Oddballs and black sheep

I like people like me, oddballs and black sheep, and I instantly recognise them on the street. Sometimes it’s the way they look, their size, their dress, make-up or body art. Sometimes it’s their overconfident posture, their backbone, and some other times it’s their shyness; slightly reserved, slightly hunched, they don’t hold your gaze for long.

Our path is long, filled with weeds and rocks. No truck has gone before us to open the way. And whilst we walk through the wild vegetation, we upset some wasps, and they don’t know what to make of us, they’ve never seen something like us before, and we scare them, so they sting. They sting and sting and sting, and it hurts. They feel they have the right to sting, because this is their world, and we disturbed it. God knows what kind of habits or secrets we carry in that unusual-looking nonconformist backpack of ours, and so we must die.

But my friends, after a day's battle, whilst we’re nursing our wounds and mending our hearts and sucking the poison out, we must remember one thing… That we are here today, enjoying the privilege of freedom and of life because of our oddball ancestors. Because from the beginning of time all the way to today’s modern-day jungle, it is the oddballs and black sheep who got their hands dirty, who dared, who fought, who propelled the world forward and opened the way for the future generations. Us Edward Scissorhands of this world, we can’t change, and we shouldn’t want to, because our mission is sacred. So we must keep on, stay focused and replenish our strength in the friendship, understanding and companionship of fellow warriors. Be each other's pom-pom girls and rah rah team, and build each other up. Share our battle stories over a hip flask of sweet-smelling wine, together. Death will ultimately free our soul, but until then, let’s make the journey on the road less travelled a little more comfortable. Together.