Deceived

You thought your youth would be bliss,
You imagined quixotic nights under the stars,
You pictured a brazen lovers timid kiss,
You believed you’d spend hours in aimless train cars.
You didn’t think it’d all be a trick,
You never imagined you’d always be tired,
You never pictured your life would make you sick,
You didn’t believe that it had all backfired.

Digital Dreams

My mind is bound in ink,

My words composed of pixels,

My heart yearns for love letters,

My eyes receive ‘DM’s’,

My lungs long for a gentle breeze,

My breath provides only smoke,

We live in an age of ideals,

We desire some of the simplest pleasures,

Before a digital lord each person kneels,

And they receive a gift that does not measure.

The Soldier

I remember how the girls at my school would always drool over men in uniform. We were from a small town in the middle of nowhere. Sheep outnumbered us by about five to one so if you were into sheep, you were fine, but men in uniform were few and far between.

Despite our town being miniscule, you were only allowed to escape the potential food poisoning within the school dining hall when you reached sixteen. You got a sweet hour of freedom in which you could walk to either the nearby shop or the bakery if you wanted something hot. I never went to the bakery. I didn’t like having an overpriced meat pie with a surprise fingernail in the center.

On one day, in early December, my gaggle of friends decided that they would visit the bakery and I was left to go alone to the local shop. It just so happened that on that day a great big army truck with around nine soldiers inside was dropping in for lunch. Had I been with my friends, I probably would have been surrounded by six comatose teens. I never understood the uniform thing myself. I’d rather have a poet.

Another reason I now dislike men in uniform is that they all queue up at the one open till, one by one and take forever to buy their lunch. They also take all the decent sandwiches and leave you with soggy tuna and sweetcorn. I ended up behind the very last one in the queue and checked my watch to view my waning lunch hour. I must have sighed rather loud, because the soldier in front of me turned around with an amused smile on his face.

“I suppose you’d like to go in front, wouldn’t you?” he gestured in front of him.

With that gesture, I spotted the exact sandwich I wanted. I was sixteen and hungry, that was my main concern at the time. But, I’d take the queue jump.

“I would very much, thank you,” I took a step forwards.

“How old are you?” he tilted his head with that smile.

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen? That’s almost old enough to be married. I don’t suppose you’d ever like to marry a soldier?”

He must have been around thirty. I could tell he didn’t mean it in a serious manner, he just wanted to see a girl blush. However, I was young and overconfident. I could have stuttered a nervous response but I managed to find the voice of a women who certainly wasn’t Nadezhda Volkov.

“Men in uniform don’t impress me.”

He laughed at me.

“Is that so? I bet you prefer musicians. Your boyfriend is in a band, I’d put money on it.”

The prospect of having a boyfriend very nearly coaxed the blush he was searching for. I chose to ignore him and just face the till, waiting to pay for my lacklustre lunch. I didn’t like this man. In fact that, combined with my disappointment at my sandwich put me off wasting my money. I moved to step out of the queue and the soldier tutted.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s important to eat three meals a day?”

What did my mother have to do with anything? He thought I was just a child and I thought I was a young lady. I was at that phase in my life where I thought I was entirely unique. Everyone went through a stage like that. Oh, Toska, you fool.

“I just don’t feel like it,” I replied stiffly.

“Well, you should. You’re just skin and bones.”

I was well aware of that. I put effort into that. Once again I didn’t reply but my soldier didn’t relent.

“You’re a little Cleopatra, aren’t you? Very pretty, I suppose you see yourself as a Queen of the Nile?”

Perhaps I was! Well, our river was the Eden so I was Queen of the Eden. Did my soldier have a problem with that?

I still had no answer for the soldier and was briefly distracted by paying for my food. That vile… repugnant tuna and sweetcorn sandwich.

“You’ve gone a little pale, haven’t you? You should have that lunch of yours as soon as possible,” he spoke simply and kindly, that smile still on his face. “Say hello to your musician boyfriend for me.”

I decided not to correct my soldier and said a meek goodbye before leaving, soon meeting my gang of pie-eating friends. I mostly forgot all about my soldier who thought I was the Queen of the Nile.

I always remember that sickly soggy sandwich whenever I see a man in uniform and I most certainly do not drool.

My Pseudonym

Pseudonyms are more often than not chosen with great care for one reason or another. Daniel DeFoe was merely Daniel Foe before he adopted his pseudonym. My great idol is the wonderful Teffi who chose her name after claiming the name of a fool she knew and removing the first letter of his name. Why? Because fools have all the luck. A beautiful philosophy.

My name doesn’t have such an interesting backstory. Patricio Toska, you’d be forgiven for thinking I was a man. That was an unintentional effect. I simply disliked the name Patricia, which is my middle name by birth, and thought I’d mix it up a bit. Patricio means ‘noble’ apparently. Funnily, it’s not a word that has ever been used to describe me. I don’t think I’m entirely likeable. I don’t think I care.

Toska, I chose for it’s simple beauty. Nabokov put it well, “No single word in English renders all the shades of ‘Toska’.’ It is an ache of the soul, a longing when you have nothing to long for. In my darkest moments, Toska has brought me the slightest of smiles. Isn’t that the trick of life? Find the little things that bring a flicker of joy and all the bleakness makes it all worthwhile. I don’t profess to have all the secrets of life, I’ve barely made it this far in one piece but I like to think I’ve felt Toska for so long that I have a right to it. I have claimed Toska because I have become Toska. It isn’t sad, it’s beautiful. A delicate word that settles on your tongue like it is far  more than just an uttering.

My real name isn’t even Nadezhda Volkov, it’s another pseudonym. Nadezhda, hope. Lord knows people need it enough of the time. And Volkov, wolf. Volkov is not so spiritual. It’s a beautiful name, that’s true. But I also rather like wolves, that’s the top and bottom of it.

Those that know me by my real name, do not know about Nadezhda or Toska. Those that know me as Nadezhda or Toska, do not know my real name. I like it that way. It is my little secret, my childish double life that makes me laugh when nobody is around.

So, call me Toska, if you like. I will answer to it. Call me Nadezhda if you think that calling me by a pseudonym is silly. I won’t mind. Patricio or Volkov might cause me to look at you funny but if that’s your choice, I’ll allow it. I love my name and all that it stands for.