Friday, November 30, 2007

Funny Hurry.



Out the door bright and early.
Surprised by the draft, oh so chilly!
Looked up - my eyes squinty,
Sudden my heart thuds sunny.

For-

Cloudless upon morning sky
I tracked a jet's trajectory
Painter’s stroke brushed in glory?
Or angels train left in blurry!


Then -

Down the road I went hurry
Tickled my nose something flurry
Frozen lips smiled in funny!
****

I wrote another kind of walk just the other day, check it out here.
##########################
Other walks from Sunday Scribblings
###########################

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Time flies!



Dusk dim and shimmer into night
Red glows from cigarette light

Two lads gaze up at the sky
Young dreams can afford to fly

Miles and three quarters away
Fireflies dance and sashay

Two men curse away the dark
Old eyes betray their walk

Lads turned men, they wonder when
Miles just seemed so long then.


###########################
In response to the prompt from 3WW
###########################

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

My Treat!


This no banquet
There's no target
But all favorites
My delights.
Please accept this invite
Come on over to surprise.
Bon Appétit!


Appetizer

Freshly baked puff pastry
Filling of tender meat and spicy
Enchanting aroma enrapturing, oh my!


Entrée

Steam cooked rice cakes
Shaped diamond cuts,
Opaque and garnished with nuts.

Boiled veggies on the side
Beans, carrots in sauce beside
White and color side by side

Dessert

Chocolate-coated crisps tickle the minds
Water the palate on bits and bites.
Flavors explode, oh the heavenly crunch.
Melt in your mouth - care to munch?


Oops the Drinks


Mix and match your favorites
Hot or cold to pick and choose
Get started folks before it ends.


#################################
More yummies available at Read-Write Poem
#################################

Monday, November 26, 2007

Happy Birthday.

A few years ago I received the best birthday gift that I could ever have imagined. My all-time favorite friend surprised me with a very touching act that convinced me of her loyalty and kindness beyond measure. It was the most wonderful birthday I have had in a long-long time. Thank you Sarah, I am forever grateful. And I hope to be there for you just like you have always been there for me. I promise.


Birthday – January 2004

It was in my mailbox when I got back from work, this mail from Sarah. I was expecting to hear from her, she always remembered my birthdays. She either phoned or mailed every year that we have been apart. This time it happened to be a mail. I tore open the envelope as soon as I unlocked the door and entered the apartment; I had to read the contents right away, two pages long I sighed with relish. The first page was a note neatly scrolled in Sarah’s handwriting.
It read –

Anna dearest,

Happy Birthday, girl! I won’t be able to call you this year as I will be in and out of airport terminals all day long. Hope this finds you happy and ready to party into the night? Where’s that fiancé of yours taking you this time round? Any surprises yet? Give him my best. And find attached a gift from my end albeit a small one, but I think you will enjoy it just like I did! I promise to call as soon as I land on solid ground and then you can tell me all about your wild birthday night. And hey one more promise, the one you extracted from me nearly twenty years ago, you will know what I mean once you read the next page, nay-nay – no jumping ahead, read this one first. Here’s my promise to you, I will never forget our friendship, and you will be my best friend forever! We have grown older and wiser sometimes together, sometimes apart. But we always kept in touch and were there for each other from Day One. On your birthday, I am renewing my promise to you, I will continue to be there for you no matter when, no matter where. You only have to holler if you ever need me, a ‘right?

Lots of hugs and kisses,
miss you,
Sarah

PS: Bet you are curious about the next page, a ‘right go ahead and read if you haven’t already peeked. :)

Letter – June 1983

Dear Sarah,

Here I am at last! Hi. I am missing you. I wish Dad didn’t have to move to this country. The new school is huge compared to our school. The students are friendly, around thirty in my class. No, I haven’t made any friends yet. They’re divided into groups and it’s hard to penetrate into any of these circles. I don’t even want to try at this time. I am missing you. I wish we could talk and play like we used to do. There’s one girl who has befriended me, she seems nice. She calls herself Gamma, weird name don’t you think? She doesn’t belong to any of these circles, I wonder why. I don’t want to appear weird as well, you know what I mean? Oh, how I miss you.

The syllabus is totally different too, and the new language tough to learn. I am finding it difficult to write backward coz that’s how they write here! It’s compulsory that I learn the language. I am struggling really! Dad has promised a home tutor to help me out. I just don’t want to learn another language, but I have no choice. Why did he have to move again? Mom says he had no choice either. I wish you weren’t so far away, Sarah. I miss you. Do you miss me?

I liked the new apartment though; it’s located on the fifty-third floor, very tall, there are sixty floors in this building. I can see the whole world from here, I wish you could visit and see it for yourself. Do you think your Dad might move here? Please ask him to. You can stay with us and maybe find another apartment next to ours. Then it would be just like old times.

That’s all the news from my end, mail me soon, and tell me if you miss me, what’s everyone up to at your end? Your Xmas holidays are coming up, aren’t they? What are your plans? They don’t celebrate Xmas over here. :( I hate this place so much. Dad says I will grow to love it, maybe I will.

But please mail me, don’t forget me, please promise me again?

Love and miss you loads,
Anna
xxx


Sarah had kept my letter from eons ago, I couldn't believe it. I must’ve cried and laughed at the same time. I lost count of the times I re-read those letters. I am no longer the doubtful girl I was years ago, yet Sarah’s renewal lightened my heart and made me proud to have such a wonderful friend. Aren’t I lucky? Oh yes, I am.


####################################
Somehow I am unable to post this response
to the prompt from Writer's Island. Not sure why.
####################################

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Turn back time!

'Misspent youth? Hmm, interesting, it brings to mind lots of interesting questions. Looking back at my life, what’s the one thing that I would change if I could? Would I change anything at all? Is there anything I would do differently if I could turn back time? No, I wouldn't.

My ‘teens’ were my worst period if you ask me. One of my own doing, now the wiser ‘me’ admits. I never cease to shudder at the memories. At the time, I rebelled against the world in general. It was my way and no other’s. I knew better, I was technically, politically correct or so I believed then, no one could argue. I had the last word, and I thought I knew what was best for me. Parents and teachers were best ignored. Studies were out of question. I barely scraped through the exams. God knows how.

The result – I sunk so low that I had no respect for myself, every friend that I had left me behind for better opportunities. It took me years to make up for what I lost.

Today when I look back, would I repeat the same thing given another chance? 'No way' is my first thought...

But…

Would I be where I am today if my life had taken a different course at the time? 'Absolutely not'.

Given a choice between the two, I would pick today versus the ‘unknown’ any day. Contradictory, huh!


It doesn’t make sense to turn back time, does it? What good would it do anyway? What has to happen will happen, no matter what! Why fret?

####################################
In response to the prompt from Sunday Scriblings
####################################

Monday, November 19, 2007

Dream Turns Nightmare


NIGHTMARE

I felt the bullet pierce my chest; oh there was so much pain, I was bleeding gashes and the blood, lord there was so much blood, I need to stop this bleeding, how? I am feeling dizzy, I don’t want to die, please God, let me not die, I need help, I tried to scream, but my voice stuck in the back of my throat, would somebody please help me…
HELP”, “HELP” and more feebly “help” I woke up screaming, my heart thudding, I was sweating profusely and clutching the heart. Why did I still feel the pain? Turning on the table lamp, I examined myself for bullet wounds, nothing. Not even a scar, simply nothing. It had felt so real, it was only a nightmare but why did the thought give me no relief? The clock showed 3:00 AM, date July 12, 1995. That explained it. Three years to the day since ‘the incident’. I threw back the covers and got out of bed, I knew I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes without reliving the nightmare. I might as well get some work done.

“High hopes”, my mind whispered.
“Well, I could try” I responded.


WHISPERS

I splashed water on my face, walked to the kitchen and made some tea, just like mom always did, with a tinge of lemon. I wish I were home; I am missing the family so much. But I had to battle these demons myself. And so there I was drinking tea at the early hours of dawn. I never drank tea except on very rare occasions when my tummy played up. And it was churning big hoops this morning. Good thing I had a light meal last night or I would be cleaning up floors right this second.

“Usual after the nightmare you just had”, my mind whispered. “You know, you can’t put it off forever.” it continued.

“I know, I know, stop whispering in my head!”


HOSPITAL

Remembering the nightmare was just as bad as experiencing it, only worse. But I was bend on ripping it apart, analyzing and finding clues to the problem at hand. To me that was the only chance at recovery. Yes, my recovery. You see, three years ago, I was involved in ‘an incident’ that I have no memory of; ‘amnesia’ is what the doctors called it. Yeah, right. How can amnesia be selective? I remember everything else, my name, my family, my friends, and my work, everything except three days of my life around ‘the incident.’ Even that sounded weird ‘The incident’, what’s that supposed to mean anyway? But that’s what they called it. The doctors, I mean. No one would explain the circumstances of what happened to me.

“It may or may not come back to you, but for your recovery it’s best if we don’t force any memories back, your brain will return them to you when you are good and ready.”

“Bull Shyte” but my family stuck with the doctors refusing to clue me in.





UNKNOWN

I was left in limbo, hanging in vacuum for eternity. That’s how it feels like right this minute esp. after the nightmare I have had. Not knowing is simply hell. I managed to extricate the bare minimums. I had gone missing the day after I landed in Philly for a long awaited family reunion and was found in the forest near my parents’ home three days later. As to how I got there, is a total mystery to me and probably for the rest of the world! I remember the touch down at the Philly airport, such beautiful weather! But the rest, blank! Every time I tried penetrating the recesses of my memory, I kept hitting this insurmountable wall. It took all my energy and left me exhausted, without yielding a single clue.




CLUES

But I had the dream, a dream that turned into a nightmare at the end. For some reason I knew my answers lay there. I just needed to connect the dots and make an interpretation. The first time I had the dream was two days after I woke from the coma. I was still in the hospital. I must’ve fallen asleep midday and remember waking up a mess. Tears flowed down my cheeks and I tried to relive the moments that occurred in my nightmare, it was too painful and I was forced to give up. I didn’t mention it to the doctors as I thought it would help me bring back those lost days. But it didn’t. Though the dream occurred more frequently from then onwards and made me feel a lunatic, nothing ever came back, I kept encountering the unknown, which frustrated me to the point of no return. Before I ended up committing something stupid, I decided to leave the country soon after my discharge from the hospital.


My parents protested, the doctors expressed concern but I was stern in my decision. I needed to get away, far away from the occurrence of ‘the incident’ and then maybe I could think logically. Then maybe the nightmare would stop haunting me. So I packed and left for a remote cottage in Canada that I inherited from my great-aunt.
To my relief the nightmares didn’t occur as frequently but my memories didn’t return either. Three years later I am exactly in the same spot, no memory, no recollection what so ever.



THE DREAM

I was playing in the tree house with my best friend whose face I can’t recollect for the life of me. We played with our dolls that rarely left my side. We were both seven. Dad had built the tree house on the edge of the forest that had boundaries with our backyard. And it was my favorite spot. I remember spending quite a lot of time there with my best friend. But I couldn’t remember her name, which is weird; because something tells me we were very close. We were happy as kids of that age usually are, planning and living our dreams in the beautiful tree house. That day we experimented with cosmetics and tried all the different hair-dos’. We were sleeping over with permission from the parents. Hotdogs and ice cream for dinner and then Mary Poppins for entertainment on the small telly that Dad set up for us. I was setting the table when my friend decided to put the baby to bed, our pretend baby doll that is. She walks out leaving me behind.



NIGHTMARE


That’s when the dream shatters and I become an adult all alone in the tree house, heart thudding, voice choking and clutching my chest where the bullet had pierced a hole. I feel the pain and the hurt. I also have this knowledge that I would never again see the daylight or have the time to bid farewell to my family ever again. The certainty that I am dying is what wakes me up from the nightmare. But even when my eyes are wide open I know that there’s no point fighting it, I am as good as dead. And the questions that arise in my head every single time “Was this in the past or yet to come?” “Did I pull the trigger?” “Was this a premonition to my own suicide?” , still remains unanswered.

##################################
In response to the prompt from Writer's Island
##################################

Green Thoughts



Emptying my dishwasher, gazing through the window, a thought occurs beckoning me to follow its trail.

Lush and plush grass extends for miles, soon to disappear in a blanket of snow and slush.

Freeze this moment, green grass forever and perfect world – if only, impossible thought soon dead.

####################################
In response to the prompt from Read-Write Poem
Also the prompt from Weekend Wordsmith.
####################################

My line in the American Sentence attempt, part of the group poem

"Tempted to attempt my very first American sentence, curiosity conquers fear of mess-up."

#############################################
Tell me if I got this right, please, not sure if I have understood the rules for what constitutes an American Sentence, but attempt I did. Comments, criticisms most welcome.
##############################################

Friday, November 16, 2007

Journey



Twenty-hour flight,
weary and jetlagged,
I de-board on tarmac.
Summer’s incalescence,
Punch my face.
Crushed leaf,
under my feet.
Swatting mosquitoes,
fearing malaria,
I hail the taxi.
Dusty and sweating,
I watch the traffic,
half closed eyes.
Past the theater,
across the station,
Hotel on site.
I sigh relief,
yield to tiredness.
#################################
In response to the prompt from Friday Fives
##################################

Thursday, November 15, 2007

A prayer.



You are with me every waking moment
without complaints,without question

You share my sorrows,
more so than joys

You listen to me,
and give me sound advice..

You give, give and give
yet expect nothing in return..

You are by my side when i am selfish..
even when I forget your existence..

You are hard to find, easily lost...
A treasure I need to safely guard..

You know I call you by many names..
Yet they say you have no name...

You add meaning to the word friendship..
Why, it's so easy for you, my friend
You are the best!

****

Faith is what I carry in my heart and soul;
I am weak without my faith, my best friend.

#####################################
In response to the prompt from Sunday Scribblings
#####################################

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Cuckoo-Cuckoo Train!



December 2004

The weather conditions were icy as I drove into work this morning. I pull into the parking lot and pause to watch the fast moving train leaving the Miquon station opposite our offices. And I couldn’t help but wish I were on it. To a destination unknown. Far away from the pressures of day today life.

It was such a wonderful site. Speed, power and class combined. That's how I always think of trains. Sleek and majestic. It's my favorite mode of man made transportation. To travel. I always think to myself, "If a train could take me round the world, wouldn’t that be great?"


I have traveled far and wide over the last few years. I have moved more as a kid than a lot of other people in my generation. I hated it then. These days I love to travel, maybe I should say, I love to see new places, experience different cultures. But I always dread the journey, especially if I don’t have control over the vehicle of transportation. I always fear travel sickness whether it's a bus ride, or a road trip in a car or a short flight. I couldn’t wait to get to the other end, it wasn’t fast enough. Except for trains.


Yes, with trains, it has always been a joy. I love traveling in them. I look forward to the journey, whenever I get to take a train. It's the only mode of transportation that I have ever felt safe in. No travel sickness, no worries. Pure pleasure. I could relax and enjoy the ride. And the destination always reaches, too soon. I could do it all over again. That's the feeling I get, every single time I take a train.

Trains bring back lots of childhood memories, all those trips to meet the family during the summer holidays. I used to love the motions of those steam engines that rocked me to sleep. I loved the music that I hear as the wheels turn, as it speeds past the rivers and the fields. “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo-cuckoo….”, so melodious, so sweet! I remember plastering my face to the windows where the wind could touch my face, where I could see the length of the train front and back, as it took a bend or a sharp curve. Beautiful, I always thought. Those old rickety trains that went “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo-cuckoo….”

Those journeys come back to me like an old movie. And some new. So much fun, so exciting. Another day, another life, another memory long forgotten. Sitting in my car, outside work, nostalgia encloses me like a cloak. For some reason, I also feel rejuvenated this Monday morning. Thanks to the electric train from Miquon that brought it all back.


###########################
In response to the prompt from 3WW
###########################

Monday, November 12, 2007

To Terry, With Love.


I wonder what Terry is up to these days. I hope she is well, I hope she is happy. I hope she is loved. I hope she is free from the events of her past. I hope she has won the battles against herself. I hope her world is stable, safe and secure. I hope she no longer wears a mask of joy to face the world. I hope her life is filled with joyous moments to last her a lifetime and beyond. I hope she is smiling and showing off her pretty dimples all the time. I hope she is merry.

Terry promised to teach me horse riding one day. Never happened! She invited me to the farm tonnes of times. Never made it! My fault, I didn't find the time. When I left London I promised to write snail mails, she didn’t use the internet you see, but I never got round to posting my hellos! 'Circumstances' is my only excuse. And so we lost touch, I feel guilty - it was my fault again. But I could never forget Terry. Her tale is hard to erase from the memory, her burden tough to bear, and her story rough to narrate. I hope I can do her justice as she belongs in my friends' circle like no other.

Terry was a short petit brunette with an elf-like face and a dimpled smile. She had big blue eyes that concealed vast pain deep inside. There was a scar starting on her widow’s peak all the way down to her left eyebrow. Two-inch thick makeup hid the scar well, but not well enough. I often wondered how she got the scar. I have only seen her once without the thick layer of cosmetics and that’s an occasion I wish to forget.

Terry grew up on a farm, the daughter of a pastor. Red was her favorite color. She played the piano beautifully. She could’ve majored in music and she would’ve if it weren’t for her passion for animals. She had a love for them like one I have never seen before. I shouldn’t be surprised; after all she grew up in a farm and worked in one. Yet her loyalty toward the animal kingdom never ceased to amaze me. She tended them like her own kids. She named them and talked of them, as if they were fellow humans. Many-a-times when she threw out names I had to confirm whether she was talking about a person or an animal. She loved them to bits. She had dreams of setting up her own farm that I hope materialized. She had little else in life to live for.

I first met Terry almost a decade ago. We were both working women sharing the same hostel facilities. She worked for a farm on the outskirts of London; I worked in central city. Terry was one of the very few people who left for work earlier than me. She had to get to the farm as early as seven, and she had more than an hour of commute. So Terry was up and gone by quarter to six every morning. We both got back early most days, just in time to catch dinner at six. Casual greetings turned into hour-long conversations and before long we were on the road to a great friendship. We talked of this and we talked of that, mostly Terry talking and me listening.

She told me she was adopted when she was a babe. She told me how her biological mother contacted her to find out if they could meet face to face. She told me of her reluctance to meet with her one on one. She told me how she adored the parents who raised her. She told me plenty and I thought I knew everything there was to know about her. But I didn’t, not then!

I didn’t know her vulnerability. I didn’t know her sadness. I didn’t know that she craved trust, respect and friendship. I didn’t know she was an alcoholic. I didn’t know anything about the thin line she walked on from day today, until she knocked on my door one afternoon and decided to unburden her heart and soul. There are times I wish she hadn’t and times I feel honored to have lent a listening ear. That’s all she ever asked of me.

That day her face was bare of all make-up, her scar loud and clear, I remember the moment like yesterday. Her shoulders were hunched and I knew she had been crying. She was sober for once, she told me. I didn’t know the difference and so I asked

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you realize Trix? I am an alcoholic!”

I was stunned. I shook my head and said “No” but my mind replayed several occasions when I had seen her acting weird. Unsteady as she climbed the steps to the second floor where her rooms were, making a mess of her dinner while we ate and me being forced to clean up for her afterward, eyes that didn’t seem to focus on mine when I thought we were having a serious conversation. All those occasions made perfect sense, oh boy, was I dumb or what? “Hold your thoughts” I told myself. Terry had thrown herself into my single armchair and was talking. It was time to concentrate.


“Trix, I just learnt that my boyfriend has a wife and kid and he never told me.”

“WHAT?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“You remember my boyfriend whom I met on the farm almost eight months ago, don’t you?” she goes.

“Of course I remember, you hardly talk of anyone else these days, but I can’t believe he has been cheating on you from Day One, oh Terry. I am so sorry. What a ba#%^$%! Forget him, you don’t deserve him, you will find someone better, don’t waste your tears on him, Terry”

“I am not so sure, Trish, I doubt if I would ever find someone nice enough to love me as I am, esp. when they hear about my background and life. I was so happy when Ben accepted me, even after hearing all the truth about me, he didn’t turn away disgusted. Trix, he was just using me for fun…he probably thought it was ok knowing what I had left behind…”


“What background? What truth? Oh, you mean the fact that you are adopted? Come on Ter, that doesn’t permit anyone to make assumptions on your person and it certainly doesn’t mean that you are loose with your affections” I was far beyond angry with her for thinking such silly thoughts and if I could get my hands on Ben, he probably would be sporting a black eye for a long time to come.

“No no Trish, you don’t understand. Do you know how I got this scar? Do you know why I drink to death? Do you know the kind of sorrow I carry inside? Do you know how I hate myself every time I look at the mirror? Do you?” Terry went.

“Tell me! Was it an accident?” though deep inside my mind shouted “Don’t tell me” for I knew what I was about to hear might be too painful to bear.

“Trix, two years ago I was raped”

##################################
In response to the prompt from Writer's Island
##################################

My Sevens'



I am thrilled, Redness tagged me, and what an interesting tag! Thank you so much!Here’s my go at it!

Tag Name

Seven Random and / or Weird Things about Me.


Rules

Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.Let each person know that they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


My Sevens' List

1. I am absent-minded. I search for glasses when it’s sitting on my very nose; I am forever wearing my pjs inside out! It was only the other day I threw the car keys into the trash and searched the place down. Yep, that’s me!

2. I am punctual. I have a tendency to get to an appointment half an hour earlier, merely because I worry that I would forget the time! I usually have a book handy else I will be swatting flies out of boredom. And oh listen to this, once I got to an appointment forty-five minutes early, decided to drive around for a little while, lost my way and naturally ended up late for the appointment. Duh!

3. I am a terrible navigator. Rather I should say my sense of direction is extremely poor! Laughable! Once I drove around in circles for ten minutes before getting it right! Guess where I was going? Home!

4. I can put on weight or loose weight at the drop of a hat. I have never been perfectly balanced when it comes to weight. Fat or skinny is what I have been all my life, going through the fat phase now! And don’t misunderstand me; it has nothing to do with food, my diet has been pretty constant all my life. I sit idle for five minutes I have a tendency to blot like a balloon, the minute I am active I tend to loose it all! Genes I suppose!

5. I love making friends, my network never ends, the more the better. Yet that’s just a phase. There are periods I tend to hibernate for days when silence rules, times when I am just happy with myself and looking inward. Almost like finding myself all over again. I feel refreshed and relaxed after such a phase, ready to face the world again. A kind of renewal! Some people raise their eyebrows.

6. I hate traveling yet I love seeing new places. I dread travel sickness, you see. Even though it was only a horrible phase of my childhood. My favorite mode of transportation are the rails, one place I never ever felt sick. I wish trains could take me all over the world, then I would enjoy my journeys some more. If only I could see places without getting on a vehicle. I still haven’t given up on magic.

7. I have never felt alone, ever, my faith has always been my side. Almost like a real person, many-a-times when people think I am talking to myself, I am actually talking to my faith. I am not mad, really, just weird!

Goodness, did I just do all seven of them? I can’t believe it. So that’s me in a nutshell!


Now it’s your turn, my friends. I tag you, no pressure to play
do so only if you are interested.


4.Rel
7. Lucy


Sunday, November 11, 2007

Left Versus Right


I thought about this for quite sometime, hesitating to put down thoughts on paper. I should really attempt this prompt. No, I shouldn’t. I could always try. No, I couldn’t. Opposite signals send out by my brain and me having to choose all the time. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Wish it were easy; wish my brain would just make the choice, instead of me having to ponder the positives and the negatives. Yet another brain activity. Confused, that’s what I am half the time.

I am not confused between what I want when it comes to extreme opposites, but it is the in-betweens that are confusing, the gray regions that is neither black nor white. Choosing then becomes extremely tough. Am I weird? Or just human? Does everyone feel this confusion? Is it because my left-brain outstands the right? Or vice versa? I don’t know.

I am constantly confusing between the left and the right. For instance, I have always been a poor navigator; my brain reads left, I speak the word right. And so we end up in the wrong alley every time I am on the passenger side of a vehicle. I confuse my left hand with my right every time I look in the mirror while brushing my teeth. Only a second, hardly time to get noticed by anyone else, but I embarrass myself all the time. Why is that? I don’t know.

What I do know is this. I am a lefty who writes with her right and does everything else with her left. I was forced to change as a child, typical for lefties in those days. Lucky for me, it didn’t cause any irreparable damage. Just a bit of confusion and slowness. And of course, the feeling of being a handicap until I knew better!

Oh yeah, I remember accidentally handing over a piece of chalk to one of my teachers with my left hand, and getting reprimanded. Apparently it was disrespectful to use the left hand. I could never finish my exams on time; after-all I used my right hand for writing purposes. I hated joining my friend to assist her mom in the kitchen. It was supposed to be fun. We had to cut the veggies’, that’s all. But my friend’s mom always thought I didn’t know how to hold a knife since I was using my left! I got chided and had to use a hand I was never comfortable using to cut the veggies, always nicking myself in the process.

As I matured into adulthood, I began to rebel big-time. I didn’t get it. Why is there a differentiation? What’s wrong with left? Why is one considered negative over the other? I remember using my left hand on purpose, just to get back at those who caused me pain even though I was equally skilful with my right! I guess I finally learnt to balance and maybe even become dexterous. But the confusion always rears its head when I least expect one. And it always bothers me, is it normal? Or is it because I am a lefty trying to perform with my right? I don’t know.

######################################
In response to the prompt from Sunday Scribblings.
######################################

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Words



Siting formation,
swimming vagile
under the ocean depths.
Limestone may be?
only plural!

Stunning colour,
attracts me closer.
Loosing breath,
surfacing gasps!
Crepuscular sky,
willow weeps.
Screeching owls
wake from dreams.
******
This is my first response to the prompt from Poefusion on Friday Fives. Wow, I learnt some new words today and enjoyed playing with them, now you can tell me if it makes any sense to you. I found the use of 'plural' the toughest. Comments/criticisms always welcome. Thank you.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Your choice!

ONE

Exquisite art albeit modern
compensate for the dust filled apartment
filled with timeless beauty.

Sunlight and shadows
dance to an unknown rhythm
as rustic radio chimes the sixties.


I walk from room to room.
My mind senses a feeling of belonging,
a reckoning that I was here
in another lifetime or before.

I feel nostalgic,
why it’s first time I set foot here?
Then this must be déjà vu.

“I will take it” I said
without another thought to the landlord,
And handed the deposit.

*****
TWO


I caught
the listing
on paper
this morning.

"I will seize
a glance
as I stroll
across
the park."
I thought
to
myself,
but was
out the door
the next
second
on my
way there.

I stopped
and knocked.
"Only to peek"
I said,
and annoyed
the landlord.


Exquisite art
albeit modern
line the walls
of the dusty
old apartment.

Sunlight
and shadows
compensate
one another
as they dance
in harmony
to an unknown
rhythm
while the
rustic radio
chimes
the sixties.

Scattered junk,
you would say,
timeless beauty
is my say.

I walk from
room to room.
My mind
senses a feeling
of belonging,
a reckoning
that I was here
in another lifetime
or before.

I feel nostalgic,
why it’s first time
I set foot here?
Then
this must be
déjà vu.


I turn a corner,
Expecting -
a type-writer
and there it was
I spotted clear.

Decision made,
instant-
“I will take it”
I said
surprised
the landlord
and handed
the deposit.
*****
You choose your fav! one, two, neither or cant be bothered. Any thoughts welcome. Comments and criticisms too. This came to me as soon as I caught the prompt on 3WW yesterday, but I just couldn't decide how best to present it. A poem, a prose, a story...I thought and edited, thought and edited and ended up with two versions. So now it's up to you to choose what you like. Thank you for stopping by.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Miracle


September 2005

The moment comes back to me crystal clear, like it were yesterday. Tender and unforgettable. It was the very first time I laid my eyes on her, I couldn’t take them off. It hurt to see her so tiny. So ragged and old. Oh how young! She was thin and bones. Twenty four hours after my C-section when the drugs wore off, M pushed me to the nursery in a wheel chair. Probes to measure the heart rate, probes to calculate oxygen levels and finally the feeding tube. All sticking out of a body as big as my husband’s palm. Weighing just over a pound at twenty nine weeks, she was small, still so beautiful. That's how I remember my daughter, a day after she was born. Prematurely. Yet the doctors called her a ‘fiesty little peanut’. Some called her a fighter and assured us that she would do great. Every time I was pessimistic and worried, M asked me to be strong for her, to fight for her, just like she was fighting for herself. And he was right. My daughter taught me never to give up even when the stakes are all against you. I am so proud of her, she is my miracle, she is my hero.


**********************************************************
Check out this song by Martina McBride, reflects my feelings to the dot.
You can listen to it here;
it’s called “In My Daughter’s Eyes”.
This post is in response to the prompt from Writer's Island.
**********************************************************

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Together Yet Apart



1987 – TOGETHER

We used to rent a studio at the time. I often felt like Gulliver in Lilliput for the duration of our stay there. It was a small minuscule space where one could hardly move around without bumping into the other, but that’s all we could afford with Beth a full-time student and me working part-time, to make ends meet. I was a student as well, you see. But we loved the ‘bumping into’ part as we were young and full of love, newly weds. We couldn’t afford even a honeymoon then. But we had each other and our little home. We had a sofa cum twin bed that was often used as a table or an ironing board! I swear that sofa has seen more wear and tear than it could afford and still stayed intact for several years. We had no television at the time, just each other to keep company. But then that was exactly the way we wanted it. We rarely ate outside - way too expensive - but we heartily cooked and ate in the studio where it often smelt of freshly made food. The narrow kitchen was just an extension of the main living space just like the bathroom. We had a stove, fridge and a sink. Beth usually cooked even though I enjoyed cooking. It was too small a kitchen for me to twist and turn my big bulky frame. Beth used to say, “You suffer the bathroom after all, let me fix this at least” Oh yeah, the bathroom was the worst place in the studio. If our living space was small, our bathroom was microscopic. Because of my tall height, I had to bend over double to step in through the door. I was often scared to stretch my arms for worry that the walls would break. Yet even there, I have had some memorable encounters with Beth. We didn’t mind the closeness in fact we reveled in our closeness. We were wonderfully happy. Poorly happy, I would say! Oh to be ‘in love’ and ‘penniless’ is a fine thing indeed.



2000 – DRIFTING APART

Now we own a home with four thousand square feet on a two-acre lot. To be honest I feel like a Lilliputian on an alien planet. It has more room than two people would ever need; we are lucky if we ever get to see each other once a month. We are both doctors, working away our lives, getting richer and lonelier. It seems like we have forgotten to laugh, to live and just be! We make appointments to bump into each other; on the rare occasion that we sleep together on our king-size bed, we are too exhausted to notice the other. We eat out all the time, separately, very rarely together. Our gourmet kitchen has seen more caterers than us. I doubt if one of us has ever cooked there. We have had more parties than candle-lit dinners. My dream-come-true bathroom extends like the Artic, a cold reflection of reality and life. I could stretch out my arms to my heart’s content and still feel empty inside. We have drifted apart, hardly realizing the truth. I yearn for the closeness that came once easily, I wonder if Beth feels the same. When once I could read her mind with just a glance, now she feels a stranger. I am immersed in sadness. Richly sad, and I long to be poor!

A SONG

Money in plenty,
Gets you -
Funny and Sunny.
Makes you feel Richie
Rich-
Mighty and Lonely.
If you wanna be happy,
You’re better off –
No money.
For happy and money,
Does not go-
Hand in hand, my honey.




#####################################
In response to the prompt from Sunday Scribblings.
This seems appropriate for the FF Contest, note that
the picture is not my own but the result of a simple
google search.
#####################################

Friday, November 2, 2007

NaNo

Official NaNoWriMo 2007 Participant So here I am a participant of the NaNo – I have got myself an account. That’s all!

Last year I heard about it and decided to give it a shot this year. Work is going to tie me up and leave me very little room for novel writing. But I promise to try at least, instead of waiting until next year. I may not complete the word count, but hey it’s a start. An idea is forming in my head that could have possible potential, but I am not ready to voice it yet, please be patient, I will surely keep you posted on the word count.

Happy NaNoWriMo!