by Naomi Jacobs
As I began to remember, I wrote more stuff in Adult Naomi’s diary.
27 June 2008
Dear Adult Naomi,
I wanted to let you know that while I am here, I am only going to speak to the people I want to and will happily avoid the calls of those I don’t. I just don’t get your friends, sorry. I mean, Dean is way cool and Katie is top bananas, but the rest of them? And anyway, I’m still well impressed with the call-screening thingy on a mobile phone, so I pretend I haven’t received text messages and then switch my phone off until I want to speak to someone and then I switch it back on. I’m telling you this because I think it’s important you know that those someones are mainly family, including our cousins Nat and Marcy, who are, like, really safe and our age and so should be our friends!
Got in touch with Dad this week. Even though he’s used to you going incommunicado for months on end, he was happy to hear from me. I told him what had happened; he went very quiet and then asked me did I wanna go the hospital, but I told him no frickin’ way! The last thing you need is ignoramus psycho doctors like that Dr (dick) Davies that can’t help you. I told him this and then he said as long as I was okay and that he would come and stay and help me decorate the bedroom. Do you like it? The paint is called Hollywood, and wow, IKEA is, like, wicked!!!
He came to stay at the weekend and helped me decorate. I cried when I saw him, not because he had aged – in fact, he hardly looks any different. He has a little pot belly and a couple of grey hairs in his stubble but he is still my dad. I had missed him. And I kind of get it. I found out Eve told Simone to leave home a year after me and go and live with Art as well. Maybe her forcing us to go and live with him wasn’t a bad thing in the end. I wouldn’t have ended up in Manchester, and I wouldn’t have had Leo. And Art has been a great dad to Leo as well. So, bonus! But he likes to talk to me a lot about politics and stuff, which is totally weird ’cause he’s treating me like an adult!
Oh. My. Dayz. JJ!!! I screamed, cried, and laughed all at once when I saw him for the first time ever. No way have we got a brother! He’s like this really tall, lighter-skinned genetic hybrid of me, Simone, Leo and Art; he has the dimples, the cheekbones, the almond-shaped brown eyes that disappear when he smiles. Sooooo freaky! The only difference is he’s skinny (didn’t get the fat gene then) and he’s got a mop of golden brown curls. I know you know this but writing it down is kind of helping me remember stuff. He speaks really posh (Sim says his mum is posh) and he knows A LOT for his age. In fact, I suspect he is somewhat of a prodigy (‘Everybody is in tha place’ . . . remember that tune?) Anyway, I was a little wary at first; he and Simone seemed to get on so well and I wasn’t sure of your relationship with him, until he mentioned films and sci-fi in the same sentence. That was it, we spent the whole weekend watching your sci-fi collection and I introduced him to the ‘greats’: Blade Runner, Logan’s Run and the first three Star Wars episodes (which are the last three). He showed me The Matrix (wow!), the Terminator films and the last three episodes of Star Wars (which are the first three)! I showed him Red Dwarf as well. So me and JJ have bonded over a love of film and I am glad Art let go of his hatred of ‘Tory toffs and all of their offspring’ long enough to procreate once more and produce our gorgeous, talented and extremely smart brother.
I think it’s time to contact Joseph’s brood! I miss my stepbrothers and sisters!
I hope you’re okay, wherever you are.
Love,
Teen Nay x
And I did. I spoke to all seven of them. I saved the best till last.
Maxine was four years younger than me and we were very close as children. We shared a birthday and out of all my stepbrothers and sisters, she was the one I got on with the most and seemed to have remained close to in adult life. In my mind, the last time we had spoken, she was eleven years of age. I couldn’t believe she was twenty-eight now.
‘MAXI-PAD!’ I screamed down the phone – my loving nickname for her. Yeah, a sanitary towel, but hey, she still loved me!
‘Oh my God, no one has called me that for years!’ she laughed.
‘Oh my dayz, you sound OLD!’ I said, startled by her voice. ‘Has Sim told you what’s happened to me then?’
She hadn’t, so Maxine listened in stunned silence as I told her of everything that had happened over the past couple of months.
‘Bloody ’ell, Nay. What ya gonna do now?’ she asked me.
‘Chipping to Egypt.’
‘Wow, seriously?’
‘Yeah, it’s been mental, I sooooo need a holiday.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right going on your own?’ It was weird, my eleven-year-old sister worrying about me.
‘I will be safe, sorted, don’t worry, sis; everything is under control,’ I said confidently.
‘Well, call me when you land. Let me know you get there okay.’
‘I will.’
‘Promise?’
‘I smeg you not, I will call.’
She started to laugh again. ‘Smeg,’ she sniggered. ‘What’s a fridge got to do with it?’
‘A what?’ I had no clue what she was talking about until Maxine gave me the Smeg-is-now-the-name-of-a-fridge-maker’s-and-not-a-cool-swear-word explanation and also told me again how my beloved Lister had ended up in Coronation Street. The first time around I hadn’t really taken it in, but now I couldn’t hide the disappointment I felt in my hero and vowed to never use the word ‘smeg’ again. Maxine found this hilarious. I did not; I was still getting over the death of Kurt Cobain.
So after spending time with those I loved and reconnecting with the friends I liked, a sense of balance came to everything that had been messed up. I was as happy and as settled as I could be and the connection I felt with those around me brought me closer to Adult Naomi. I kinda stopped wanting to go back to 1992 and instead decided to fill the future with experiences that were mine.
I never wanted to smoke again. So I exercised by walking and doing a bit of jogging around the local park. This kept the desire to get stoned at bay so I got Adult Naomi’s sachet of weed from the bedside drawer and threw it away.
As my brain began to change, so did my taste buds. I found that my digestive system just couldn’t handle dairy products and eventually I gave up the cottage cheese. And one morning, after a late night with Dean and some pear cider, I found myself craving a cup of hot black coffee.
Several days later, I packed a large suitcase and charged up the iPod, which still blew my frickin’ mind. (When Simone showed me a camera that took pictures you could actually see on a screen and were saved on a chip – no fish in sight – I almost hit the deck in complete major shock!) Everyone was so supportive of me having a holiday. So on the day I left, I gave Simone and Leo a mega hug and while heading to the airport thought for the first time, I’m starting to like the future.
As my plane passed over the deserts of North Africa, I felt a subtle interior shift. The warmth of the sun shone through the small window and the curves and dips of the sand beneath me seemed to move like gentle waves on a golden sea. It took my breath away and I instantly felt connected to the earth below. I felt like a travelling child, who had left home years ago, but now, older and wiser, was coming back. This country had been waiting patiently for me with open arms, welcoming me back. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been here before and that I belonged.
Major déjà vu!
The plane landed at Marsa Alam in the early evening. As soon as I stepped onto the tarmac the waning sun shone down, warming up every cell in my body. I knew at once that I’d made the right decision in coming here.
Marsa Alam, an isolated fishing village, was situated on the south-western coast of the Red Sea. The few resorts built along the rich blue coastline were small and the nearest city was four hours away. As our coach turned the corner into the hotel car park, I noticed a man sitting outside one of the hotel shops on a small stool, smoking a cigarette. He watched the coach pull up through squinted eyes, which seem
ed to, like, give him a permanent smile on his old face. I smiled at him. He laughed and nodded his head. I had no clue what he found so funny, but I laughed with him anyway.
Once in the hotel, our holiday rep, Mark – a very friendly and very camp guy – welcomed our group, which was full of couples, a few foges and this young couple from Leeds, who I chatted to on the coach and who seemed nice when I asked them to take a picture of me when we arrived. It was kind of a quiet group, which suited me fine. I missed the start of Mark’s speech, as I was too busy staring at his hair, which had been Brylcreemed to within an inch of its life. It sat on top of his head like a shiny black wave captured in mid-air. Mark was to be our ‘go-to guy’ if we needed anything or had any problems with the hotel. I was counting on having a very problem-free, STRESS-FREE stay, so reckoned on not seeing Mark at all. I felt so relaxed that even when he informed us our rooms weren’t ready, I was happy to wait.
The setting sun was disappearing behind the hotel rooms into a distant royal-blue sea but it still shone, reddish and orange, over everything in the opulent lobby. In the centre, there was a raised circular marble platform, flagged by four pillars; golden rails fenced in a square around it, leaving a gap for access. I decided it was a good place to sit, so I walked up the two marble steps and sat on one of the half-moon-shaped blue sofas. Though it was situated in the centre of the hotel lobby, sitting there seemed to separate me from everyone else. My gaze eventually landed on this humongous russet bronze bird. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was placed at the highest point of the room on the wall above the reception desk.
It was a phoenix and seeing it made me suddenly remember something.
I pulled out Adult Naomi’s diary and started to write.
Dear Adult Naomi,
I just quickly wanted to write to you while I am waiting for my hotel room key. We are so meant to be here! There’s a huge phoenix on the wall and it’s carrying a massive golden orb in its claws, and its feathers are trailing all curly behind it. It’s beautiful, magnificent, like a god watching over its children playing; it feels like it’s watching over the room protectively. It just made me remember. Remember when mum let me have that Christmas party? I think she felt mega guilty ’cause she had forgotten my sixteenth birthday! Remember Robert Harris got drunk and threw up over the front garden wall and my girl Foxy and her mad boyfriend Billy were kissing on my top bunk bed and everyone went on for weeks about how it was a wicked party? I kinda remember how great I felt – even though I had to leave Wolverhampton, I went out in style; I felt good about myself for a while. Remember? And remember how much we were into star signs and astrology? We used to sell horoscopes to the kids in school. I totally loved being a Scorpio, remember? Mysterious, secretive, but sexy and smart, that was stuff I thought about myself – no, think about myself – and made me look forward to being a woman, throwing great parties, people liking being around me and stuff, but you don’t feel like that anymore, which has made me well sad. But the Phoenix bird, I remember now, it’s like, the original symbol for the scorpion. I am taking it as a reminder or a sign from the universe (as you put it) that I have chosen the right place. We are so meant to be here!
Love,
Teen ‘too sexy for your car’ Nay x
Humming the Right Said Fred song that my friends and I used to dance around to provocatively, I took in the rest of the decor. My jaw almost hit the floor when I saw what was above me. Sat atop of the four pillars was a dome, the inside of which was painted white with seven golden stars. Underneath the stars was a ring of symbols, which on closer inspection, I realized were the twelve signs of the zodiac, and I was sitting directly underneath the scorpion sign. I sat and stared in disbelief – had I been expected?
As I stared at the zodiac signs from Aquarius through to Capricorn, I got the sudden feeling I was being watched, like someone’s eyes were piercing right through me. I was right. The same man who’d been sitting outside the shop earlier was standing in the shadow of the entrance, watching me as a young bellboy chatted to him animatedly. It took a while for it to register, but once I figured I must have looked a bit tapped sitting there, mouth wide open as I stared up at the ceiling, I looked away. When I looked up again the man had gone.
Moments later, we were handed keys and Mark led us to the rooms, which were dotted around the complex in separate two-up, two-down apartments. The outside walls were a red colour, others terracotta, and they looked as if someone had taken a chisel from the gods and carved them out of the rock face. I felt like I was in a North African version of Bedrock and expected a Bedouin Fred Flintstone to walk past, waving and shouting, ‘Yabba dabba doooooo! Have a great time!’
Mark led me up a set of stone steps to the top floor, where he showed me into my room. It smelled of warm jasmine flowers.
‘Right, darrrrrling.’ He swung an arm around dramatically ‘This is yours; it has a separate bathroom, a double bedroom and a separate dressing room.’ He handed me a file. ‘Here’s your welcome pack. My number is in there; call me day or night if you need anything, sweetie.’ He almost skipped to the door, then swivelled on his feet. ‘Someone will bring your suitcase up soon,’ he said happily. And then he was gone.
I explored properly. My bathroom was white marble tiled and spacious. Next to this was a separate dressing room. Built from a green malachite stone, with black and ochre marble walls, it had a walk-in wardrobe, a dressing table with mirror and a small wicker sofa with green cushions. A small window with spotlights looked into the double bedroom; it was like a cross between Egyptian art deco and a scene from a 1930s Hollywood movie and I loved every single part of it.
My large double room consisted of a queen-sized bed flanked either side by small wooden cabinets and large black lamps. A sofa sat in the far corner, which looked out through the patio doors, and opposite it sat a black wooden cabinet desk with TV, phone and lamp. This was going to be my home for the next nine days. It felt like a sanctuary already and was just enough for me.
I opened the doors onto the balcony and the sight and smell of the lush green lawns and the pink and orange flowers totally took my breath away. The hotel’s gardeners were watering the plants. Some of them looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back. Beyond the garden was a beautiful secluded golden sandy beach on which tall palm trees stood, shading sun loungers and wooden umbrellas. It was paradise. I watched as the African sun dipped into the sea, bidding farewell to the day and making way for the stars. One by one, they appeared in the sky as if someone had flicked a switch on, ready for the darkness.
A knock on the door jolted me from my trance. A man dressed in the cream hotel uniform stood holding my suitcase. As I opened the door wider he gave me the most gorgeous smile. He was major fitness! He had soft, smooth skin, high cheekbones, a chiselled jaw and those Colgate advert white teeth. His eyes sparkled mischievously and his straight jet-black hair curled at the edges. He looked as if he belonged on the cover of Arabic Vogue or something, not in a hotel at the end of the Red Sea. I stood staring at him for a second too long, then felt like a total spaz and giggled instead. He laughed at me.
I fumbled in my purse and gave him ten Egyptian dollars.
‘My name is Ahmed.’ His voice was deep. ‘If you need anything from me, you call housekeeping and I will be here straight away.’
My skin burned red. ‘Th . . . th . . . thanks,’ I stuttered. My mouth was dry.
He gave me another gorgeous sexy smile, and before my knees totally went and I wrapped up on the floor, he left.
I went back out to the balcony for some air and to stop my embarrassmental shame and, in that moment, I knew without a doubt that Egypt was going to be just what I needed to get over waking up in the future. It had been a long day, though, so to the soundtrack of the waves gently lapping against the beach, I came back in to settle myself into my room. I unpacked, had a shower and got in my PJs. I was in bed moments later and picking up the 2008 diary. I flipped open the first entry Adult Naomi had wr
itten earlier in the year. It was all about the circle of life – or hakuna matata as Leo would say – and energy.
13 January 2008
This came to me when I meditated tonight.
The energy we possess flows from the divine soul. The divine soul is all that has been, is, and ever will be. Energy moves through our souls to the physical body and back out to the universe as a vibration, eventually returning to the divine soul. This continuous figure of eight rhythm mirrors the law of contraction and expansion which governs the cosmos. When this takes shape and form in our lives and we see it, we know it is the divine consciousness manifesting and is in everything, no matter what it is. It is ALL that exists, manifesting through different vibrations into this world and those vibrations are given names. Like a flower: it’s born in spring, it blossoms in summer, it decays in autumn and after winter it is destined to return to the earth. We are that flower. We come from pure divine spirit into a physical body and then leave our physical state to return to pure spirit. This is the journey of creation, the cosmic journey of the soul. This constant creation of ourselves through the experience of energy is so that we know the true essence of who we are. The true you within. Then and only then will we know our true vibration. Our true name.
I picked up a pen and flipped the pages to a blank page.
30 June 2008
Dear Adult Naomi,
Oh my dayz! You are, like, a serious tree hugger! I have just read what you wrote at the beginning of the diary and, well, it was kind of fascinating, even though a bit Yoda’s underpants!
Still, I kind of get that with all of the continuously crappy things that have happened to you – well, to us – that you had to do some soul searching, but please stop with the self-help books! You’ve got waaaayyy too many at home and I think you could write your own by now. Anyway, in case you were wondering, I have brought you to Egypt because I think you need a serious break and, well, like L’Oréal says, ‘You’re worth it’! Hahahaha! And the guy who brought our suitcases up is, like, TOTALLY FIT!! Way better looking than Robert Harris, and I think he’s flirting with me! Oh, and I definitely think we are meant to be here, because Phoenixes are, like, burned, go through a death, and then they rise from the ashes and live again and, well, I kind of reckon that’s what you’re like – you keep getting back up, no matter how many times you get knocked down. No matter how many times you get burned. You keep coming back.