My Grandmother Mimi and my grandfather Alfred, who were both a large part of my life for thirty and forty years respectively, or so I thought, have proven to be a figment of the imagination of quite a number of people. The same goes for my Mum Diane, whom I swore I saw only yesterday, but doesn’t exist. And come to think of it, until recent years I seem to have been a figment of my own imagination. Strange how some things one takes for granted can later on prove to be utter lies.
The truth about these misappropriated and constructed identities was revealed to me only today by two truly enlightened twelve-year-olds. They finally taught me how to distinguish fact from fabrication and trivial rumour mongering. They explained to me the first rule of contemporary proof of existence, which is an article of faith amongst all youngsters;
“Absolutely nothing is real, until it has been posted on Facebook and/or has been tweeted, period!”
At the same time I discovered the secret to everlasting life. Please!, should anyone learn (informally) of my demise in the near or far future, DON’T post it on FB or Twitter, that way the non-confirmation of my offline (and irrelevant) continuance or lack thereof can keep you all in suspense forever.