Monday, December 31, 2012

Three Years Later

It all started on a moonlit balcony. Enter an amateur who is undoubtedly oblivious to the misguided camouflage of the pink bathrobe and the not so subtle sound of smooth jazz. And then I started writing, and sentences turned into paragraphs, and months turned into years. Three, to be exact.

Three: the time it takes for a full moon to turn blue, the same shade of blue that is blending, perpendicularly, with the lines of these anaemic pages. Three: the (lowest) number of words it takes to put together an uncomplicated phrase, one that is capable of evoking a myriad of emotions at any time of day and under almost any circumstance.

Best year ever. Caterpillars become butterflies. Close your eyes. Then open them. Come find me. Dreamers are lonely. Fall then fly. Fears are imaginary. Free your mind. Happiness is temporary. Hope is not. I miss you. Insanity is relative. Just say yes. Life is beautiful. You are too. Make a difference. Memories are fragile. Mortality is overrated. So is money. Open the cage. Paint the clouds. Use a pencil. Paper beats rock. People make mistakes. They also change. Deal with it. Photograph a smile. Read a book. Serendipity is random. Just like science. Smell the magic. Soul mates exist. Stop and listen. Suffocate the doubts. Take my hand. Travel the world. Try something new.

Happy New Year. Live a little.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Beginning of the End (a Letter)

Dear you,

For reasons you will soon come to understand, I shall not be divulging my identity straight away. If I do, it might change the way you look at this letter, and I don't want that. Do not try to understand what I am about to spew here, because between you and me, I'm not even sure I know myself. Writing this is not even remotely close to my idea of fun, but the chief/s in command, who I never had the pleasure of officially meeting, asked me to, just in case. So here I am, making this up as I go. If at some point, I become incoherent and you find yourself lost, bear with me. Contrary to popular belief, I may not be cut out for this. Still, I think I owe it to you, and myself, to try.

If I am to be totally honest though, I don't fathom what you are even doing on the list. You see, you are not the only one I am sending a letter to. Way before the rumours started, I was provided with a long list of names, of which you are the first privileged enough to be contacted. But like I said, I don't know why you, of all people, are on it. I have been trying very hard to grasp the meaning and intent behind this random selection. In a feeble attempt to digest this assignment, I even took the liberty to take a quick peek at your past, and surprisingly enough, you check out. Yes, you may have stumbled on your own two feet a couple of times, but overall, you are what I would consider a regular, and a pretty lucky one too, if you allow me to say so myself.

So here is where my dilemma lies. On the one hand, I was told to atone for a sin that I haven't even committed yet (and probably won't for a really long time, if ever), and on the other, my gut is telling me to direct my last remaining energy source elsewhere, in view of the hypothetical bigger picture that is as yet obscure. Because if the predictions about me are true, then I guess it won't matter, but if they're not, well, then I guess you will be far better off pretending that my imminence is real. Which is why I have opted to go with my metaphoric, yet still very intuitive, gut.

Having decided so, it is not my intention, and definitely not my place, to meddle with how you decide to live your life, especially since you seem to be doing so well on your own. However, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat disturbing trend over the past few years. You are probably too wrapped up in your own head to realise, but those silly little things that used to put a smile on your face everyday, don't anymore. You have also become numb to the emotions that once made you cry. And yes, while I do understand that things don't always have to stay the same, I don't see why they shouldn't.

Why shouldn't you succumb to the beauty that surrounds you? Why shouldn't you evaporate in the kaleidoscopic sun as it plays hide and seek with the quiet, majestic birds and the fleecy, evergreen trees? Why shouldn't you immerse yourself in the sweet symphony that accompanies the incandescent lights emanating from the tall buildings as they make their way down into the river crossing the city? Why shouldn't you let the warm wind, barging in from the car windows, thaw your heavy beating heart? Tell me, why shouldn't you? And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about here. Because you and I both know that you do.

But listen, like I said, I do not intend to give you a hard time. It's just that some people have been living their lives as though my existence is absolute, but not you. Mind you, I'm not saying that you should, but you have been cruising through life pretending I don't matter. But in my own way, I do. I do matter. Irrespective of whether I'm still around at the end of this week, or at the end of the century.

I do matter. Whether you choose to believe me or not, is ultimately up to you.

the End of the World

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Not Cold Enough

She ran,
and ran,
all the way to the ocean,
stopping only to watch 'Life in Rewind'
playing in slow motion.
Every bone in her body told her to jump;
got dismissed, just like always,
by a throat and its lump.

It takes courage to dive,
to breathe underwater,
to sink but not drown,
when you're your father's daughter.

So she stood there,
for an hour or two,
baring only her soul,
and her damaged left shoe.

Fighting hard against gravity,
against time and its Boolean brevity.
With no one to call her bluff,
about the water not being cold enough.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

The Best Never Had

I thought I would have forgotten by now, you, looking at me, looking at you. I really thought I would. I remember smiling, because I honestly had no idea what else I was supposed to do. (I still don't.) I remember you smiling back, causing the inebriated cardiac muscle to contract a fraction of a second before the designated time. I had read about this sort of thing in my now rusty old books. I had experienced the idea of it every time I heard that pathetic song on the radio. But never like that. Never in real time. And we both seemed to be enjoying it, shooting sparks and banter back and forth at each other from across the library table. I know I did. Your gaze and your lips, slightly hidden behind that clean shave, defibrillated my terrified heart like two metal paddle electrodes. And for a minute (it was in fact three hours), time was no longer relevant. Time was infinite.

But then I had to go. I don't know why I had to but it must have seemed important at the time. (It probably wasn't.) What happened next is a bit of a blur. I must have felt you, standing behind me, so I turned. You tugged at my sweaty palm, leading me upstairs. Upstairs, where you said the water was. I don't think I ever really understood what was happening. I don't think you expected me to. Then, before I had time to fully regain my senses, you asked. You asked and I said yes, my first yes to that overused question. Neither one of us said anything after that. We just stood there, looking at each other, like two lost souls who had finally found something to hold on to. I smiled and you smiled back. And then I left (and for the life in me, I can't remember why I did).

I put an acoustic sappy song in my ears and I left. And as I walked through the city, the city lights creating strange shadows on the rainy London streets, I found myself smiling. Strangers looked at me funny. I looked at me funny. But I didn't care, because for that one night, anything was possible.

But now I'm here. I've forgotten how I got there. But I have not forgotten you.