Lately I’m obsessed with candles. I have absolutely no idea why. I’ve been scared of candles since I was around 7. I remember coming downstairs, my mum being in the front room, on the sofa asleep, while a candle was coming to the end of its lifespan and beginning to set the curtain alight. I panicked. My mum put it out immediately with a wet cloth. Crisis averted. No damage caused. We didn’t light a candle in my house for a good 10 years after that night. Every time my mum or nan lit one, I would blow it out as soon as I saw it. Then flip out that once again they’d lit a candle – Sorry mum. I hated candles. Past tense.
My relationship with candles grew to be a strange one. I’m not religious at all. At all. But every time I go into a church or cathedral I always light at least 1 candle. My mum used to take me to church every weekend when I was young. I hated it, but she dragged me there regardless until I was maybe 15. Every weekend we would light a candle for my mums sister, and then another one for my great grandad. I don’t know what I believe about the afterlife, but my mum believes in heaven. She believes the deceased are always watching over us. That they’re always with us. That you can feel there presence in certain scenarios. For her, lighting a candle at church is a way of showing them you still think about them. A way to show them they will always be important to you. It makes her feel better, and for me that’s a good enough reason to do anything. I love religious buildings. Not for religious reasons, I just love the architecture. Whenever I visit a new city, there’s no doubt I’m going to go and look at their cathedral. In every city, I light a candle for my great grandad, and auntie Jo, and if anyone I know is going through a difficult time I light one for them too. I don’t believe in a God. But if one was to exist, I’d like to think they’d accept that. They’d see that I’m just trying to figure out my life and that my intentions are pure. Maybe I get it wrong sometimes, but I’m trying my best to do right by those who matter to me. Anyway…
When I moved into my flat, my room had 2 candles sat on a table. I wanted to light them straight away. I have no idea why. I had visions of me sat on the sofa, laptop on the table, candles lit either side, working away on my lesson plans. This scenario has yet to happen, a month later however the idea was there! ANYWAY, the fact remains. I wanted to light the candles. Did I know the word for lighter? Nope. Do I now? Yep. It’s called an “encendedor.” Except, I’ve never heard anyone other than the lady who sold me it call it that. I’ve heard the phrase “¿Tienes el fuego? – Do you have the fire? – more times this month, than I ever thought I would in my entire life. Considering 99%(Slight exaggeration) of Spaniards smoke, nobody ever has a lighter. Ever.
What are you getting at here, Flynn? What is the point of this blog? Well, stranger. I’ve just realised what it is. Literally right this moment.
This post is about fear. It’s about growing out of fear. As well as growing, out of fear. I’m not a brave man by any means. I flinch at loud noises, and I’ve never had a fight in my life. I’m scared in the same way I was scared of the rain at age 6, candles at 7, horror films at 23. I know the truth yet I’m hiding behind a lie, and that scares me. Scared of the glaringly obvious. I’m scared of the light. Scared that what I know to be lurking the comfort of the shadows will soon be illuminated. Only to show that the embers have already died out. The light has already shone as bright as it will ever shine. This candle was never meant to set your world on fire. I guess, I’m scared to see what lies amongst the embers. In which direction the wind chooses to blow them. But all of this, it’s all ok. 6 months ago I would’ve been scared to ask if “you have the fire?” I’ve grown out of that fear. Soon. This fire too will be put out, and maybe not today, but it will be okay.
At least I can admit that, and therein lies growth.
Ciao, Flynn
Let's go on an adventure. 