Far far away from home, in a house that does not believe in birthdays, I decide to skip a year. I will not be 24 this year. I will not grow older this year.
And the day turns to dusk and dusk becomes night and the night shifts to dawn. And I am not older. I am not younger. I am me and I expand in indefinable dimensions, not age-related.
October.
Fall.
Leaves. Plenty of leaves. Yellow leaves and red leaves and orange leaves.
Wind. Fresh cool breezy wind. I walk on Air.
Downtown stands and subway heat.
Random people walking, smiling and spreading peace.
Friends and laughs and giggles over early morning coffee and snacks.
Goodies.
Cinnamon. Banana pancakes. Blueberry waffles. Pure Hot Chocolate. More Coffee. More Cinnamon. Lots of Cinnamon. Cinnamon Apple scents. Candy Apples with Cinnamon and Caramel. Cinnamon apple pancakes.Cinnamon Air. Cinnamon Leaves. Cinnamon Sticks. Cinnamon Colors. Cinnamon faces and Cinnamon clothes.
Night time. Sushi. Karaoke. Laughing like there’s no tomorrow.
And sing.
Clouds. Bird’s eye view.
A walk in the woods by the lake.
Trees. Trees. Trees. Green yellow and orange.
Sunsets and waters.
And Peace. Good friend and Peace. Nature and Peace.
Missing. Nostalgia. Smiles. Texts. And a Song.
Text. Text. Text.
Long drives. Music in my head. Shy Bright Sun.
Night and a Halloween-themed park. A ride. A maze. A hay ride. And Pumpkins. Lots of pumpkins.
And Family. Old friend and Family.
“I am here to satisfy your taste buds” he says.
Burritos. Pizza. Sushi. Indian. Herbal Teas. Ice cream. Lots of Ice cream. Heaps and Heaps of Ice Cream. Frozen tongues and slurred words and loud giggles. Ice Cold weather and rain. Nonstop rain. Running. Chuckles. Warmth. More Ice cream. Nonstop rain. Nonstop Ice cream. And Hats. Many many many hats.
Those few moments before I fall asleep. Late-night-cold catches up. I shudder. I shake. I drift. I frown. I miss. I shake. I come back. I smile. I think of the day. I think of the song. I close my eyes. And it’s morning again. And it’s autumn again. And it’s red orange yellow and green again. And it’s cozy and beautiful again.
And today I say goodbye to 23.
And tomorrow I welcome 24.
In peace and quiet.
And fall.
As thoughts lay scattered inside my head – taking a short break from all the running and hiding and seeking – I stand right in the middle in blue baggy overalls and a green bell-shaped hat with my uncombed hair tied in a loose cluttered ponytail.
I tiptoe – barefoot – with a straw basket, and approach some of the thoughts lying around. I pick one up, hold it close to my nose, smell it, look through it, shake it near my ears, look at it again, decide to either put it in my basket or throw it back to the pile, then move on to the next.
I gather what I need for the moment, and I go to the center where a huge witch pot stands in glory and anticipation. I revise the basics of my signature recipes, and decide to add random flavors to this one. I pick the thoughts and throw one in at a time. After each throw of every thought, I add ingredients. A pinch of optimism, a dash of excitement, a hint of madness, two table spoons of patience, a sprinkle of fun, a few whiffs of magic, one cup of innovation, and two full cups of faith poured slowly while stirring.
I bend closer and breathe in the aroma, eyes closed and smiling. I stand back straight with contentment.
I leave the stuff cooking and sit down cross-legged near the fire. As I wait in patience, I sing a soft lullaby and watch the flames dance.
And I wait.
He/ It is here.
Say hello.
*Hello*
Smile and wave as he/it approaches.
Now sit down.
Communicate.
.
Illusions, fiction, and reality…
I put them all in the blender. I push the ON button, and I watch them as they mix and mingle and dissolve. I watch the color of each fading as they form one unique shade of a strange familiar color. I pour my cocktail in a silver cup and drink it up.
That’s what I do.
.
.
I know facts.
I know facts that keep changing.
I notice the change and I record it.
I know the facts.
I know they change.
I can sometimes predict the change.
I cannot however always predict the form of change.
I know the current facts.
And I do not trust their consistency.
.
I know I do not know much.
I take everything as it comes. One thing at a time.
And I wait.
.
I know it’s not you. Not any of you. It’s me. My perspectives and I. My daydreams and Myself. My disappointments have to do with me, not you. And knowing this, and knowing the facts, and knowing who I am – or most of it – I calm me down. And I tell her to wait (she who is what I am inside and out in every unique freakish possible way, my yin). And I tell him to wait (he who lives inside of me and occupies about one third of my brain, my yang). And I tell them to wait (little mini-me’s that occupy that little space in my head). And I tell myself to wait. And that’s what we do.
.
Frankie says in another context “the best is yet to come”
I believe him.
I know there’s more to come than just “the best”. I know Good and Bad travel together. I know how intense one of them could make the other.
But I have faith. In Good. And in Bad.
Most of all in Me. In my allegedly supernatural power to focus on Good, highlight it, and disregard Bad.
It’s not fear this time. It’s impatience. Longing.
Okay. And maybe one ounce of fear.
But I’ll close my eyes and surrender.
Come what may.
I’ll breathe it in with acceptance, and breathe it out more enlightened.
Come what may.
Already.
.
As for you/he/it.
Time to go.
Say good night now.
*Good Night*
Now leave me alone.
I remember your house. I remember the main street and the alley, the nearest supermarket, the old staircase and the balcony, the old wooden door, the dining table facing it, the cozy living room (which used to be a bedroom), your room, the guests’ room, the little bathroom, the bigger bathroom, and the kitchen. Did I leave something out?
I remember your sweet smiling face as you open the door and ask me for a big fat kiss.
I used to spend hours in your long narrow balcony, watching people in the street, listening to the neighbors fighting, singing and even talking to myself. You caught me once talking out loud to myself – I wasn’t being careful – I blushed and I defensively said that I was talking to a little girl in the street! You didn’t comment, you went back in and left me with my illusions. When I was younger I used to race my cousins in there (out there); the narrow balcony extending across the side of three rooms was huge for us back then. I remember the other little balcony too, but I rarely went in there. It was always stuffed with mysterious things in plastic bags and cardboard boxes. I always stayed clear from that one for fear that mice could be hidden anywhere beneath the piles of boxes and within the bags. You made us believe that just to make sure that nobody messes with the things you keep in your little balcony.
I spent many nights over, weeks apart from one another. I remember jumping into your bed in winter tucking my frozen feet under the covers. You used to warm them with your own feet while tickling me, and I could hear you say through my giggles “those icy-cold feet of yours are freeeezzing me”. I never cover my feet now! They’re never cold. Was that you? Did you warm them up forever?
We woke up one Friday afternoon (my cousins and I) to your voice calling us from the kitchen, asking us to get up, pray, make up our beds and help you with the cleaning. I got up first to get to the bathroom before anyone else, you were so proud of me for being so ‘obedient’. I was about to make my bed and help out when you called me. You said “don’t do anything, they’ll do it, you’re the lady here. You just sit here with your arms folded and do nothing”. I smiled and told you that they were ‘ladies’ too and if I do nothing they’d be upset. You thought for a while then said “fine, you just make the bed then, that’s the easy task; I’ll come help you, but don’t do anything else. Can’t you see how skinny you are? They eat more and so they can work more!”
I remember one of those days; my mother had a little fight with you when she found out that you used to give me sugar cubes behind her back. She said they were bad for my teeth, but you knew I loved sugar and you were being kind to me as always. You stood up for me when mama yelled and you showed me the hiding place where you keep heaps of sugar cubes, just in case you weren’t around when I wanted some. So is that why I have bad teeth?
I remember the chair you called daddy’s. It was always saved just for him; none of your other sons-in-law could sit on it when he was around. You made it clear that it was his.
I remember what you called me and my sisters: I was your ‘honey’, my big sister was your ‘sweet strawberry syrup’, and my little sister was your ‘little sugar’.
I remember how you called – or rather categorized – your own sons. One was your heart, the other your shoulder, the last your back bone. How did you do that grandma? How did you categorize everyone and everything like that? Do I get that from you?
It’s been a long time granny, a long time since it all happened (used to happen) and a long time since you’re gone. Why am I remembering all of this now? Is it the fear that one day I’d wake up not remembering a single memory I had with you? This thought always frightened me; the thought of living with no memories to look back to and reminisce. So can you hear me granny? I still remember things… and I miss you.
.
.
*This post was written a long while back, around 3 years ago. The reason I’m posting it again in this blog is simply cause I’m a little nostalgic to my childhood years.. and my granny. It makes me smile from the heart.
**Another possible reason: I don’t feel like writing anything new.
Sweet Beautiful Aya
You said you say the word “beautiful” a lot. I don’t. Yet, whatever or whomever I refer to as beautiful is probably more than just that. Words are never big enough to contain meanings.
So here’s the tag:
The rules are, erase the answers already listed and fill in my own then pass it on to four bloggers of my choice. And here we go.
1. Who is the hottest Movie Star?
Just one?! I think I’ll go for Johnny Depp this time.
2. Apart from your house and car, what is the most expensive item you have ever bought?
Never bought either. The most expensive item I ever purchased would probably be my laptop.
3. What is your most treasured memory?
Have tons of those. It’s always very hard for me to choose just one thing out of many. Today I choose this: laying out on the roof with my cousin and my little sister, heads to the sky, watching clouds as they go by and making shapes out of them.
4. What was the best gift you ever received as a child?
A small – very small – piano thing. My granny made mama buy it for me
5. What is the biggest mistake you have ever made?
I don’t believe in this. I mean I do make “mistakes” as I go about my life, but that’s not how I perceive them. In the bigger scope of things, they’re just paths I was meant to walk down to experience and learn from. With every supposed mistake, a more defined me comes to the surface. I have no regrets but I do pray for forgiveness as I must’ve wronged others along the way.
6. 4 words to describe yourself?
How about 6: I mostly live inside my head.
7. What was your highlight or low light of 2008?
Ouf. Hmm…
Crap I can’t remember.
It’s probably.. hmm…
Naah I can’t be sure!
8. Favorite Film?
Tough… I can’t choose a favorite film. At least give me the space to mention 4.
9. Tell me one thing I don’t know about you.
I have an invisible guardian angel…
And I’m not completely in denial; it’s just a company I like to keep most of the time.
10. If you were a comic book/strip or cartoon character, who would you be?
Hehe… my friends would say I’m Simba. One day though, I’ll make my own cartoon character that resembles who I am.
Tagging:
How about this: whoever reads this is tagged!
*B.B.T.T. stands for: Beautiful Bird Tag Thing
It still feels weird…
After all this time I thought I’d get used to it, but it still feels weird…
I have my laptop on me, I want it higher and I try to reach with my feet to get the little pillow I can spot by the foot of the bed…
How is it possible that I could actually forget?
I woke up today after a good night sleep. I yawned lazily in bed and decided to get up and wash my face. I started to “get up” only to realize… rather remember…
How could my mind skip details like that?
I laid back in bed, stared at the ceiling, wondered about things for a while, then decided to sleep some more!
I’ve always been independent one way or another. I’m not so used to being served in bed or to depend on anyone on every single move I make.
It feels funny, rather humiliating! But hey… no drama involved. It just feels weird.
It’s like I’m growing up all over again. I’m learning from scratch how to take care of myself and how to only need minimum help.
By time it gets easier.
My friend came to visit that other day.
We were talking and laughing. She got a call from a common friend. She started joking around saying things she knew would tease me.
I was on bed and she was standing right next to me, just by the foot of the bed, her back to me, laughing as she rambled on about stuff she thought would tick me off.
Normally I’d use the chance and literally kick her ass…
Ants freak me out! They just do!
Last night I was sitting up in bed, typing nonsense and chatting with an old friend. I saw a medium-sized ant making its way toward my right foot; have no idea where it came from.
What I would typically do is jump out of bed…
Things haven’t changed much since last month. One might think they did, maybe they did, but I can’t feel the change, or maybe I refuse to feel it.
One of my friends thinks that I’m dealing quite well, another thinks that I’m still in shock and I live in utter denial. I think I’m a little bit of both, in the good sense… if there is such a thing.
When I was young, I was all about acrobats! I wanted to be a gymnastics athlete, I even dreamed at some point of joining the Olympic Games! Well, I never did. But I used to do my own acrobatic moves all the time, I used to be pretty flexible and I was proud of it. I used to show off to my cousins how I could make my toes so easily touch my forehead when laying on my stomach. I was all about quirky moves. Growing up, I lost some of this flexibility for I stopped working out, but I was still flexible enough to do certain moves that an average person would find somewhat difficult. They all involved my legs and my back. It was sort of a part of who I was.
When trapped somewhere with a friend in a crowded place, I close my eyes and picture myself squeezing and bending and jumping my way through the crowd to get to wherever I’m headed. I open my eyes to reality and the crowd.
One of my favorite things to do is to drive around. I would turn on my favorite music, and cruise in the neighborhood. If I’m down or upset or if I need to think and clear my head, I’d drive farther away to distant places and back! I simply enjoy it! The freedom, the sense of control; I always find it refreshing and relaxing!
I like walking too, but only in winter; I don’t like sweat.
I miss driving.
I miss walking in winter, breathing fresh cold air while listening to music even if only inside my head.
I miss running errands and being the one to count on when my friends needed actual help with things.
In a way, I feel lucky and blessed.
My hands are all mine!
I never thought of what happened in tragic terms, or at least not explicitly, maybe cause I never really fully grasped it!
I think and talk of ways to deal, I think and write about things I miss or things I no longer do…
My takes on the whole matter are all related to mere logical calculations, consequences, and what-to-do’s. Purely practical, like none of it has to do with me, like it doesn’t hurt or emotionally cripple me…
Maybe cause it doesn’t!
I have a recurrent dream. I’ve had it for a little over three weeks now.
I dream that I was driving on the highway when I saw a terrible accident; a small car got smashed between two trucks. The ambulance was late as expected and the driver in the small car did not look good. There was crowd, I was in the crowd, but I decided to drive past the scene and go on my way.
I wake up every time after this dream and I look around. It baffles me every time that I do not notice while dreaming that the driver of the small car holds close resemblance to me.
It only hits me later that it was me!
Last night that ant was already on my foot. I did not freak, I just sat there staring…
I don’t know if it bit me… I felt nothing…
.
.
June 2008
The confused and confusing bulk of words are all trapped inside, entwined, tangled and scrambled in loose knots. If I were in one of my default states of nonchalance and tranquility, I probably would be able to untie each knot, take one line of thought at a time, analyze it, and leave it hanging in the air: freed of all complexity and dense weight. Not necessarily solved… not necessarily clear or unblurred… but simpler.
I need simple. I belong to simple and I yearn for simple.
Perspectives. Realities. Definitions. Choices. Becoming. Change. Development. Inner fears. Silent demons. Needs and desires. Letting go. Floating. Rising. Being. Not-being. Peace. Peace. Peace.
Parallel
We’re all the same and yet each and every person is unique; each and every person has his/her own “soul print”. We’re all the same but each of us is an entity, a country with a culture and background and traditions and beliefs and attitudes and flavor and cuisines. And yet, we’re all the same and we all go through more or less the same things. We’re one person, divided into millions… each handling things as they come in their own way, the way they know of.
I used to float up above and watch things as they happen. I used to watch and smile, like an old sage who… “knows”, not things but patterns. Amused and detached yet somehow involved. I used to lay back on an imaginary cloud and see “them” as they go by. People and things and places. I found magic and chaos. And order through chaos; wrapping it. It was pretty. Even ugliness made sense, it made beauty stand out.
Got too involved perhaps. A little less detached. And there’s beauty in that as well I suppose. There has to be. And I feel it. But intense. Too intense and too chaotic and too real. I stepped down from my cloud and walked in. And I no longer see the frame of order because I’m inside. My vision has become limited to what I see before me, behind me, or sideways. The patterns scare me rather than amuse me. The thrill is something else I know, and I allow myself to enjoy it whenever possible. I remind myself of the beauty of being involved rather than detached. I embrace the current facts and state of being, knowing that there’s beauty in everything. But it’s harder. Scarier. And definitely more frustrating.
We are all strong beings. Not all of us are aware of their strengths. And not all of us are brave enough. But we are all strong. And we are all sad. Human. Beautiful and ugly. Confused. Tired. And I’m tired.
Is it justified? Real or not… right or wrong… difficult or easy… are they justified? The fears. Are they really that simple to the point that they could be ridiculed? Do I over analyze? Do I fret myself needlessly? I thought that wasn’t who I am; I thought I don’t worry needlessly. But I also thought so many things. I still think I’m right about most, but I like to keep that space for the possibility of my being wrong… just in case.
Am I justified? Am I real? Should I worry? Am I entitled to it? Am I where I should be for the time being?
I know I’m not alone.
I’m not untangling the thoughts. I’m spinning around them. Pulling whichever thread my hand reaches as I spin dizzily, grabbing it and reading it quickly before it slips.
Circles.
The energy… consumed and renewed and consumed and renewed and consumed… and…
We all need to stand long enough out in the sun
Me thinks: A small cozy cloud and a bird’s-eye view.
I hear a chuckle and:
ليس كل ما يتمناه المرء يدركه…
Divine Wisdom. Manifestation. Explanation. Teaching.
All things relating to education, patience, help from superiors.The Hierophant is often considered to be a Guardian Angel.
The Hierophant’s purpose is to bring the spiritual down to Earth. Where the High Priestess between her two pillars deals with realms beyond this Earth, the Hierophant (or High Priest) deals with worldly problems. He is well suited to do this because he strives to create harmony and peace in the midst of a crisis. The Hierophant’s only problem is that he can be stubborn and hidebound. At his best, he is wise and soothing, at his worst, he is an unbending traditionalist.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Say, its only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn’t be make-believe
If you believed in me
Yes, it’s only a canvas sky
Hanging over a muslin tree
But it wouldn’t be make-believe
If you believed in me
.
Evaluna
They Said...