Vacuum

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Don’t tell me God doesn’t weep;
these fallen stars
Are witness
to tears shed
and your wish upon a shoot-ing star
remains in vain

Hopes and dreams and desires
you vacuum,
these stars
are nothing more than flecks
of dust, littered across the night sky
that you no longer recall

This velvet suffocates-
No fairy dust to light the way
each constellation
a hindrance in the philosophy
of existence-
we no longer wish
to understand.

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Oaks and Weeds

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Throughout the years of our life, we come across different people. I firmly believe that while there may be many, you can always categorize them into two groups. There are those that stand strong like ‘oaks’, deeply rooted into the ground. And then there are ‘weeds’ that grow in the moments where you ignored and changed route – ‘growing in the wrong place’.

Weeds will always fester, and like poison attach themselves, eating away at all the good. Unless you don’t make the active effort to pull them out and chuck them away, they will remain. But once the weeds are pulled out from the ground, they are pulled out from your life as well.

The oaks however, unlike the weeds hold more eminence. Their loss is not insignificant like the weeds’. It is commonly wondered, “If a tree falls in the forest with no ears to hear does it make a sound. It matters not for the tree has fallen.”The obvious, scientific answer would be a resounding ‘yes’. But that sound unheard would not remain unfeeling in the heart. The true answer actually does not lie in the sound but rather the fallen tree – the unmistakable loss of the tree.

An oak may never have the power like the weed to disappear. An oak with always make its presence, or lack of, be known. The lush forest will may appear the same to untrained eyes of an outsider, but for those who live within its depths, the loss will be imposing.

This brings into question why it is always considered a ‘family tree’. Drawn on paper is a great sturdy oak that branches across the page as the family grows. That single truck holds everyone together but the loss brings everyone tumbling down.

We all resume life after the death of an oak, a loved one who held importance in our life, but are we ever able to extract ourselves from the legacies that they leave behind? Your oak need not be famous; their legacy could simply be living. The loss of that one person in our life is like losing the whole forest, leaving behind barren land that cultivates no life.

Life is never the same. Slowly, traditions start to die down. They almost seem trivial and time consuming, things that we rationalize with ourselves that we no longer need to do. Sometimes, it is that single person who was the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle and with them gone, the puzzle forever remains incomplete. That single piece possessed the power to bring forth a landscape that had mesmerizing qualities and with it gone, the rest of the puzzle begins to dull in comparison.

The family is no longer complete. Relations are no longer complete. The oak’s roots were what prevented relations to drift away and with it gone, the landslides of strife and missed connections come to play.

The disappearance of the weed causes no loss to land, to life, to love. It is the oak that holds the power to make true loss felt.

She Burns Lavender Incense

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She burns lavender incense
To fill her lungs with silent hope
They said it would help,
Help her remember
Bring back memories
Clear her thoughts so jumbled
Like hair knotted together over years of ignorance
and her fingers will try to do the job
Combing, combing, combing
Unsuccessfully, painfully;

That’s what her life has become
Lavender incense in the morning,
In the afternoon,
In the evening
All in the solemn hope of rectifying
A past so jumbled,
Navigating turns into claustrophobia.

Chasing Dreams for Dummies

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There is a belief that I stand by,
that there is something waiting at the end of the line.
All these tests and tribulations can’t be for nothing.
The belief that even though what appears to be the end of the road, shouldn’t be. I haven’t finished running this race, even though often enough my lungs give out and the air foreign to my tastes, but still. I want to stand firm in my belief that there is something else waiting for you.

The sea never stops lapping at the shore even though each time the pull is stronger, a reminder that the comfort it yearns for is always yanked from its fingertips. And yet, it keeps coming back like a lover that can never seem to understand the word ‘no’ because his heart is no longer his.

I want to believe that good things come to those who wait and that patience isn’t solely a virtue rather a gift that sets us apart from the rest because we refuse to give up knowing well that the milk will always come to boil.

I remember anxiety and hope. Complete opposites yet always together. The heart never forgot to crave the sun after the storm.

And I don’t want to believe that God forgot to set out an adventure for me. I refuse to believe that he didn’t plan for my greatness. And I pray that He still believes in me and has something wonderful in store for me. Something I could never even imagine for myself. Something that brings me pure joy. Something that leaves me successful and prospering in this life.

I’m starting to think the art of chasing dreams should come with a manual – ‘Chasing Dreams for Dummies’.

The shatter here is too great

Broken glass

She exercises great control and executes true care when in her home. Everything is meticulously in its place and not a fleck of dust in sight. Others marvel at her patience and some call in her obsessive tendencies. The psychiatrists on the other hand term it to be her only form of control in an uncertain life.

So, when the vase falls to the ground, the distance between her hands and the porcelain figure is too great. This vase of cherry blossoms and a Japanese spring she witnessed with her family is falling. The world has fallen quiet and the hair on the back of her neck stand alert. Her eyes go wide as the vase falls to its demise. And then it’s done.

At first she can’t breathe and the sound of the shatter continues to ring in her ear, every shard a lament. When she does gain control of her senses, she walks closer barefooted and crouches where every piece makes an intricate pattern on the floor, a constellation of broken pieces mirroring a life that she has always identified as her own.

Her body is numb to the pain of the shards digging into her bare legs, a fact she chooses to ignore before a sob escapes her mouth and she has to place a hand to her lips to control the wail threatening to escape. The hiccups are on the way and she can’t remember what her therapist told her to do in such a situation. She had promised her that such a situation would never occur again and so the coping mechanism would not be needed. So, how did she miscalculate something so important?

She can hear voices now whispering, broadcasting her failures at the simplest of things.

‘Pathetic.’

‘Pathetic.’

‘Pathetic.’

The word breaks her every time it’s uttered and instead of the vase it’s her that’s falling to the ground, slowly plummeting to her doom.

And then they’re all standing before her, picking each piece, one by one and depositing them before her. Her mother is smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her father is smiling, his moustache lifting like wings. Her sister is smiling, a mischievous glint in her eyes. They make a new pattern on the ground, a constellation that no longer looks like a black hole she could fall into – a web that Charlotte even couldn’t call her own.

 ‘It’s okay.’

Her mother whispers before she kisses her temple. Her father squeezes her shoulder and her sister just laughs, that melody she could never forget even if she tried. She wipes the tears from her face till her family no longer stands before and carefully starts collecting the shards.

She wants control on even the smallest of things because deep down she knows that she couldn’t have done anything to prevent what happened to her family. And yet she replays every scene from that unfaithful day, pressing pause at each point that she wishes she could have done differently. What if she’d woken up early? Gotten out of bed from the other side? Prayed the night before?

But even she knows, or at least tries to know that sometimes what’s broken should remain broken and there are times that no amount of glue can stick what was fated to be apart. Even if she had them tethered to her, tried to control an outcome with the hope that it could be changed, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Being powerless is a part of life and no matter how much you confine yourself to a controlled environment; a shatter is all it takes to open your eyes to the reality before you.

Tucking 20 under the belt

To think that I started this blog when I was 17 and now a 104 posts later I am 20.

Yesterday, I turned 20. I am officially straddling the neither a teen nor an adult intersection. One foot firmly planted in 19 and the other slowly inching towards 21.

And when my phone blew up with ‘Happy Birthday to you in that sultry Marilyn Monroe voice (yes, I was trying to be ironic) at 00:02 I was happy. Birthdays always make me happy and then when through squeals and big smiles my friend asked me if I felt old I didn’t know an appropriate answer to that question. In all honesty it was only 4 mins into my birthday and the number hadn’t quite branded itself onto my skin. Still, I don’t quite know if I will ever have an answer to that question. Maybe when I’m old enough to shy away my age that would probably be the time I’ll be able to say, ‘Yes, I officially feel old.’ All I can say right now though, is that maybe I’m a bit wiser and maybe I’m not.

I’m not going to start belting out ‘G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S in my best Fergie voice but I feel it. I do. Like my body is making room for a year of interesting things. Like things might actually come together and there is a power surging through my bones that’s making my heart beat just a little bit faster and my fingers tingle as I type this out. As cheesy and cliché as it sounds, there is something different in the air today. Like a jolt of electricity that, in true cartoon form, shakes you all over.

And I’m ready. There is this new hope burning through me and a sense of invincibility that’s giving me a power I thought could never be mine. This time around life is going to be different. This time around life is looking optimistic. This time around I am ready for whatever life decides to throw towards me.

Maybe this is what I needed.

Maybe this is exactly what I needed.

Animation: Loek Vugs

I think life is a journey…

I think life is a journey, one we have no idea that we’re on. Every choice that we make is the road we take to the next town. Every person that we meet can either decide to take the journey with us or just remain a townie, memories held but no longer an active part. […]

White

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Her innocence

Escapes the darkness

Enveloping the world

White

The blank slate

Eagerly awaiting

Our reprise

White

The four walls

Confining madness

Eyes seeing a world

New and fragmented

White

Each snowflake

Stick your tongue out

Taste the freshness

Till it melts

Blanketing impurity

White

The wings

Perched on our shoulder

Recording the good

White

Blinding pain

That you feel no more

Dust

That gathers

Upon our forgotten

Broken lives

White

Never seemed more pristine

Then the daisies upon my head

Like a halo

That we all carry

Even if some

Choose to hide hearts so good

To become one

With a world so twisted

Finding the way home

Becomes impossible

White

A goodbye

Difficult and sticky

Forever bittersweet

Sun and Moon

Sun Moon Stars

“I want my life to be like the sun and the moon,”
She whispered

Wake at dawn
Overlooking the expanse of the world
Solis will wipe the sleep from their eyes
Turn water to gold, every fool’s dream
And bathe the living in warmth

“I’m dying down
only to be born again,”

Serenity will glow from above
Everything the light touches is ours
and Luna will guide you home
Let it dress you in sheets of silver
Kissing slumber into your eyes

“I will be your sun and I will be your moon.”