over what you can’t have”.
I told her I had no intention, and she just snorted, adding, “We’ll see.” Now I really didn’t want to go, because she was going to find a new way to humiliate me.
And when the day arrived I was feeling quite sick. I’d received a message on my phone that a car would be arriving at six to pick us up. The RSVP lady was making sure I didn’t change my mind. Darcy was, surprisingly, impressed. And I was equally impressed to see the jeans and Polo shirt norm transform into a very beautiful young woman in the most amazing ball gown. All I could say was, “Who are you and what have you done with my sister.”
At precisely six, there was a knock on the door, which my father opened. It was a real-life chauffeur. My father yelled out, even though we were waiting in the next room, “Your pumpkin has arrived.” I was glad my misfortune was causing him amusement. The chauffeur didn’t bat an eye.
It was not a pumpkin. It was a Rolls Royce, a car I’d heard of but never seen.
Darcy was thoughtful, having got past surprised. “I think she’s trying to impress you, Will. Is there something going on that I need to know about?”
“I assure you she’s just trying to put me in my place. “w
I hadn’t taken much notice of where the ball was being held, but twenty minutes after being picked up I realised we were heading out of the city. It meant it could only be in one place, the spider’s lair, the family home, a mansion you got to drive past and could barely see behind the surrounding wall. Reputed to have more bedrooms than in the houses in my street, my father was amused that one family could live in such a place without getting lost.
We were invited to the castle, and it was becoming more like Cinderella with each passing minute. Sweeping majestically through the gates it was like passing through a portal into another world. It was a moment not lost on Darcy, who squeezed my hand and whispered, “Just remember their real people just like us.”
I got the impression she didn’t quite believe it herself.
It was a clear run-up to the majestic front entrance to the building, which seemed small but almost overwhelming close-up. The car stopped at the bottom of red carpeted stairs leading up into the house. The doors were opened by two men dressed in uniform. At the bottom of the stairs, waiting, for a very elegantly dressed woman.
She smiled when we reached her. “William, Darcy. Welcome.”
“You’re the lady on the phone.”
“Yes. My name is Charlotte, Miss Emily asked me to greet you and make sure you know where to go.”
Darcy was now looking somewhat lost in awe.
She asked, “Is this place for real. It’s like a fairy tale.”
“It has that initial wow factor, but that wears off after a while. Come, follow me.”
We walked slowly up the red-carpeted stairs and into the foyer with columns, a marble tiles floor, and the biggest chandelier I’d ever seen. I was expecting to see a fountain in the middle, but there wasn’t, just a table, a very large vase, and a flower arrangement that defied description.
We turned left through a portico, to where two more men dressed in uniform stood on either side, with another. We stopped, and Charlotte said to him, “Mr William Oldacre and Miss Darcy Oldacre.”
He read out our names by way of introduction to the people milling in the anteroom, but perhaps more for the line of people down the side where it seemed we were to be greeted. Charlotte led us to the head of the line, Miss Emily’s father.
“Mr James Edward Rothstein, may I present William Oldacre and his sister, Darcy.”
It was like greeting royalty, but I was not inclined to bow. Darcy was by now amused by the formality, even though she looked as though she belonged. She was certainly as beautiful in her gown as the others.
He held out his hand for a handshake. “So you are the young man who told Emily she needs to learn proper English before she uses those ghastly social media apps, I think they call them. I have to say I could not agree with you more.”
“Sir, I didn’t really mean anything by it.”
“Well, your words seemed to have had the desired effect, and I thank you. Perhaps before the night is out, you could deliver some more good advice. She won’t listen to us.”
“I think that race is run. She’s not likely to speak to me, and I’m not sure why she asked me to come.”
“She didn’t, I did, but I suspect she’ll either thank me or hate me more.” He sighed. “Us men will never understand women. The night is young, my boy, have fun.”
With that, I was dismissed and sent to Emily’s mother, Theresa, her older sister, Jasmine, her other sister, Kendra, and twin brothers, Samuel and Thomas. That left Emily, who needed no introduction.
It was hard to tell if she was amused or angry. I simply put a frown on my face, thinking it would preclude any conversation.
“Your father has a unique sense of humour, Emily,” I said.
“He does, indeed.”
Darcy took a step back and looked at the pair of us, then smiled. “I can see why he did. I’m Darcy, Will’s older sister. You piss him off, you piss me off, and that you don’t want to do.”
“Not more than I already have?”
“I’ve no doubt there’s a very simple explanation for it, but let me sum it up in one sentence. Try to see what’s in front of you. Actually,” she looked at me, too, “It’s good advice for the both of you. Now, I was promised top-shelf booze, where’s the bar?”
Charlotte had watched the exchange with an amused expression. I suspect she knew every one of Emily’s foibles. “I’ll take you. I think I need a drink too.”
Emily looked at me. “You said you would give your right arm to be noticed. Well, you’ve been noticed. And when I’m done here, you and I have a few things to discuss. And your name is down on my card for the first dance.”
“What makes you think I can dance.”
“You can, so don’t tell me otherwise.”
“What makes you think I want to dance with you?”
“Because when you do, I will answer three of your questions. Anything. And you have to answer just one for me. Deal?”
“This is not one of your little schemes, is it?
She shook her head. “Don’t make me stamp my foot in annoyance William. I promise you, what you see is what you get. No schemes, no tricks, no lies.”
It was too good to be true. This was a rabbit hole I didn’t want to go down, but did I have a choice?
I nodded. “OK. Where’s the bar. This is going to require fortification.
I stayed at the bar, slowly working my way through several bottles of beer that I’d never heard of, while I watched Emily, and the family, finish greeting the guests, and then mingle with everyone on a less formal basis.
There were over two hundred people but the ballroom did not seem crowded. People gathered together in groups, and the Rothsteins dutifully stopped at each for a few minutes. It was interesting to see Emily behave much like an ambassador, a side of her I had never seen.
Every now and then, once she knew where I was, she looked over, discreetly, and smiled.
It was not lost on me what Darcy had said, and the few words we had when I reached the bar were surprising. “She likes you a lot, you know. Knowing you, though, you’ll blow a good opportunity through prejudice or stupidity or even both. I know you like her to William, no one professed their disdain more who does not love their nemesis. Don’t make me have to thump some sense into you.”
She was right, of course. I fell in love with Emily the first time I saw her, knowing that we could never be together, which made it frustrating and annoying, and went a long way towards explaining why I was hostile towards her. If she despised me, it couldn’t go anywhere. Now, here, that façade was going to be impossible to keep up.
Then, all of a sudden, it was time for dancing, the orchestra, yes it was a real orchestra, was playing the first stains of a Viennese Waltz. Perhaps if I just sidled along the bar towards the exit…
“I can dance too, you know.” Emily must have known I would try to disappear. “Many, many painful lessons when I could have been out with my friends. No possible use for it on this earth, but there it is. Take my hand, William, show me there’s more than just a grumpy man under that immaculate tuxedo.”
As they say, the gauntlet had been thrown down.
About twenty couples had taken to the floor and were arranging themselves in a circle, and we all ended up facing each other.
The music started. I bowed to Emily. Emily curtsied to me. She took my hand, did a twirl, and we came together, very close.
Could she hear my heart beating? It was almost racing. Just standing there was perhaps the most intoxicating moment of my life.
Then it began, first one way, then the other. I kept an eye on those on either side, maintaining distance.
“You’re not counting your steps, are you?” We parted, and she came back, close in, and whispered in my ear.
“No. Just making sure it’s the right one.”
Out again, back again, close, going around and around, trying not to get dizzy. It was the one thing that bothered me in classes.
“Is this close enough for you?”
“Is that your one question?”
She frowned. “No.”
Concentration, then. “Ask your first.”
“Have you always been this entitled, bratty child?”
“Yes.”
Well, that didn’t give me much to work with. At least she admitted it.
She went out, doing a twirl, then came back, a smile on her face.
“Next?”
“Why am I here? I’m not in the same stratosphere you are, and it seems pointless. Except if you want to point out to everyone here that I don’t belong.”
“What was it you said one, flying at 30,000 feet without oxygen. Put it this way, you wouldn’t know if you were not there with me. Get ready, I call it the skipping bit.”
I’d forgotten about it. It was not long but brought many a learner undone.
Over, twirl, back, a close hug, then a little separation, hand behind her back, arm on my shoulder.
I thought about that answer. Did she think I was her equal? I certainly didn’t think so.
“You didn’t answer why I am here?
“Because I asked my father to invite you.”
“Third question, “Why would you invite me given our history?”
“Hold that thought, we’re changing partners for a circuit.”
Then, all of a sudden she was gone, and opposite me was one of her friends, whose look told me I really shouldn’t be here. Whatever Emily’s motives were, they were hers alone.
One minute and twenty seconds of utter silence, with a girl who I would never get to dance with within a million years, from a world I could never expect to be part of.
In the end, “Well done Will. Just don’t disappoint her.” And then she was gone, and Emily was back.
“Where you come from does not define who you are Will, and I failed to realise that. We got off on the wrong foot, metaphorically, and I want to change that, starting now. Now I have just one question, and you have to answer honestly.”
The thought of what she might ask filled me with dread.
“It took me a while to work out why you hated me so much. One of your questions proved it, and you think you’re not good enough for me. Most boys pretend to love me so they can get what they want, but they don’t love me the way you do, do they?”
Cornered, with nowhere to go.
Stop, twirl, out, back, together. I wished it would end and I could run away.
“Would it matter what I said?”
“Yes, William, it would.”
“Then no they don’t, and yes, I do, have done so from the first day I saw you. Make of that what you will, but it’s the truth.”
And, then, the dance was done. A bow, a curtsey. She could have walked away. Instead, she held out her hand, and I took it. She was quite literally the most enchanting girl in the room, and for the moment, she wanted to be with me.
She smiled. “Your name is in number two place on my dance card, so there’s no escape.”
“And probably number three.”
She nodded. “Oh, and in case you haven’t realized it yet, for some unknown reason, I seem to be in love with you, too. As my father often says, the night is young, and we have much to explore.”
It seems rather strange reading letters that were written by my parents before they were married.
They’re not love letters, but just words, words that knowing my father and mother as I do, seem so totally at odds with that knowledge.
The thing is, I never knew anything of theirs from that era existed, even though I knew my mother was a hoarder, and we didn’t discover the extent of that phobia until it was time to move them from their last residence to the retirement home.
There were cases and boxes filled with papers, letters, cuttings, and everything else in between. Nothing had been thrown out.
And whilst I knew those letters existed, there was the yuk factor involved, such that I would never want to read them because, well, that was my parents’ stuff.
So, all of it was sorted, most of it thrown away, and only what we thought was of any intrinsic value was kept. Those letters were part of the ‘keep’ pile and ended up in an old metal steamer trunk, and there they have lived for about ten years.
With the recent cleaning of my office, much to Chester’s disdain, the trunk suddenly looked out of place in a clean room.
My grandchildren ‘found’ this trunk and started looking through the contents and finished up with the letters.
And, being the curious people, they were, they started reading them, of course, stumbling over understanding the handwriting, which was based on what we learned in school, cursive script. That meant I had to interpret the writing for them.
Talk about morbid curiosity!
And like I said, in reading them, formed the impression that these two correspondents were nothing like the people I knew growing up.
These letters dated from 1948 and 1949 when they were married in June of 1949. There was no doubt it was a different time, and they were different people. My mother came from a country town and went to work in Melbourne around that time. I know that during the war, those years from 1939 to 1945 she was a student at Dandenong High School.
It was odd to realize that considering we eventually moved to Dandenong, and that may have had something to do with it.
My father served in the war till 1946, and then after being discharged from the army, worked as a projectionist until he went overseas for nearly a year, ostensibly to see how the war had affected Europe. After that, he went back to being a projectionist at the Athenaeum in Melbourne, and later on, not knowing much of his work history, he would always tell us about the movies, especially those that came up on television.
There’s more I’m sure, like the fact my mother had another chap on the go at the same time, but it seems he was not interested in settling down.
Perhaps more will come to light in further reading, but like it said, it seems very strange to be reading those letters, much like walking over a grave; it gives me the odd shiver down the spine.
No doubt, the next time the grandchildren visit there will be another installment.
I was poking around on the gallery on my phone and found this
It was the rear of the club house for a golf course that was adjacent to the resort we were staying at before COVID shut down the country and all travel.
It was a bleak day with rain falling from drizzle to a heavy shower, and I had to wonder what it would be like on a fine summer’s day.
The club house also had space for conventions and weddings, and I could imaging having the wedding in the rotunda as the the sun departed leaving behind shades of yellow, orange and red.
Having a fountain in the wedding photo would be so hard to take either.
Perhaps we could renew our vows one day in just such a location.
It’s a thought.
…
But as for a story…
…
It’s a bleak day with constant drizzle, the sort of day to fuel introspection.
A day to spend in front of a fire with a good book instead of chasing a white ball. The thing is, you never quite know when the weather is going to interfere with the best laid plans.
A week before, the forecast was for clear skies, and perfect blue skies.
Jake was going to meet up with some very influential people on the golf course to discuss business. It was not the sort of business that was conducted indoors, in a conference room, or an office.
But the weather was not going to play ball.
As the murky darkness dawned into a grey soggy morning with constant irritating drizzle, Jake was looking out the window of his room that overlooked the parkland when there was a knock on the door.
There was no way anyone was playing golf in this weather, so he was hoping it was his assistant with the alternate arrangements.
It was the assistant, but with a look of disappointment on her face.
“What news?” he asked.
“McDonald’s PA just called. He had a heart attack last night, and just died.”
And then there those horrible things called crosswords.
There are antonyms and synonyms
Sometimes we use words we don’t know the meaning of because of their similarity with others we do
Then there one or more words that make other words as in anagrams
There are substitute words, words we use around children like fudge instead of, well you get what I mean
There’s no doubt we would be lost without words
Words are to be chosen carefully and thoughtfully
They need to be delivered in an appropriate manner, not in haste, and not in anger
We need to believe in what we’re saying before others will believe it
We need to learn how to express our feelings
We should take advantage of learning English (or any other native language) when at school
We need to start reading as soon as we can and keep up reading as we get older. One should never underestimate the power reading and writing gives us no matter who we are.
Always have a dictionary by your side. It is the most valuable book you can own.
And always remember the power of speech can at times move mountains
With the improved weather, they settle into a routine, she is getting comfortable with Henry being around, and he is finally getting out of the shipboard routine, and becoming more relaxed, though still wary of making a mistake.
They go for walks along the beach, and gradually, a form of intimacy takes place, holding hands, at first with gloves on.
Then in a totally unscripted moment from out of left field, they kiss. It just happens ‘in the moment’. He apologises, and she just smiles.
Given what she has escaped from, it is a sublime moment that gives her the opportunity, against all odds, that it was possible, one day, she could be happy.
It leads to another unscripted moment, but this time a kiss with more meaning behind it.
Henry doesn’t know how to process this event but goes with the flow. Out of the confines of the town, on a short road trip, they admit they like each other and to not have any expectations that it might go anywhere.
But the ugly truth of her background raises its head with the conversation turning to the future, and Henry puts his foot in it.
As an unexpected result of that feeling he had ruined everything; a hug that, for him, seemed to last a lifetime.
I remember that first kiss, and the moment that led to it, and it left me with butterflies and dread, that eventually it would all fall apart. It was a passing moment in time, and it taught me one very valuable lesson, leave expectations out of it. And that flush of first love, there is nothing like it.
It’s always a good thing to get that across especially if you work for an organization that could misinterpret what that opinion is, or generally have an opposing opinion. Of course, by saying your opinions are your own, you’re covering yourself from becoming unemployed, but is this a futile act?
Perhaps its better to not say anything because everything you say and do eventually find its way to those you want most not to hear about it, perhaps one of the big negatives of the internet and social media.
And…
It seems odd to me that you can’t have an opinion of your own, even if it is contrary to that of the organization you work for, and especially if their opinion has changed over time. An opposing opinion, not delivered in a derogatory manner, would have the expectation of sparking healthy debate, but it doesn’t always end up like that.
I’m sure there are others out there that will disagree, and use the overused word, loyalty’. Perhaps their mantra will be ‘keep your opinions to yourself’.
This, too, often crops up in personal relationships, and adds weight to the statement, ‘you can pick your friends but not your relatives’.
I’m told I have an opinion on everything, a statement delivered in a manner that suggests sarcasm. Whether it’s true or not, isn’t the essence of free speech, working within the parameters of not inciting hate, bigotry, racism, or sexism, a fundamental right of anyone in a democracy?
Seems not.
There’s always someone out there, higher up the food chain, with an opinion of their own, obviously the right one, and who will not hesitate to silence yours. But, isn’t it strange that in order to silence you, they have to use leverage, like your job, to get theirs across.
Well, my opinions are in my writing, and whether or not you agree with them or not, I’m sure you will let me know. In a robust but respectful manner.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 