memories and answers

Crimson skies take over my mind
Upon those mountains of sinful times
Like never a day without a night
What use is vision without sight
As wishes in a wishing well
Without a tide, never swell
If a stray tear drops in there
Would the well give it any care

Eyes as black as charcoal
God was generous in your dole
But did he give that any thought
Or was he like a seven-year drought
When your face was patchy with salty lines
Did he sing you comforting rhymes
When your eyes looked up for prayers
Did he demand his fair share

Was he like a tree, sturdy and strong
Or did he wait on you for long
When you cried near the wishing well
Over the secrets he didn’t tell
Who held you back from letting go
and made sure that you didn’t wallow
Memories can be exchanged for new
But only with this life in lieu

Crimson flames fire up in my brain
Eating up the wishful rain
Burning through my very soul
Redefining my existing role
With memories gone and life past
Like an ocean, deep and vast
Would you still remember him
Or dismiss him like a passing whim
Your charcoal eyes now don’t look the same
For memories can die but what about the pain

Musing...

While running through life, one busy day after another, I just stopped for one moment and realised that childhood is not just for children and it is never to late to ungrow and all the 86,400 moments in a days, all through the years, cannot hold me back from going back to being a child every once in a while...

My Bucket List

Borrowed the concept from the movie…thought can work for me too

Morbid, I hear you say? Need for achievement, standards, is what I see, so here goes, in no particular order:

(will keep adding J)

• Speak at least 12 languages to a reasonable proficiency
• Sky-diving
• Scuba-diving
• Dance like a dream
• Go to space
• Drive a Ferrari/Lamborghini/both
• Live in all seven continents for at least a month each
• See the seven wonders (past, present, future)
• Gift my parents a house
• Gift my sister a car
• Master psychology and another subject to the extent of being an encyclopedia on it
• Do something good and unconditional for a complete stranger to change his/her life
• Kill one person who really deserves to die
• Kiss Rafa
• Go swimming in a (clean) sea
• Fly a plane
• Sing on radio or TV where at least thousands of people can hear me
• Play guitar and at least 4 other instruments
• Get published as an expert on any subject
• Take tequila body shots in the place were tequila was discovered
• Take care of a child from infancy till forever, mine or otherwise and help him/her be a perfect person, for self and others
• Visit all religious places of all religions like 4-dhams, mecca, medina, Jerusalem etc etc
• Live in the world’s most expensive and lavish hotel
• Have an out of body surreal experience
• Go bald once
• Sail around the world
• Write a book
• Go on a long distance journey in a hot balloon
• Do hangliding
• Contact the dead once and speak to someone I loved and didn’t want to lose
• Build a farmhouse and rear lots of horses and dogs there
• Be at a war site right in the middle of action
• Visit the equator and the poles
• cross the International date line and gain/lose a day in a matter of minutes

Away, still not away

Well here we are, away, still not away

Apart, still connected somewhere

I may have seen this coming

But i chose to close my eyes

I could've avoided this situation

but let it carry on

I could've remain unfazed

but I let it bother me

I had to let it go

but I held on so tight

I could have chosen to breath

but I turned blue just waiting

And you, you were looking at my face

but you had close your eyes

You knew that I saw you pretending

and you still carried on

you saw my tears

but you called it the rain

you heard my prayers

but you chose to ignore them

you were near, yet so far away

I called your bluff and you still lied

you said you like my smile

but inside you wanted to see me cry

you saw I couldn't breath

but you still made me run

and then you said that we are connected

but we were away

I may have seen this coming

But i chose to close my eyes

So, here we are, away, still not away

Apart, still connected somewhere

Here we are, same as we used to be

but so different that it's hard to believe

Blue

It's nearly 3:30 am and I am a bit junked...I feel like writing. Not sure, though, what I want to write, but writing calms me down so i will, following my impulse and little bit of soul power.

The air was dense, filled with a peculiar stench, something like a concoction of rotting human flesh in flames and burning rubber. The flames were not the regular gleaming orange in colour, they were more of an eerie blue with traces of an enraged red. A silent wind wafted around engulfing her with little droplets of water which promised rain. Rain, which always liberated her and made her insane with joy – today, it had no impact. She sat amidst a pile of broken furniture and burning books, looking closely at a picture of them in a distance and holding tightly on to a small blue rug she had picked up from the market earlier that day. The fire around her danced menacingly, inching precariously close with every passing moment. But she sat motionless, indifferent to any danger, any life within her at all. The blaring sounds of sirens at a distance did not disturb her trance, as her life was falling apart all around her.

“Baby, come on, we have to get going right now. They’re coming for us,” he said while running into the room through the only opening the flames had left. Suddenly, as if woken from a deep slumber, she looked up to where he stood with his otherwise always in shape hair, messed up and doing their own little dance. “Baby, please, let’s go.” His clothes were tattered, stained with blood, she assumed some of it was his own and the rest…Their picture that she was staring at, suddenly burst into flames.

“I bought this blue rug today to put in the study. It would go beautifully with the blue curtains,” she said. He looked around, the study was being reduced to ashes right as she spoke. “…and I bought these books for you, they are collector’s edition, very rare.” He looked at her straight face void of any expression. “Honey, we really have to go. Can you not hear the sirens? They’re getting closer. We must leave now,” desperation in his voice was evident. “Just a minute more, please. Leave me with my life for just one moment.”

She looked at the rug on her lap and smelt it. “It smells so new.” He was getting anxious now and sat down next to her. “Look baby, the curtains are on fire, the books are all burnt. We can’t stay here any longer or we will die, or much worse, they will catch us. Do you know the things they do to people in prison?” “You remember the swing we put up in the front yard? How much we laughed that day after we first sat on it and it caved,” she said oblivious to his exasperation.

The sound of the sirens was getting louder now. “I beg you, honey, please, let’s go. We can’t be here any longer. Please, come with me,” he said. This time his voice quaked a little. She looked up and saw a lonely tear roll down his eye. “I can’t forget the day we bought this house. You were looking so handsome and I was such a mess. You remember we promised we would never leave each other. I picked out inexpensive but precious China from the market that day to celebrate our life and happiness. Oh, what a horrible meal we had cooked together and how we ate it outside, under the stars and talked all night long,” she smiled. He was now on his knees. “I am so sorry for what happened. But it’s done. Look at yourself. You are drenched in blood, your face is bleeding. Snap out of what could have been and face this reality. We have to leave now. Please don’t do this to me. Come on honey, let’s go.” The room was now filled with smoke as the rain came pouring down on the now roofless house, slowly killing the blue flames.

“We were to have two children and that’s why we picked up this house, away from the horrid city and perfect to raise children. You promised everything would be fine, you would fix everything,” she said, her eyes welling up a little. “You know how much I had to search to find these perfect blue curtains and rug and these books? The swing, our beautiful swing, you said you loved it. It is our anniversary today. You forgot like every year, didn’t you? Where are my flowers baby?”

“Honey, I love you, but please don’t do this to me.” He sat there looking at her beautiful face, now pale and sparkling eyes, now dead. The sirens were dangerously close now. “I made cake, black forest, your favourite; and there’s wine in the fridge. There’s also one more present for you on the dresser in our room. Did you see it?” She smiled, still clutching on to the rug. He stood there, weeping like a child now, looking at her empty eyes. “You know I love tulips, don’t you?” she asked, looking at him. A tear rolled down her eye, but even she wasn’t aware of it because of the rain.

“Honey, please…” he said with a quivering voice, filled with desperation. “Just a minute more, please, just one moment,” she said as the sirens drew closer.

SHARDS

The orb stains yellow,
With impudent pain,
That hurts where I walk,
In dreams across,
The diamond-studded sky,
Of shards strewn aground,
That twinkle overhead,
Embracing my gaze,
Across the breath of incense,
An interminable haze,
In an inverted world,
Through upturned eyes,
Their Gorgon sight,
In my repose, does recline.

--GS

Conquerer of elements

"Sail ahoy, sail ahoy," the sailors shout

As they look at me for approval

A nod I give them, a smile from my eyes

Closed they were then, as if to pray

and open again, to let them go

A swing to the port side, another to the starboard

and we set sail into the unending expanse of the salty grey

the horizon was never near, but it never was so approachable either

as the wind filled the main sale and the astern went up and down

the hull is a horse and as cowboys we race to the sun

The sea is not the kindest today

no dolphins to keep us company

no easy task for the captain

but with the helm in my hand

I scream to let the angry sea know

"we are here to conquer you today"

We gallop on our horse as the wind cheers us on

the sea looking strong, but pale, a little frightened may be

but intimidating nevertheless

one quick turn as the sea opens its mouth to gobble us down

and we are alee, strong against the wind

not afraid of the sea

going into the trap it laid for us

knowing a will survives longer than strength

up and down, side to side, the sea is merciless

The gunwale looks scared, almost ready to go under

but on trapeze we go, holding it calm, holding it above the menacing waters

"we take it head on, no fear," i scream

"no fear," they respond and up we are

all hands on deck, "no fear, no place for fear"

Off we go on to the windward side

one leap forward, one leap on the side and we beat the angry turbulence she drew for us

open sea now, as vast as we always imagined

and calm, contrary to our expectations

we look back to see the receding waves we conquered

Drenched in salty water, smiles on our face, we salute to this worthy opponent

"I am the elements, you are but a part of me," I scream to our nemesis

It doesn't look so intimidating anymore

a little sad and weary perhaps, looking at us with salty tears

we lay in the glory of our victory, feeling sorry for the sea

then we all look at each other, knowing what needs to be done

all lines are loosened, the sails set loose

we wait for a wave to help us in our endeavour

and then it came, a swelling beauty of water

capsize and in we go into the sea

a final insult to injury

"I make you, I break you and only if I want, can you take me"

the sea looks even sadder now

as we lay laughing in the waters

only to mount our horse again

but only when we feel the time is right

A song i had written for a band that i played for

The Omnipotent

A twitch in your eye

A twist of your fate

A prayer on your mind

A rogue at the gate

A numb sensation

The screaming silence

A chorus on road

Two gunshots in rhyme

The shadow you follow

A light that you need

A car on the road

A tiny birdseed

Your careless attire

The face on a street

your deepest desire

your darkest of deed

your untold misery

your heroic songs

The ladders of time

Your cardinal sin

The thorn in your feet

The lie you believe

The faith in your eyes

All that you grieve

Your crimson destiny

The rocks and the stones

A beggar on the street

Your blood and your bones

Your affection and hatred

The bondage when you’re free

The crow that you feed

The eagle at sea

I am me and you and so much more

and everything that lies in between

I am the sky And I am the sea

And you are you

But you can never be me

no soy feliz hoy...

Es cerca de 6 por la mañana y no he dormido nada. Estuve despierto toda la noche pensando ... pensando cómo puede uno encontrar algo de paz? No tengo ninguna respuesta aún y esta es la tercera noche en la sucesión. Si yo no tengo a nadie con quien hablar, ¿significa eso que estoy solo o estoy solo cuando hablo con todos, todo el día, todos los días y la gente oye, pero no escuchan? No sé si estoy solo o no, pero sé que no soy feliz hoy.

A song which makes me think...hmmm

Bob D's good work

Crimson flames tied through my ears, Rollin high and mighty traps

Pounced with fire on flaming roads, Using ideas as my maps

We'll meet on edges, soon, said I Proud 'neath heated brow.

Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth, Rip down all hate, I screamed

Lies that life is black and white, Spoke from my skull. I dreamed

Romantic facts of musketeers, Foundationed deep, somehow.

Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

Girls faces formed the forward path, From phony jealousy

To memorizing politics, Of ancient history

Flung down by corpse evangelists, Unthought of, though, somehow.

Ah, but I was so much older then, Im younger than that now.

A self-ordained professors tongue, Too serious to fool

Spouted out that liberty, Is just equality in school

Equality, I spoke the word, As if a wedding vow.

Ah, but I was so much older then, Im younger than that now.

In a soldiers stance, I aimed my hand, At the mongrel dogs who teach

Fearing not that Id become my enemy, In the instant that I preach

My existence led by confusion boats, Mutiny from stern to bow.

Ah, but I was so much older then, Im younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats, Too noble to neglect

Deceived me into thinking, I had something to protect

Good and bad, I define these terms, Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.

Ah, but I was so much older then, Im younger than that now.

-Bob Dylan

Done and over with...

So, this is what it feels like to let go...

I am not a wise person, I never claimed that I was even remotely close to being in the vicinity of the same neighbourhood as wisdom, but I guess, with continuous experiences, we all get some bit of that mandatory wisdom quota the almighty has reserved individually for us all. So, now I am getting mine.

Whoever said that holding on was difficult, obviously never had to let go. I did today, finally, and I am just not me anymore. The world hasn't come to a standstill, but right at this moment, my world is still and while i am inhaling alright, it's hard to say if I am exhaling at all. It feels like I

was continuously running on a non-stop treadmill, just running at the same spot without covering any ground and wishing that it would stop and I would get some rest. Now, that it has stopped, I miss it already because my body is conditioned to continuous running.

They say the first step is the most difficult, then how come every subsequent step hurts just a little bit more than the last. It's like walking on thorns, you may get used to the pain, but you will feel it with every prick and you won't ever start liking what that feels like.

Love is a difficult emotion and personally, I have never been able to comprehend the complexity of it. While life goes on otherwise, love just chains it to stay right where it is, stuck in oblivion forever. To think of it, one shouldn't even expect anything much from an emotion whose entire being rests on the very negative action of 'falling into'. It's like saying although I fell in a septic tank, I didn't expect I'd get so filthy. So, then why do we so desperately want to hold on to such a thing? Perhaps it is because life goes on for years and years while only a few emotions are relatively permanent, among which, love is the elusive, mysterious powerful one, we hope would put an end to all our miseries and open our eyes to a world of pure happiness. It's the unknown and people harbour either fear or awe for the unknown. What comes to us easily is not valued and what makes us struggle to get our hands around it is held in highest esteem. What can I say, the heart wants what it wants.

The worst part is when what we believe is love, gets over...people who share their lives suddenly become strangers in minutes. One day you are looking at your future in the eyes of a person and the second day you cannot even face him or her. It's sad how everything reduces from flames to ashes to nothing but dust.

I keep hearing that life seldom gives us a second chance. I feel, however, that life is all about choices and chances. If you choose to hang on to a building which is on fire, then you have chosen to put your life in jeopardy rather than let go and be safe. Until you let go, you wouldn't know for sure if you will live to see another day. If you do hang on and survive after the building collapses, that is your second chance and a chance is a chance even if you have lost a limb in the process. Contrary to popular belief, time and tide wait for every man, rather repeat themselves everyday so that all of us can work around them.

So, was I in love, I don't think so, but was I hoping and believing that I was, perhaps. But now, I am waiting for the time I had lost to come back tomorrow so I can get on the high tide like before. As I let go of my building on fire, I take this as life's second chance to me, a chance to make amends and a chance to not fall again. If you repeat your mistakes once, twice or thrice, they are still mistakes, beyond that they become stupidity, followed by habit and disease. I am still at the making mistakes stage and would like to stay here just a bit longer.

This is my first ever officially published story...

Rebound

“You lazy cow! How dare you decide to relax when you should be on your feet? Get up before I kick the living daylights out of you!” He screamed like a wounded animal. All I heard was the distant sound of an engine charging towards me. It was later that I realized this engine was a figment of my vivid imagination. At that moment though, I knew my end had arrived and I was just minutes away from a sure death.

Jagat Sa’ab had taken it upon himself to separate my soul from my physical form. He was a ruthless machine with no emotions, and I was his prime target in the two months long ordeal: a Basketball coaching camp straight from hell.

My joy at being selected for the nationals disintegrated on coming to this place. More than a sports camp, it was like a Nazi concentration camp and Jagat Sa’ab was our jailor. He didn’t seem to have any humour, feelings or apathy for fellow human beings – no heart at all. What he did have was a long list of successful teams he had trained over several years. To compliment that, he had a long sullen face, void of any pleasantness and a constant stern expression that communicated his only interest – making our lives miserable. About his family, none of us were interested in knowing about it as there really was no need and hence, a mass decision was taken silently to refrain from being overly curious about his domestic life. Personally, I had my own angry young teenage emotions to cope with. That kept me quite busy and hence, I paid no attention to this old man coaching a bunch of young girls. He was clearly past his prime and couldn’t really do much harm – or so I thought!

It had been a tough year for me; overachieving parents’ unrealistic expectations for their firstborn had burdened my already slouching shoulders out of shape. Though, it was fun at times fancying myself as the Greek God, Atlas who carried the entire world on his back, being chided constantly for being too complacent and for starting a hardcore rock band wasn’t really a joyful experience. So, basically, I had bad grades, a bad attitude, a loud band, and hideous clothes on an eighty five kilograms frame and an arrogance which was a cause of concern for everyone around me. Basketball was the only comforting factor in my life and Jagat Sa’ab had come as the Devil incarnate to destroy my happiness.

The team members addressed each other with our respective sporting nicknames. Mine was ‘Maddy’ and I loved it. From day one itself, our rigorous training schedule and workout and conditioning regime had started. We were woken up at the ungodly hour of 4:30a.m. and made to run six kilometers, followed by stretching and warming up exercises for two games, back to back, eighty minutes without the timeouts. This was followed by another four kilometers of running and winding down exercises and an exhausting weights session in the gym for an hour; and this was only the morning session. In the afternoon session we had to work out the game plans and strategies while the evening session was a retake of the morning session. By the end of the day, we were all supposed to be too exhausted to even think; but thanks to my skills at playing truant and finding convenient shortcuts through the woods while running, I only did half the required working out. I was convienced that I was smart. It took exactly three sessions for the coach to understand my tactics and what followed was pure hell for me.

This made me the object of his undivided attention. When I ran, he ran with me to make sure I did not do anything fishy; when at strategies, he made me sit next to him so I wouldn’t secretly doze off; during the practice matches and exercise routines, he stayed close by to remain assured that I wasn’t shamming in anyway. Whenever I tried to make an excuse, he dismissed me calling me a lazy cow and never allowed me to rest. Finally, when he heard the others calling me ‘Maddy’, he had a hearty laughand nicknamed me ‘Mad Cow’ and that name stuck. Hatred is a mild emotion as compared to what I felt for him then!

I made up my mind one chilly evening that I could not endure this kind of ill – treatment at the hands of a retired Army Subhedar Major who was adamant on making this camp absolutely insufferable for me. The decision had been taken; I packed my bags and Rogue and Ice, my closest confidantes in that outrageous place kept the others away from the dormitory while I sneaked out. It was dark when I jumped over the fence to freedom, on the road that would take me home and, into Jagat Sa’ab’s hands. My blood froze in my veins on seeing him and he gave me a long cold stare. I prayed to the almighty that he wouldn’t understand the purpose of my brae nocturnal escapade; but even God wasn’t on my side that night.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said. My acting skills surfaced at once and with a pseudo astonished and a slightly hurt look on my face, I asked him, “What are you talking about? I was hungry so I was just going to get myself a snack.” Yes, it was lame, but that was the best I could do in that split second. He gave me a long hard look that told me what I had always suspected. I was dumb! “A snack, really? Well, I am not here to judge you, but at eighty five kgs, don’t you think you should avoid ‘snacking’ at odd hours?” he asked. “Listen, I wouldn’t give up the only thing that makes my life worth living, but I guess you are different. So, go ahead, I will not stop you from getting a ‘snack’ for yourself, but remember that opportunity doesn’t come knocking at your door every time. Besides, you weren’t good enough anyways!” saying that, he left just as discretely as he had come.

“How rude,” I thought, “how dare he say that I am not good enough? Oh! I’ll show him.” and I jumped right back into the dreary devil’s land. Rogue and Ice stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost, but, no one asked any questions and let me unpack in peace.

In the morning, the coach didn’t even look at me; it was as if the previous night had happened in my imagination. How could he say such a nasty thing and act so indifferent, I kept wondering the whole time. Then, while running, I suddenly noticed that the constant hovering presence around me was nowhere in sight today. So, I took my old detours and shortcuts and headed into the woods. I must’ve done about half a kilometer when I heard a voice behind me, “Back to your old tricks eh Mad Cow? Well from now on, you won’t quit, I will not let you quit! Come on! Get back on the track.” Jagat Sa’ab was back in action and it spelt trouble for me. So, I got back on the turf and lumbered towards the six kilometer mark with the coach on my tail.

I was not the fastest runner, or the best player on the team. Ice always completed the lap about a minute ahead of me and Rogue scores at least ten points over mine, but I was quite content at being where I was and too laid back to try improving my performance. That day, after the gym, Jagat Sa’ab spoke to all of us. He congratulated all those who had been doing well and expressed hope for improvement in the others. He did not mention me at all until the end when he said, “Mad Cow’s fat cells appear to have grown into her head because she seems to think that we will give her a chance to play in the tournaments.” I was shocked at this offensive statement. “I bet she cannot even complete a twelve kilometer cross-country, leave alone playing in consecutive games during the matches.” I could feel all the eyes turn towards me. I had to defend my honour somehow, but twelve kilometers was far too much. “What the heck,” I thought and yelled out aloud, “You think I cannot run a measly twelve kilometers? I don’t run because I choose not to, not because I can’t. I am going to prove you wrong. You just watch me!” I said defiantly. He just shrugged his shoulders and dismissed the merry gathering.

I was at my wit’s end all day. Twelve kilometers, how in the world did I get into such mess? I decided to go to meet Jagat Sa’ab and try and manipulate him to give me some time to complete this task. As I neared his quarter, I saw him sitting in his garden, relaxing with the newspaper. He put it down on seeing me and gave me a knowing smile. My frown was stuck on my face. I started, “About the challenge…” Before I could finish, he said, “I give you two weeks. Let’s see what you can do by then.” I didn’t even thank him and raced back.

For three days after that, I tried to increase my stamina, my endurance and my pace by running continuously, doing weights and endless sit-ups. Nothing seemed to work. I was more tired than I ever was and still, there had been no significant improvement. At the end of the fourth day, I was all ready to give up when he visited me at the dormitory. He took me for a walk and asked me if I was ready to quit. I ate my pride and replied affirmatively. “You won’t quit, I will not let you quit,” he said and told me henceforth, he would personally supervise my progress to make sure that I prove him wrong. I couldn’t understand his motives as to why was he helping me against himself; nevertheless, I decided to give it another shot, this time, his way.

The first thing that he did was to make me stand straight without slouching. Then he pushed me to walk straight and not my usual duck walk. Next, he made me jog with a deliberate breathing pattern which coincided with my stride. What followed was a smooth running movement which did not exhaust me much. I never knew this was possible. Jagat Sa’ab had come as an angel in disguise and I was thanking my stars that he decided to take charge. But, twelve kilometers was still a long way to go. My trainer ran with me for every mile so I never stopped. He said, “The only way to achieve perfection is repetition.” I was surprised at the amount of determination I was showing. This man had motivated me to dare and pushed me to the limit to do what I thought was impossible.

The day before the run, I was in good shape and ready to take on the challenge when my instructor came asked me to take a trial run on the tracks. I went and ran straight for ten kilometers; but during the final lap, I started getting a stomach cramp. I collapsed on the field. I knew it had to be a stroke and there was just no way I’d walk out of this field alive, and then I heard Jagat Sa’ab bellowing at me, “You lazy cow, I thought you had improved. Get up now and get running!”

I was upset at his insensitivity but still, I crawled and dragged myself onto my feet. The last kilometer was the fastest I had done so far. I gave it everything I had in me and completed it beating Ice’s time. I lay down on the grass, completely burnt out, feeling content at my performance, at the same time getting more and more angry at my coach for almost killing me and leaving without as much as congratulating me on my effort. I thought we had an understanding now. Maybe I was wrong. I had to tell him what a horrible man he was, so, I decided to walk to his quarters and give him a piece of my mind. My lines were all rehearsed in my head and I knew just what to say to him. Then he came out of his house, suppressing a delighted smile. His eyes were beaming. Mine were enraged. He said, “Why are you here, Mad Cow? You should be working on that final lap of yours. It was much slower than I had anticipated.” And then I heard myself say with fortitude, “It will be Jagat Sa’ab, I promise you it will be.” “It better be,” he said, “You won’t quit, I will not let you quit!”

mi corazon va mmmmmm :)

Rafa Rafa Rafa ... mi amor por siempre

Hoy fue un día en que Dios no estaba en el lado de Rafa, pero a quién le importa cuando el hombre es tan caliente! Mientras que su otro (ordinaria) fans fueron el duelo español de la pérdida, me quedé escribiendo cientos de mensajes en su blog profesar mi eterno amor por el tratamiento que delicioso llamado Rafa que se sirve siempre caliente. No me avergüenzo de decir que el hombre me hace querer abandonar mi religión y empezar una nueva religión llamada Rafanism. Español como un idioma extranjero fue para mí hasta que se convirtió en un puente, teniendo que me acercó a gazillion luz años de diferencia entre hottie y yo. Que siempre se puede ganar y algún día, él se dará cuenta de yo también existo en este mundo...

:)

Para bailar conmigo que necessita una poca de gracia...

Happy Feet Translate into Happy People

Listening to La Bamba for the gazillionth time today as I sat in a classroom in the basement of a shady hotel, filled to the brim with over 350 student, I realised that this was the moment, right there in between that chaos and the tidal wave of human beings surrounding me, when I took charge of my life, when I reclaimed it.

I looked around at all the people, some looking perplexed, some confused, some irritated and some just indifferent and smiled to myself thinking that even though I don't know the names of most of them, they were proving to be the light at the end of the tunnel for me. So, as I put La Bamba on a repeat mode while waiting for the Prof., I started jigging to the song in contained hidden movements while sitting on my chair.

"Yo no soy marinero, yo no soy marinero, soy capitan...soy capitan...soy capitan" and my hands just started independently tapping on the little desk attached to the chair. My feet were moving independently of my body as my shoulders and the rest of the body moved separately...thanks to the year plus dancing lessons, things were not exactly getting ugly. Suddenly, a person who had to go past me to get to his place, tapped me on the shoulder and motioned me to stand up for a moment so he could pass. I don't know what was going on in my mind besides La Bamba which was so all consuming that I smiled at him, got up and did a bit of an impression of what I was doing while sitting...OK the bit lasted for almost a minute during which the entire sea of students had found one common point of focus.

I don't normally like it when people stare at me...guess that goes universally too, but today, I loved the attention, even though I saw some people giving me those contemptuous looks of "who gave her the right to be happy enough to just break out in a dance in the middle of the class". But somehow, it is so hard to care when you are so happy and for no apparent reason. Besides, Ritchi Valens was still screaming his 'cancion' in my ears so even if some condescending comments were murmured, I was blissfully deaf to them.

The song ended about a minute later, and so did my little impromptu performance. So, I just gave everyone a beaming ear to ear smile and a slight fake bow while I took my seat. The Prof walked in about two minutes later which is when I took off the earphones. The Prof suddenly roared into the mic in a somewhat naughty voice, "So, I hear their was a fiesta in the class...without me. Happy to know that happy people take these classes. By the way, when it comes to breaking out in a jig in a public place, there is a thin line between happiness and sanity. I don't know which side the lady stands on but I prefer to think it's the former," he said smiling as we went back to studying about the levels of personality and Freudian interpretation of dreams (not the book...the theory).

When the class got over, I heard people talking about the "semi-mental girl", the "Dancing Queen", "Twinkle Toes" and other such names being discussed which I assumed were a result of my little outburst. Somehow, that made me feel happy. As I started driving my car back home, I had a craving for some more music so the earphones were back in place while I screamed, "Pour some sugar on me" followed by "Show me how to live" and yet again, "La Bamba" at the top of my voice while fellow travellers on the crowded roads gazed in wide wonder. I just smiled at them all because I knew then that everything is going to be just fine now.

A bit of psychology...

EROS vs THANATOS

Uncle Freud must really be smiling in his grave today knowing what he stated with authority years and years ago is still haunting the descendents of those who condemned and wrote him off as 'inflammatory' or 'obscene' or even 'blasphemous'. Today, as I learnt about the theoretical roots of aggression and calm, I realized what a thin rope it is we walk and how easy it is to cross over to wild rage from a poised sanguinity.

Freud’s psycho-analysis which is based on instincts and two primary principles of sex and aggression being the reasons for every action and reaction by us humans (I have new respect for Uncle Freud who understood the two basic things which drive us all more than a generation ago). While there are many types of instincts, those which stand out and are considered the most important are two – Eros and Thanatos. Simply stated, Eros are what we better know as Life instincts and Thanatos are the Death instincts. Those who have more of life instincts are more composed, cheerful, laid back and relaxed while the death instinct people are those who have that aggressive streak in them. They are easily excitable, more often than not emotionally unstable and have an inclination towards violence. Normal are those who can successfully strike a balance between the two are the happiest as they are considered normal.

When I heard this explanation, I thought to myself happily that I am rather cheerful, laid back bordering on lazy and don’t get easily angry, but not discarding those few occasions when I do lose my temper, it’s nothing short of uncontrollable rage. So, I safely classified myself as compound of the two. However, it soon struck me that maintaining a balance between the two is walking a tight rope which stands precariously over a deep gorge. That is when my mind started galloping to places where no reign ever holds it down. I got to thinking how easy it is to cross over from peaceful sanity into horrifying insanity which pushes me into unimaginable corners of that pitch darkness where I go blind with wrath. How love which turns into passion soon transforms into a frenzy or a minor altercation becomes a war. How spiteful and hurtful I get and so easily or those unexplained emotional outbursts.

That is when I realized that aggression is very much a part of my being and is as inseparable as the need to be happy, sometimes much more than even that. I had heard long ago from a non-believer friend of mine that the Old Testament has an unknown version of the Original Sin in a phrase which indicates that when God created Adam and Eve, he made Lucifer, erstwhile an angel in his Kingdom and God’s favourite too, the in-charge of the Garden of Eden. However, after a few days, Lucifer started feeling left out and got bitter and bitter with every passing day until his bitterness turned into ire and he decided to take revenge on God. So, he started sending Adam out all day while he and Eve would consummate the same time that she was with Adam too. When God came to know of this, he punished Eve for her sins by giving her painful labour and menstrual cramps among other things and threw Lucifer out of his kingdom. When Eve had a child, it was half Adam’s and half Lucifer’s which gives all the human beings an evil side along with the good side.

Now, I know that coming from a non-believer this theory could just be a fib. But I do believe that we all have two sides within us, the two people inside who are dramatically different from each other are always at a contradiction. However, it is when a person who hosts these two entities within himself manages to ensure that peace exists despite the contradiction, the things remain in control.

Thanatos or any sort of negative instinct of emotion cannot be controlled by repressing it. Repression just makes things accumulate to pave way for them to come out all together with vengeance at the smallest trigger. The key is in finding a solution to that negativity, be it in changing focus to something humorous, or talking to a friend or a relative to get it out or just channelising it in a constructive direction. Apparently we are all born with a certain amount of energy which cannot be increased or decreased. So, what needs to be done is a change in the deployment pattern. Easier said than done? Well, it is and yet, it is not really that difficult.

written on an impulse...

Just a Day

It was a day

Not too different from today

Except it was raining then

And the streets smelt of the trees and the grass

And the trees and the grass were greener than they ever were

The streets were empty

But they weren’t silent

They laughed like they were being tickled

Giggled in all their glory

It was a day

Not too different from today

Except you were with me then

I was on the street that day

Giggling with the streets

With the rainbow in one hand and heaven in the other

And clouds beneath my feet

the green in the trees and the grass was me

the water in the rain was me

and I was falling on you

covering you all over

reaching every little part of your body

as you walked on the happy streets by yourself

looking at me in the trees and the grass

smiling on your own, to yourself

never realizing you were not alone

never realizing I was smiling with you

or perhaps you knew

and then you turned into me

and I was walking right where you were

soaking you in, wanting more of you with every drop of you on me

I was smiling now but I knew I was not alone

Or may be I was

I looked up to see you sitting at the rainbow

screaming my name to the sky

I tried to catch you, but the rainbow was far far away

So I closed my eyes and said a little prayer

When I dared to open them

I saw no rain

No giggling streets, no green leaves

No rainbow and no clouds

and as I tried to wander back into orientation

my hand touched your breath

my eyes met your closed eyelids

I could see you were smiling in your sleep

I nudged closer to you

You smiled some more

Not aware that I saw you

That you were still not alone

That I was smiling with you

I tugged your arm with one hand

And the other hand felt your breath

I closed my eyes and then it happened again

I had the rainbow in one hand and the heaven in the other

And the clouds beneath my feet

It was a day

Not too different from today

The Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

--Pablo Neruda

I do not love you except because I love you

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

--Pablo Neruda

I cried when i read this first...

My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.

--Pablo Neruda

The Purple Day

To be able to die in peace is something that almost all of us desire. OK, not desire, because it involves the process of dying first and then being at peace, but the ‘being at peace’ part is what we wish for, don’t we? I also wished to be at peace without being dead. But here I am, resting not quite in peace but yes, resting nevertheless, watching as my body turns into ash right in front of my eyes. I am dead! Am I really?
It was a purple day. I say purple because that was the colour that came to my mind when I woke up that autumn morning. You see I have a quirk. I associate colours to whatever happens in my life, or lack of it, well, while I was alive. Coming back to the purple day, I was busy, I cannot remember doing what, when the phone on my kitchen counter started ringing. I hate the tring tring sound of the phone. It just drives me crazy, so, I decided to take revenge and let it ring. The caller on the other side must really be desperate to talk to me, the phone tringed four times. I let it ring. Then it was silent, dead like it was before, dead like I am right now. I felt amazed at how calm and peaceful my surroundings seem. It was unnatural. I liked it. I can still hear the deafening sound of that silence. It is wonderful.
My mother suddenly comes in front of me and tells me to finish my breakfast. It is a brown day. “I will make you drink this milk, even if you vomit in the glass, you will finish it,” she is yelling. I am getting late for school. I don’t hate the taste of milk. I dislike how it smells. I do hate going to school though, especially when my homework isn’t complete. I look at her from the corner of my eye. My sister is playing next to my grandmother. Granny hates her. She hates everyone except my father and me. I miss her sometimes now. She protected me as far as she could from everything bad. Mother is keeping an eye on her to ensure that she doesn’t hit my sister. I am hoping that happens. The doorbell rings. Mother goes to see who it is and I go to the sink. Milk looks good while twirling down a drain. I come back, pick up my bag and go out of the house, on my way to school.
Wait! This is not school, this is not home either. Where am I? What time is it? I am again in that purple atmosphere. My mother is gone. There is nobody. It’s just me and the wretched phone, and it’s ringing again. I pick up the phone this time. “Mom! Are you alright? I have been calling all morning,” I hear a voice. “Who are you?” I ask. “Mom it’s me – me!!. Mom, did you take your medicines?” “I am fine honey, but who are you? I think you got the wrong number. I don’t have a daughter.” I don’t have a daughter, who is she? “Mother, listen to me, in the cabinet next to the phone, there is a blue box on the 2nd shelf. Pick that up and take out the red pills and the white tablets in the orange packet and take them with some warm milk. I am holding the line. Do that and tell me ok?” the voice says. “OK, I took the medicines,” I lie. “Did u really?” “Yes I did. What is your problem? Who are you? Stop bothering me,” I say and disconnect the phone and the line. Nobody disturbs my peace.
I go to the bathroom now. Wait, there used to be a bathroom here. Why is it a garden now? What is going on? “Come over here sweety, we are planting mango trees,” my father calls out to me. I run and sit next to him. The mud is wet. It feels warm and nice. The day is yellow. “Papa, if we plant a coin here, will there be a tree which has coins on it?” I ask innocently. Papa laughs and says, “No, but you can earn coins with hard work. For the time being, lets plant mango seeds and take really good care of the plants so that they become trees real soon and we can have lots and lots of mangoes to eat ok?” “Ok.” I don’t understand why can’t we have a coin tree, but I like mangoes better. My hands are muddy and my pretty pink dress is soiled. Papa picks me up and says something. Why can’t I remember what he says? I am on his shoulders. Someone’s calling my name, I turn to look at who it is, its purple again. I am on the floor. Papa is not around. Where’d he go? The smell of wet mud still lingers in my mind. I turn around and my sister is sitting there. “Tell me some gossip. I am bored,” she says. So I sit with her on the couch in the light green room and we discuss the old hag who lives next door. Oh she is such a pain. “The other day, I was watering the plants and by mistake, OK not quite, but still, I poured some water over her irritating pooch. She just got on my case,” I am saying while my sister is laughing in her usual laugh, the kind that is contagious and makes you want to laugh with her without even knowing the joke. I am laughing too. The corner of my mouth hurts and I can’t breath.
I throw my head backwards and laugh and laugh till I have tears in my eyes. I look up, laughing hard and she is gone. It’s just me again. God! This house is suffocating me. I need fresh air. I open the door. He is standing there. I stare at him. I haven’t seen him in years, but he looks just the same. He is smiling, the same smile that used to brighten my day and left me with that warm fuzzy feeling. It’s so nice and orange. I smile as I haven’t smiled in years. He takes me in his arms and whispers in my ears, “I missed you honey.” “I love you,” I say. He comes inside and looks at the drapes. “New curtains? Red suits your house. Where are the rest of them?” “Well, we ran short of cash so could only buy curtains for one side,” I mumble. He laughs. I love his laughter. I just smile meekly and look at him. We sit down to have dinner at the couch. Dinner is never served, but I taste him, his mouth, his neck, his entire being. I am not hungry anymore. “I love you,” he says. “I love you, don’t leave me,” I say. We are in this thick embrace. I know I am a part of him and he is a part of me. He breaks away to take a breath. I close my eyes to pray. This is perfect! It shouldn’t end is all I am thinking.
I open my eyes and he is gone. It’s all purple again. I am standing at the door. This house has too many windows. I don’t like it. I close the door and go into the storeroom. There is a black trunk there. I open it and take out the bright red curtains and put them on the windows. The house is still purple, but atleast no one can see me from outside. I hate it when people stare. I get down from the stool I used to reach the curtain rods and look at myself in the mirror in the hall. I am fat! How much do I weigh? God! This was unexpected. How’d I get so fat? My maid comes and tells me, “Madam, you are glowing. How much more time now? I bet it’s a girl. You look beautiful.” “Any day now,” I tell her. I know it’ll be any day now but what am I talking about? I can’t remember. The ivory day is making me forget things. I close my eyes to silence the voices in my head. When I open them, its purple again. I am alone, where’d the maid go? The house is still dirty. I take it upon myself to clean the house, so, I pick up the broom and begun sweeping. “Mother, what are you doing?” I hear a voice. I turn around to see my girl. “Give that to me. Sit down ok?” I see her as she cleans our house. It’s nice and pink. She comes and sits down next to me keeping the broom aside. “Mother, I have got a really good offer for a job. It’s very well paying and it has lots of perks too,” she is saying. Wow! My little girl is all grown up! “What job honey?” “Just like you, mother.” My girl’s going to be a writer! I am thrilled. “Mother, don’t freak out ok? The thing is that this job requires me to reinstate myself to another city.” Am I imagining things? Did she really say what I heard? “You will leave me?” I ask. “No mother, you will go with me, just give me time to find a house and then I’ll come and take you there myself.” I don’t believe her. She wants to get rid of me. I stare at her, a long hard stare.
“Mother, if it hurts you so much, I will not take this job,” she finally says. I am a bad bad mother. How can I become an obstacle in the way of my child’s success because of my insecurities and some obscure ideas? “Honey, I’ll be alright. Call me everyday and promise you’ll get a house really soon. When do you have to leave?” “In a week’s time. Oh mother, you’re the best,” She chimes. “I know,” I mumble looking at the threads coming out of the carpet, thinking what to say next. “Honey, you must start…” I look up, there’s no one. It’s that purple room again.
This is like confinement. Am I crazy? Of course I am not. Oh God! That woman on the phone, she was my daughter. How could I forget? I must call her now. Wait, what is her number? I’ll have to look for it, but where? Let me look in the kitchen, it must be there somewhere. I walk to the counter and open the cabinet next to the phone. Ah! There is a phone book. Now all I need is to remember her name. I pick up the diary and close the door. “Hi!” he says. I drop the diary in a huff. Where’d he come from? “How have you been?” he asks. “I am alright. What brings you here?” I look around the blue room. “Just wanted to see you. It’s been 6 years. How are you doing? Where’s our daughter?” he says. What does he want from me? Showing up suddenly after six years like this, it’s unusual. “We are doing fine. It’s a school day remember?” I blurt out. “I am sorry,” he says. “What for?” “For everything.” I look at him. He hasn’t changed. I have, I think. “Doesn’t she ever ask about her father?” he breaks the silence. She does, all the time. I tell her he died in a car crash before she was born. I think she believes me.” I tell him. He looks blank. Not hurt, not surprised, just blank. “And you? Don’t you miss me ever?” I close my eyes so that he doesn’t see through me like he used to. Oh God! How can I not miss him? I think about him every waking moment of the day and dream about him when I am asleep. How can I tell him that when he left, I had nothing to live for? How can I tell him that I still will forgive him, all he has to do is ask for forgiveness. How can I tell him that…
My head suddenly starts hurting. It’s like someone just ripped my brain out. I open my eyes and see a young boy. He has a rod in his hand. I look at him with a puzzled expression. His eyes are enraged. The room is purple again. I can feel something running down from my head, onto my forehead, down my nose. I don’t understand what is happening. Things are blurring. The boy is saying something, I can see his lips moving in a synchronized pattern but I can’t hear the words. I keep staring at him. Suddenly, he hits me with that rod again. This time, I smile. “You know, you are the first guest I’ve had in ages.” I mumble and fall to the ground.
The purple room is black, finally, some real change in colour.

A story from long ago...where fiction meets reality...

The Choice
It was burning out, the cigarette I mean. As far as I am concerned, I already was. That tiny little thing in my hand, which was nearly reaching its end as far as its productivity goes, was reminding me of me – that was the unfortunate part. I was comparing my life to a cigarette and somehow, I felt much worse than that lifeless roll of burnt tobacco in my hand. How had life turned so bitter all of a sudden? Only yesterday, the endless laughter of pure bliss had filled my entire being, the joy of being a human being was too much to contain within my mortal form for me and yes, it was contagious and spreading like water on blotting paper and today, here I was sitting, watching the endless expanse of the dark sea, staring at me with its menacing eyes. It was silently murmuring into my ears, reiterating with immense confidence, my failures and downfalls. It was yelling to me that incompetence is what has become of me. That was the first day of the rest of my life and that was going to be the last too. I missed being happy. I missed being me.

I had thought of this one moment, clearly and carefully, planning my greatest escapade. The sea was my first love. What better joy than to breath your last in the arms of the one you love? The beach was deserted. The night was dead, even rocks were silent in bearing testimony to the sights they had witnessed. I was lonely – lonely as that isolated palm tree on an oasis, which longs for the company of tired travelers. The first step is the hardest, or so I am told, so, I was waiting for that one opportune moment of extreme cowardice when I’ll be bold enough to take that extreme step. All this while, I was living for or on others. Now, at least the death will be for me. The thought was nerve wrecking at first, but after the initial doubts cleared, it seemed but natural. I am the only one who has the right on my life and how it takes shape and ending it by myself was the final master touch I could’ve added to it.

Four down, four more to go, the cigarettes I mean and then, I would give them company in hell. In my life, I had risen like a phoenix. And then, I saw it all fall down like water falls through a cascading stream. Crashing with all the might and reaching the lowest point in just no time. It was pointless to even try to reason with my mind, which seemed to have a life of its own. My mind was beyond any logic and it commanded my seemingly lifeless body to its will. I looked up and saw a solitary star, pointing and laughing at me. It may have lost its way like me, but it was still a part of the cluster. Where did I belong? In heaven, or hell, or somewhere in between. The sea was looking at me with contempt and was motioning for me to come closer with its invisible long nailed finger. I was waiting for the right moment. The wind was softly whispering, daring me to wipe my tears and go 2 the ocean. I will, I thought, the right moment. Three more to go. Just three more.

The night was dark, darker than any I remembered from memory. But, the darkness in my mind was much blacker than this endless night. It had blinded my vision, although my sight was intact. I picked up a little sand. It wasn’t soft and beautiful as I remembered. It was coarse and grainy, just like my thoughts. I let it slip out of my hand willingly. I wish I could lose control just like it. I took in a puff and made a few smoke rings in the air above my head. They were beautiful, perhaps the only sign of beauty around. They were beautiful because they rose from the dead remains of its source. I too be beautiful, again. Just two more to go.

I had a feeling that people wouldn’t miss me when I’d be gone, not even those who meant something to me. I’ll be a memory, oh yes, I would be. I gave myself credit for that because people do not forget or forgive insanity easily. It was nice to have a family and friends. I don’t quite remember how it was, it was too long ago, but I can recollect it was nice. What went wrong then? The smoke rings told me in words only I understood that I too would sublime in thin air like them, leaving no trace behind. We are what we make of ourselves and I am a result of my own actions, inexperience and constant, continuous foolishness. The cigarette in my hand looked at me helplessly, begging to be executed soon so its misery ends. I took one last puff, lighted the last one and got up to walk with my sea.

The sand under my feet was tender and loving, unlike the one I held before. It was like walking on a fluff of soft cloud. The waves came attacking towards my person, but I was too far for their reach so they just came menacingly, kissed my feet gently, pleading with me to come closer and retreated. The right moment, I thought, just wait for the right moment, I told my love. The lonely star was following my every move with keen interest. It was waiting with baited breath for some company at last. I looked at it; a reassuring glance that it wouldn’t go disappointed tonight and walked on with my friend in my hand and my lover by my side. One truant smoke ring kissed me on my cheek before departing with its friends. I saw it wave its hand to me and take leave. The last puff was the finest, smooth like a polished jewel and strong like a diamond. I threw it down onto the coarse sand and started walking towards the dark, yet wonderfully lovely and mysterious sea. I kept walking as if possessed and all I could see were the strong arms of my aficionado beckoning me to go further and further.

I kept walking and walking and walking and suddenly I stopped. The cool embrace of dark waters was kissing my neck with fierce passion. I could see it wanted more of me. But, I didn’t anymore. I wanted to go home, home to myself and not this dark past of mine. This time, my legs seemed to have a mind of heir own. They commanded me, against the wishes of my mind, which was outnumbered by the two legs, to return to the soft fluffy cloud-like sand. My body complied the wishes of my thinking legs and I turned around. The sea kept begging me to stay on, to go all the way, to love it the way I had promised. But, I had already broken my promise. I cried a little, only giving the sea something to cheer about for my tears would add to its already strong full body. I walked straight ahead, not even looking back once so that the beauty of my love doesn’t make me weak and chains me to stay on. I kept walking while the wind brought the message of what I was leaving behind. Stay, it said, stay forever. I shut my ears so I don’t hear the wailing wind and moved faster and faster. I reached the shore and turned around, one last look at my dark past. I looked up at the lonesome star and smiled, a sheepish, kind of apologetic smile. It gave me an understanding smile. I walked past the coarse sand and the silent dark night. I looked back at the silent graves of my cigarettes. Bite sand buggers, I smiled knavishly, I have a choice, you don’t.