Once, when I was 7 or 8, I went for a walk by myself around the neighbourhood. I only managed to enjoy the tranquility of the afternoon for a few minutes, because about three houses down, two stray dogs sat on the side of the road. They watched me as I pretended not to be scared of them. I walked past them as calmly as I could, and breathed a sigh of relief when I'd walked past them. It wasn't until I heard one of them growling that I turned around, and noticed that they had begun to follow me.
My heartbeat quickened and my pace increased accordingly. First it was a brisk walk, then a jog, and in time I was running as fast as I could. The only thing I could think to do was to continue walking. All I wanted to do was to be back in the safety of my own home, but I couldn't turn back. I knew that if I kept walking, the street would eventually loop back on itself. It was my best chance.
The dogs chased me all the way home. I remember the relief that washed over me when I finally reached hom, shut the gate behind me and leaned against it.
I am reminded of this because, these days, I get the same feeling walking down the street. Only, these days they call them humans.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Delicate
My arm is around you as I feel your chest heaving and I hear your sobs. Far out, you are so amazingly delicate. You're half my size. I fear that if I pull you in any closer, I risk crushing your tiny frame. Yet you fit so comfortably; you're just the right size to sit snugly under my arm. I love that about you.
Don't cry, please. I hate it that I can't make you stop. I can't do anything except hold you here, and even this can't last forever. I want this to last forever. I can't stand seeing you like this. I don't want anything to ever make you cry. I want to be the one who has the power to stop this kind of pain getting to you. Stop, please.
I swear, two seconds ago we-well you- were giggling about something silly. Then I blinked and you were crying. When did that change? You moved too fast. Girl, you really gotta be treated with care. I'll make sure of that.
You know, you remind me of a butterfly, one moment your here, the next, you've moved on. When I listen to you talk, I can't believe how swiftly you carry the conversation from one topic to another. I can't believe how gracefully you walk around the house, into dinner parties, down the street. I could sit for hours finding new ways to be awed each minute.
But girl, for now, please stop crying.
Don't cry, please. I hate it that I can't make you stop. I can't do anything except hold you here, and even this can't last forever. I want this to last forever. I can't stand seeing you like this. I don't want anything to ever make you cry. I want to be the one who has the power to stop this kind of pain getting to you. Stop, please.
I swear, two seconds ago we-well you- were giggling about something silly. Then I blinked and you were crying. When did that change? You moved too fast. Girl, you really gotta be treated with care. I'll make sure of that.
You know, you remind me of a butterfly, one moment your here, the next, you've moved on. When I listen to you talk, I can't believe how swiftly you carry the conversation from one topic to another. I can't believe how gracefully you walk around the house, into dinner parties, down the street. I could sit for hours finding new ways to be awed each minute.
But girl, for now, please stop crying.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The things of life
Family, friends, relationships, society, contacts, accomodation, jobs, impressions, presentation, physique, religion, time, car, insurance, schedule, organisation, money, information, decisions, debt, education, qualification, experience, politics, plans, ambitions, understanding...
Did someone say starving children in Africa?
Did someone say starving children in Africa?
Monday, January 18, 2010
How do I love thee
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee with a love that no mistake, sorrow or despair can lessen,
a love which time cannot wear away,
nor distance intrude.
I love thee with all the
kindness, gentleness and warmth
that God allows my person.
I love thee with everything I have, everything I am.
I share all your life,
every ray or happiness, drop of darkness, hint of anger,
every smile, every simple action of the day.
I love thee.
Inspired by Sonnet XLIII, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806-1861
I love thee with a love that no mistake, sorrow or despair can lessen,
a love which time cannot wear away,
nor distance intrude.
I love thee with all the
kindness, gentleness and warmth
that God allows my person.
I love thee with everything I have, everything I am.
I share all your life,
every ray or happiness, drop of darkness, hint of anger,
every smile, every simple action of the day.
I love thee.
Inspired by Sonnet XLIII, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806-1861
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The wishlist
The creation of a wishlist entails the listing of items wanted but not necessarily needed, wanted, albeit not very much, and wanted, though can never or will never be attained.
The wishlist- comprised of items for which one wishes, a work of fancy and fantasy, satisfying that which in reality cannot be. The limitations are too restricting. The world is too unchanging. The wishlist remains.
It's purpose could not be to have in one's possession the items listed, rather, to have a compilation of hope. For many a wishlist-item has been received, only to be banished to dark cupboards after the initial period of possession. It is not the items themselves that are in want, rather, the wishful thinking with which these are associated.
Alternatively, it's purpose may be for joy. For though the excitement of ownership may wear with the passing of time, it is heightened during the reception of the said items. As short at time as it may be- for it varies between persons- the mind may be satisfied in the realisation that something has been achieved.
The wishlist may be the bridge between the imagination and the present circumstance. In any case, everyone has one.
The wishlist- comprised of items for which one wishes, a work of fancy and fantasy, satisfying that which in reality cannot be. The limitations are too restricting. The world is too unchanging. The wishlist remains.
It's purpose could not be to have in one's possession the items listed, rather, to have a compilation of hope. For many a wishlist-item has been received, only to be banished to dark cupboards after the initial period of possession. It is not the items themselves that are in want, rather, the wishful thinking with which these are associated.
Alternatively, it's purpose may be for joy. For though the excitement of ownership may wear with the passing of time, it is heightened during the reception of the said items. As short at time as it may be- for it varies between persons- the mind may be satisfied in the realisation that something has been achieved.
The wishlist may be the bridge between the imagination and the present circumstance. In any case, everyone has one.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
A mother's love
My first memory involves my mother, and is an event which happened when I was two years old. She was driving down the main road, on the way home, with me strapped into my baby seat in the back. She glanced at me in her rearview mirror.
"Don't break my heart, little boy," she said.
She thinks I've forgotten. Or rather, she never thought I'd even understood. Can't blame her for thinking so, seeing as I couldn't talk yet. But sixteen years down the track, I remember and I understand, though sometimes I wish that I didn't.
The rain pelts down as I make a dash from the front door to my car, wetting my hair and clothes quite substantially considering I only spent 2 seconds in the rain. I hop into the car and turn on the ignition. Ten minutes later, I am in front of Karen's house. She's been looking out for my through the window and waves even before I can honk.
She runs out the front door using her coat to cover her head, opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat.
"Hey." She kisses me on the cheek.
She's beautiful. As she takes the coat off her head, her straight brown hair sweeps loose over her shoulders. She runs her fingers through it to loosen it further. Lame as it sounds, her hair reminds me of those shampoo/hairdye ads, except, of course, she is much much prettier than any of those models could ever be.
I pull out of her driveway and we drive in silence for the first thirty seconds. The sun is well and truly setting, and we turn onto the main road, enjoying the view of the pinkish orange sky, afforded by the sudden open space from the wide road. I'd refused to tell her where we were going tonight. It was a secret, I'd said, but that hadn't stopped her from asking.
"So you gonna tell me where we're going, mister?"
"Nope." I try to keep my face expressionless, but I see her pout in the corner of my eye and a smile escapes.
"Tell me!" she insists.
"Nope."
"Hint?"
"Nah uh. You ain't getting anything outta me, girl."
"C'mon! Tell me!" She starts poking my arm just below my shoulder.
We turn left onto a quiet street, and just to distract her from asking any more, I purposely turn the corner wide and swerve back in.
"Matt!" she shrieks, as she clutches the seatbelt. I smirk at her.
"So, where are we going?" she resumes. I sigh. She's not going to give up, is she? Well I'll show her who's in charge, I think to myself as I raise my eyebrows at her. The sky gets darker by the minute, and I wind through the residential streets at a speed above the limit, accelerating as I turn corners.
"Matt! Stop it!" she yells at first, giggling and pretending to be offended by my terrible driving. When I don't stop, she begins to get annoyed.
"Stop it! Drive properly! Daddy's never gonna let you take me out again!"
"Do you wanna kill us?"
"MATT!" Her voice is more forceful now.
"MATTHEW!"
"MATTHEW! Stop the car RIGHT NOW! I'm NEVER getting into your car AGAIN!" She's hysterical now, and I turn my head to look her in the eye, to tell her that it's okay, to ask her to calm down.
"MATTTTTTTTTT!" she screams, as I still have my head turned. Her eyes are wide, as if she's seen a ghost. It only takes me a split second after seeing her expression for me to I turn my head back onto the road to see what she's looking at, but by then it's too late. The road bends and we're heading straight for a lamp post. I hit the brake hard.
I open my eyes and stare into space while two identical images of a white flourescent light blend into one. Everything is so...white. There are machines and beeping noises and harried people in white bustling about. I'm in a bed and there are tubes attached to me. The hospital.
A thousand questions rush to my mind. What happened? Where's Karen? My brain explodes with questions, but they are all contained within me. I cannot even find the energy to sit up.
I turn my head to my left. My mother sits on the chair beside my bed, and though I can only see her in my peripheral vision, I can tell she is crying.
I understand, although sometimes I wish that I didn't.
I caught my mother's eye in the rearview mirror. I won't, I thought to myself.
"Don't break my heart, little boy," she said.
She thinks I've forgotten. Or rather, she never thought I'd even understood. Can't blame her for thinking so, seeing as I couldn't talk yet. But sixteen years down the track, I remember and I understand, though sometimes I wish that I didn't.
The rain pelts down as I make a dash from the front door to my car, wetting my hair and clothes quite substantially considering I only spent 2 seconds in the rain. I hop into the car and turn on the ignition. Ten minutes later, I am in front of Karen's house. She's been looking out for my through the window and waves even before I can honk.
She runs out the front door using her coat to cover her head, opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat.
"Hey." She kisses me on the cheek.
She's beautiful. As she takes the coat off her head, her straight brown hair sweeps loose over her shoulders. She runs her fingers through it to loosen it further. Lame as it sounds, her hair reminds me of those shampoo/hairdye ads, except, of course, she is much much prettier than any of those models could ever be.
I pull out of her driveway and we drive in silence for the first thirty seconds. The sun is well and truly setting, and we turn onto the main road, enjoying the view of the pinkish orange sky, afforded by the sudden open space from the wide road. I'd refused to tell her where we were going tonight. It was a secret, I'd said, but that hadn't stopped her from asking.
"So you gonna tell me where we're going, mister?"
"Nope." I try to keep my face expressionless, but I see her pout in the corner of my eye and a smile escapes.
"Tell me!" she insists.
"Nope."
"Hint?"
"Nah uh. You ain't getting anything outta me, girl."
"C'mon! Tell me!" She starts poking my arm just below my shoulder.
We turn left onto a quiet street, and just to distract her from asking any more, I purposely turn the corner wide and swerve back in.
"Matt!" she shrieks, as she clutches the seatbelt. I smirk at her.
"So, where are we going?" she resumes. I sigh. She's not going to give up, is she? Well I'll show her who's in charge, I think to myself as I raise my eyebrows at her. The sky gets darker by the minute, and I wind through the residential streets at a speed above the limit, accelerating as I turn corners.
"Matt! Stop it!" she yells at first, giggling and pretending to be offended by my terrible driving. When I don't stop, she begins to get annoyed.
"Stop it! Drive properly! Daddy's never gonna let you take me out again!"
"Do you wanna kill us?"
"MATT!" Her voice is more forceful now.
"MATTHEW!"
"MATTHEW! Stop the car RIGHT NOW! I'm NEVER getting into your car AGAIN!" She's hysterical now, and I turn my head to look her in the eye, to tell her that it's okay, to ask her to calm down.
"MATTTTTTTTTT!" she screams, as I still have my head turned. Her eyes are wide, as if she's seen a ghost. It only takes me a split second after seeing her expression for me to I turn my head back onto the road to see what she's looking at, but by then it's too late. The road bends and we're heading straight for a lamp post. I hit the brake hard.
I open my eyes and stare into space while two identical images of a white flourescent light blend into one. Everything is so...white. There are machines and beeping noises and harried people in white bustling about. I'm in a bed and there are tubes attached to me. The hospital.
A thousand questions rush to my mind. What happened? Where's Karen? My brain explodes with questions, but they are all contained within me. I cannot even find the energy to sit up.
I turn my head to my left. My mother sits on the chair beside my bed, and though I can only see her in my peripheral vision, I can tell she is crying.
I understand, although sometimes I wish that I didn't.
I caught my mother's eye in the rearview mirror. I won't, I thought to myself.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The things that never change
I got older, bigger, stronger. I learnt to utilise my resources. I'm no longer the girl you auditioned two three four years ago (has it really been that long?). But have I really changed that much?
As we advance in years, I don't think we change so much as we learn to hide. We filter our thoughts so that only the cleanest and purest escape our lips. We learn what's considered rude, or just simply, what is the done thing, and behave according to social conventions. Why is the cutlery in a kitchen always in the top drawer?
We learn. Learning has been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, obviously, because it increases our ability to reason and the result is efficiency. Yet a curse, because it takes away innocence. Learning is the acceptance and the ability to adapt to that which we cannot change. When we accept that there are things outside of our control, we change the only thing we can: our behaviour. And when everything has to go through that system, we have lost the quintessential human spirit (or at least, its appearance in the public arena): our childish innocence.
People who have known us since we were born tell us that we've grown up. That we're now so tall, that we look so much like our parents. Of course we've changed physically.
But somewhere inside us are still the traits of children. Those are the things which never change. Think about how the Cold War started. Each country wanted to be the best, so in the most simplistic, childish manner, they embarked on a mission to outdo each other. Now, we look back and wonder how they could have been so primal. But if you were in their shoes, what else was there to do?
As we advance in years, I don't think we change so much as we learn to hide. We filter our thoughts so that only the cleanest and purest escape our lips. We learn what's considered rude, or just simply, what is the done thing, and behave according to social conventions. Why is the cutlery in a kitchen always in the top drawer?
We learn. Learning has been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, obviously, because it increases our ability to reason and the result is efficiency. Yet a curse, because it takes away innocence. Learning is the acceptance and the ability to adapt to that which we cannot change. When we accept that there are things outside of our control, we change the only thing we can: our behaviour. And when everything has to go through that system, we have lost the quintessential human spirit (or at least, its appearance in the public arena): our childish innocence.
People who have known us since we were born tell us that we've grown up. That we're now so tall, that we look so much like our parents. Of course we've changed physically.
But somewhere inside us are still the traits of children. Those are the things which never change. Think about how the Cold War started. Each country wanted to be the best, so in the most simplistic, childish manner, they embarked on a mission to outdo each other. Now, we look back and wonder how they could have been so primal. But if you were in their shoes, what else was there to do?
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