Closing Pandora's Box

Oh your heart will hurt. It is heaven, and yet it will give you hell. It is day, and yet it will fill you with night. The same heart that was bursting with life, will now feel dead. It will have bled. Just like the sun bleeds into the sky around it when its time comes. When it has to go. When it has to say that word.

I don’t actually know how to say this, because this is always the most difficult part. It can be said in one word, by far the hardest word to say but I feel that it would not be right to part on just one word. Yes, it’s that word. As you may have noticed, it’s been such a long time since I posted, and after the passing of Ramadan I decided it's time for me to go, to concentrate on other things and I'd like to thank you for sharing your company, your hope, your kind words and love. It has been a pleasure.

But before I go, there are some things I want to share with you. Some of the things that you taught me during my stay here. Things that I will always remember.

Be good. No matter how bad it gets, no matter tough or how difficult, remember you are human, and never let go of your humanity. Your humanity, your ability to love, to care, to dare, to hope, to dream, is absolutely fabulous, so use it for the good of humankind. During your darkest most testing hours, please keep the faith, because sometimes you need a little darkness to see the light. Don’t ever give up okay? Keep going, keep believing and maybe one day your belief will turn into reality. Love, and love even more. Fall in love each day, with that which you see, and that which you hear, and that which you taste, and that which you touch, and it may be that every time you do, your heart is broken and you hurt, but don’t you ever stop. Love yourself, and take care of yourself and be good to yourself, you hear? Because your happiness is yours, and only yours so cherish it and nurture it and protect it, because unless you do, no one else will. But most importantly enjoy it. Give yourself a reason to smile. If your heart was ever broken by a person, don’t be afraid to love again, because there will be someone that will love you; for it is not love that was a mistake, but maybe the other person who broke it. As a wise person once said, “You can tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.” I hope and pray you find your angel. You are amazing, you are beautiful, and don’t let any one ever tell you otherwise. Share your thoughts, your ideas, your hopes and your fears and that way you will find someone who will share the same, who you may be able to help or who may help you. And keep writing, even if you are not happy with it at first, don’t stop because that first page wasn’t so good. Give yourself the best, try and try and try again because you deserve nothing less. Don’t short change yourself in the opportunities you have been blessed with. And have heart, my friend, always. Have hope and faith too. For this journey can be wearisome, and testing, but it can be done. Because in the end, it will be okay. Make it so. But sometimes you’ll feel alone, hold on to your loved ones, those that think of you day and night and those that ask ‘how are you’ and actually mean it. And please don’t hold onto the baggage, because it will weigh you down when you spread your wings to fly. Remember how the butterfly got its wings. Whatever happens, remember one thing, if you forget all else. Remember just who you are for that in itself is extraordinary. You are extraordinary.

If there are any outstanding things that I owe you, promises I have made but not yet been able to fulfil please do let me know. If I have ever in any way, be it through my words, actions, or writing hurt you or made you feel neglected then I sincerely do apologise, and I hope and pray that one day (if not today) you may find it in your heart to forgive me. Let me know if that is ever the case, so that I may apologise and put my heart at rest too. It is my prayer that wherever you are, wherever you go, may you go with hope and courage. For every sorrow, may you be blessed with joy, for every tear may you be showered with thousands of smiles, for every hardship may your faith guide you through, for every lonely moment may you have a caring friend, and for every journey, His angels to guard your way. May you always have a reason to smile.

This post wasn’t really planned, and it is what you may describe as a bit of a mind dump. Excuse any errors etc. But I hope I got my point across. So this is it, a word I rarely use. This is where I say au revoir ma chère.

*****

But let your heart bleed, why do you think it odd? For is that not what it does? As it bleeds with each and every beat, it carries the necessary nutrients and gases and minerals to the rest of your body. It pumps the concoction of life to the tips of your fingers and toes and eyes and nose and as long as it bleeds, you are alive. So rejoice, and be grateful. You. Are. Alive.

It’s bee a very long time since you last wrote. You write very inspirative post,” said the General.

A few days ago, I decided to step outside into the garden and go looking for bugs. I didn’t get very far as the grass was too long; hugging my shins and almost reaching up to my knees in other places. And so, I sat down a few steps away from the kitchen door and watched. I sat there for over an hour. I saw life, I saw order, I saw determination, and I saw hope. Seeing and looking are two different things, but that’s a discussion for a different day. I was looking at weed filled grass but seeing something else. I’d like to share with you two photographs I took on my phone and you can tell me whether after looking you too can see that which I did.

Next to my leg on the right side was a dandelion and on the left some tiny pink flowers, through which were crawling many little insects. I watched them as they moved about on legs thinner than a single strand of my hair, gracefully scuttling about, almost as if playing hide and seek with me and my phone. But luckily (for me) there was one insect, so engrossed in what it was doing, it didn’t care about what I was doing, and so I took a picture of it.

It is normal for us to be so dazzled by surrounding beauty like of the flower, that we do not even notice the real beauty; the beauty of the effort put in by the miniscule insect to conquer the flower and reach its destination. In the same way in our lives it is those things, those people, that we take for granted who become like the insect in the picture above (do you see it?), that get forgotten in the presence of something seemingly more beautiful regardless of how temporary it is. Yet they are always there, trying and trying again, not giving up on what they believe, not giving up on you because that’s who they are and what they do. (Thank you, my dear insects friends).

They say, blow the dandelion away, make a wish and it’ll come true. And they wish for you to do this and that, so you give and give from the kind depths of your mortal heart, till there seems to be nothing more to give. You are left hanging and it takes so much strength. Hang in there my dear, have faith, grit your teeth together and remember the insect, unfazed by anything around it. The thing about being strong is that no-one asks how you are, or how you feel. So let me ask you now, ‘how are you today?’

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Photograph of insect climbing flower taken from personal photography available here.
Photograph of blown away dandelion taken from person photography available here.

The difficulties you meet will resolve themselves as you advance. Proceed, and light will dawn, and shine with increasing clearness on your path.

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Photograph of path taken from personal photography available here.

Last year, I was asked by a friend to write on the topic of love for the King’s College Maestro Magazine and so I agreed. Below is my short story that was published.

*****

I had been watching as she came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel that hung from her bosom and curled around her thighs. She walked briskly to her room, her moist, naked feet leaving prints on the wooden floor. She was slightly behind schedule but I knew she wouldn't be late. She never was. It wasn't often we got to do this, with the pressure of second year university and work keeping us occupied. But despite that we made sure to spend some time together, at least once a month. Today was the 14th of February. It was special because it was her birthday. And tonight was going to be perfect.
When she was born her mother had held her in her arms and through her teary eyes exclaimed, “I will give this girl of mine all the love in the world.” It was a shame really, for it left everyone else with none to give. I continued to watch as she gently towel dried her red hair. Using a hair dryer was not an option. Her skin had always been sensitive and during her early years at school she had suffered from seborrhoeic eczema that resulted in greasy yellow coloured scales on her face and scalp. The emollient she used gave off its own unpleasant smell which the young children around her didn't like. They found it repulsive. They found her repulsive. One of the boys in her class had cut her hair with a pair of safety scissors during an art lesson to the amusement of the others. I had watched as she ran home that afternoon with tears of humiliation gushing down her angular face. But they could not wash away the pain she had felt that day.
Next, she put spots of moisturiser on her forehead, nose, cheeks and chin before massaging them in with the tips of her fingers. This was a routine that had not changed since high school and one that always brought a smile to her face. Though she was not beautiful, her supple skin was envied by many of the other girls. She craved for boys to look at her and love her, but their eyes were bought by the rich blonde who covered herself in expensive skin care products. If truth be told, I too stared longingly at the blonde girl. I patiently watched as she applied foundation and changed into her ruched stretch-jersey black dress. It had been a steep acquisition, considering it was paid for by her student loans. She had insisted and there was no way I could change her mind, it was for me she had said, for our special nights together.
She had never been one for makeup and so it took her three frustrating attempts to put on eyeliner. The mascara was relatively easier. Though she normally wore glasses, for special nights such as this she would put on her chocolate coloured lenses. Her deep grey eyes; eyes that had longed to see better days once she started university, were instantaneously transformed. People at high school had spoken of university as a new beginning full of hope, new friendships and new adventures. But the truth of the matter is that high school never ends and nothing changes but the faces, the names and the trends. And as for life, we’ve only got the one. Her luck didn’t change at university either; well not until I met her.
There wasn’t much left for her to do. The table had been set some time ago and I had lit the scented candle just before she entered the shower. The flame danced for us in its unique manner, casting shadows around the dimly lit room. She sprayed herself with her perfume and put on her Revlon super lustrous lipstick Fire and Ice. It was the same one she was wearing the day we had our first kiss. We had been standing in the lunch queue, waiting to order food. I caught her eye in the glass container which had the cakes within and smiled. She later told me that when she returned the smile, it was because she had remembered something her mother had always said to her. That night while we sat and talked, I noticed her beauty for the first time. Her once oddly angular face was now sleek and refined. Her body, once lanky and thin with bones jutting out in different directions was now curvaceous and complete. And her smile, hiding behind it one of the saddest stories I knew, was mesmerising.
She was ready now and I watched as she walked towards me, hunger in her eyes. But as always, this hunger was not the type to be satisfied at the candle lit table. The flowers sat alone as she kissed me. Her lipstick left a mark on the cold surface of the mirror.
“If you can’t love yourself,” her mother had said. “You can’t expect others to love you either.” She had finally found love.

_________________________________

With special thanks to AG and SR for teaching me about colours, makeup and the ways of its application.
Italicised words are taken from the song “High School never ends,” – Bowling for Soup.

You star. Splendid. Amazing. Astronomical. Sometimes I wonder whether stars know just how beautiful they are? Sometimes I wonder, do stars, whose job it is to illuminate the dark dark universe around them, know how much light they have? Do stars see their light or do they only see the darkness that surrounds them? In their journey through the universe, do the stars see their path illuminated by other stars, just as we humans use stars or do they ever look at themselves and see their magnificence? The stars can’t speak to me, but I know you can. Take a look at yourself and see your light, because you are everything and so much more than a star.

“Exhausting,” he said to her. “Kids are such work. I can’t wait to have kids of my own, but sometimes thinking about it is scary.”

“Hmm I feel the same way sometimes,” she replied. “Then I slap myself and shout silently ‘How can I bring such beautiful innocence into THIS world.’”

“When you look at the world what do you see? I don’t know about you, but I look at the world, I see it through eyes dark and colourless. It's a bit like blue jeans. No matter how blue they are to begin with, those areas that are constantly stretched and rubbed and poked lose their colour over time. Especially at the knees. Just before they’re about to rip and leave a gaping big hole, they turn colourless. Same with these eyes of mine. Death, failure, loss, destruction, persecution, sorrow and hurt. You name it, they’ve seen it all and they too have lost their colour. The thing is when something loses its colour, it catches other colours around it much more quickly. Like a plain white piece of paper can be painted any colour whereas a bright red one will not show all of them as well. And at this stage, these sunken eyes of mine notice the beauty, notice the hope, notice the love, notice the sacrifice and notice the good, no matter how small it may be. Indeed, there are vast areas lacking light, but if you look hard enough, in the right places, you’ll see it too. Look inside yourself, deep down where the soul resides and you’ll notice that no matter how grimy you may be on the surface the light within continues to burn burn bright. A street lamp gives the same light as when it was new, except the pollution of the cars and the dust deposited by the wind may make it seem otherwise. Now imagine that light multiplied 7 billion times. It would be blinding. The problem isn’t that there is no light in the world. The problem is that most people don’t know how to find it. When I have kids one day insha’Allah, if I fail to teach them anything else, I hope I’ll be able to teach them these two things: I’ll teach them about their light that resides within them. And I’ll teach them that if they share that light of theirs with others around them, it’s the best they can do. Even if the layers of grime and filth on a person’s surface is so thick that it only lets a small pinpoint of light, in the darkest of areas, that too can be illuminating. Remember that, and find your light my friend. If you lose your way, then I’ll share mine with you.”

_________________________________

Photograph of streetlamp in the sunset, taken from personal photography [link].

It is often said that the ultimate transformation is comparable to that seen in nature; as being like the caterpillar turning into a butterfly. But we tend to forget two important things. Firstly, all caterpillars have the potential to fly. And secondly, only the butterfly knows what it went through to get those wings. 

There are moments in our lives where we feel cocooned off from the world, isolated and alone, vulnerable and powerless in a dark and unmerciful world. Not just one but many moments in our lives, were we found ourselves in a place not too dissimilar from that where caterpillars go to grow their wings. The butterfly, so beautiful and graceful turns and says, “These humans always speak of my transformation which I can undergo only once in my life.  They are strong, yet so oblivious to their own strength and have the ability to transform at every moment of their lives and in innumerable ways.”

Cocoon moments are like fixed points in one’s existence. A person is not defined by a particular moment, but how they got to that moment and what they do in response to it. Those moments are like a crossroads, a choice. When you feel alone, remember you can either let go and watch your world be ravaged by monsters on the ground below, or you can keep the faith and learn to fly.

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Photograph of drawing and writing, taken from personal photography.

closingpandorasboxx.blogspot.co.uk

I shall be changing the blog URL to the above in a short while. Note the double x at the end of the word box. Please remember to update your various readers / feeds.

My mum has been diagnosed with breast cancer and is undergoing surgery on Monday 17^th December. I am humbly writing to ask you to remember her in your prayers. Thank you.

There was meant to be a few changes happening to the blog and elsewhere on the 18^th, however these have been put on hold for a later time.

The following post is by a good friend who used to blog herself once. She had posted this before on her blog, but seeing as it is a highly pertinent issue today, which many people may find themselves in, I asked her if I could use it to share with my readers. She agreed. Thank you ever so much Smiley, you gem.

*****

“So, did anyone call today?” Zack asked popping a spoonful of spaghetti into his mouth. He was starving.

“Mum rang this morning asking whether we had received the parcel she sent and then Ryan rang later this afternoon,” Sammy said pouring a glass of water and taking a huge gulp.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, Ryan from London. You remember him?”

“What did he want?” Zack asked starting to chew slowly.

“Oh nothing much, we were just talking about stuff, you know,” Sammy said reaching for a spaghetti string from Zack’s plate. She slipped it into her mouth and took a seat next to him on the couch.

“What stuff?”

“Well, he told me he went to see his mum today. I told you his parents are separated, didn’t I? And then he said we should come down to London during the summer break. He said he'd love to meet you,” Sammy laughed, remembering Ryan’s words.

“How long did you guys talk for?”

“About forty five minutes I think, not sure. It was good to talk to him. He said he left me something on my Facebook wall,”

“Did you check?”

“No, didn’t get time. Been revising all day,” Sammy stifled a yawn, took the empty plate from Zack’s hands and placed it on the table. She sat back on the couch, stretched her legs out and placed her head in Zack’s lap. He reached for the remote and started flicking through the channels.

“How’s that going?”

“Booooring. I missed you today. The day just went on and on and on,” Sammy said looking up into his face. Strands of dark unkempt hair fell into eyes. She studied the long column of his throat as her fingers played with the buttons on his white shirt. They'd been married for forty four days now.

“Really? That bad, aye?” his eyes twinkled with warm amusement. “And don’t you ruin this shirt of mine, I think it’s the only wearable one left in my whole wardrobe, thanks to you!” He grinned. Sammy laughed and tugged a little harder at the button.

“You’re worried more about your shirts, huh?” she said, looking away pretending to pout. He turned her face back and kissed her cute button nose.

“So what you say, we go to London this summer?” He pulled the ribbon out of her hair and let it fall loose. He loved her hair.

“Yeah that would be great,”

“We could go to Bath and visit my old uncle and aunty too, ain’t seen them lot for ages,” Zack said smirking remembering how his wife disliked his old fashioned family.Sammy punched him in the chest.

“Ha ha. Very funny! Ryan mentioned Bath; he said it was a lovely place to visit for a day,”

Zack’s hand paused its play of her hair.

“Can you just stop that,” he said suddenly.

“Stop what?”

“Ryan. You’re always talking about him. Ryan this and Ryan that,”

“No I’m not,”

Sammy sat up, lifting her head from his lap. The moment was gone replaced by something else.

“Yes you are. It’s always you and Ryan,”

“There’s no me and Ryan. What you talking about?”

Zack got up off the couch and faced her. His face was turning a slight shade of pink and all humour had vanished from his tired eyes.

“I bet there is,” He said ever so quietly.

There was silence in the room as Sammy stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“That’s just crazy. He’s just a really good friend that I met on Facebook. The guy lives a million miles away, don’t know what…”

“Oh so that’s what it is, is it?” he cut her short. “So if he was closer things would be different, is that it?”

“Hell no. That’s not what I meant. You’re taking it the wrong way Zack,”

“Am I? I don't think so!” He was shouting now

“Look, he’s just a friend. He’s helped me through a lot….”

“You care about him?”

“What?”

“I asked do you care about him.”

“Well of course I care about him, he’s my friend, Zack,” Sammy said, her voice quivered. She was hurt. She didn’t know where this was going.

“You know when mum and dad got divorced he was the only person I had who I could talk to. He’s always been there for me. Our friendship is special. I don’t see what the big deal is," She looked away as the memories came flooding back.

“The big deal? You want to know the big deal? You’re always going on about him and I’m sick and tired of it! Before the wedding you couldn’t stop talking about him and all your incredibly fun times together," he waved his hands around the room, the words coming out like a fierce storm. "You were even talking to him on our wedding day. And now look at you. How do you think that makes me feel? He’s helped…”

“What on earth is that supposed to...”

“Just shut up!” he spat the words at her and Sammy’s eyes widened. Zack never spoke to her like that. His jaw was tight, his eyes icy. He was angry. He looked up into her face and took a step towards her. Fear suddenly gripped Sammy. Zack would never hit her.

“It’s either me or him, do you hear?” he whispered the words close to her face. She didn’t say anything, too shocked to open her mouth. She didn’t recognize this Zack.

He turned around, grabbed his mobile and keys from the table and walked towards the door.

“Zack! This is crazy,” she said to his back as he walked out the room.

“Zack!” she called.

She heard the front door open and her pulse raced.

“Zack! Where are you going?”

There was silence.

And then the door slammed shut.

@Smiiiiiiiiley_x

*****

What do you think? Have you ever been in such a situation, be it as Zack, Ryan or Sammy?

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I told my dear friend Rosaline I was having trouble writing and she recommended that I should grab my pen, and just free write. “The words will flow by themselves.” The only catch being, there’s a time limit. “Try 3 minutes.” I did. Except I gave myself 5 minutes. This is what became of it. Below is an un-edited extract from a letter I am writing to B, written in 5 minutes. It’s not been changed in anyway so excuse all the mistakes. I hope she doesn’t read this before I give her the letter next week!

*****

It’s been a long time since I last wrote to you. A week I think. What’s the date today anyway? I can’t check either, well I can but I can’t be bothered as I always write it at the end of the day’s scribbles. Where did I end the scribbles last time? I don’t really like endings if I’m perfectly honest with you. I wonder why they say goodbye. Where is the good in bye? Do you know? I have spent hours pondering that question but to no avail.

But what is a beginning? No more than another beginning’s end. And just like the last paragraph, starting on this virgin page, first line, came to an end, so do many other things. For sometimes an ending marks something new. It’s a delicate moment, like the starting of a new diary. You open the first page, your pen hovering in your hand, the molecules of ink waiting to burst out and bring life to the page. And yet you hesitate. You wait as your mind thinks of the that first stroke, that first dot, that first line, that first word, that will flood the page. But you make sure, perfectly sure that that first contact is perfect. For how many pages do we rip out of the diary because they were “not right”? A collection of first-page-less diaries. The real delicacy comes after you’ve written that first letter, or the first word, or the first line, or the first page. The real delicate moment is when you lift up your pen and look at what you have done. The real delicate moment is then when you ask yourself if that page stays or whether it ends up in the bin. B, if and when you ever find yourself at such a delicate stage of a beginning just remember the seed in the soil. The farmer throws them haphazardly, orientated in all sorts of ways. No two seeds land the same. Probably. And yet only those that persist and persist and persist rise to the surface and feel the wind in their shoots and the rain on their roots. It doesn’t matter how bad your first word looks, just keep going. And keep that first page, so it reminds you of that delicate beginning. So it reminds you, that the beginning doesn’t have to be the end.

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Photograph of the letter to a friend, taken from personal photography.

A few months back, while sweating away over my dissertation I asked Snowy if she would be kind enough to write a blog post for me. Being the genuinely kind person she is, she heartily agreed. I hope you enjoy what she wrote as much as I did. Thank you very much Snowy.

*****

Dawn was breaking, the whole world was fast asleep but she was wide awake. Her mind and eyes tired, but full of questions. Sleep ran away from her, and today she was tired of chasing. As she stared at the heavens, a smile emerged on her lips. How could one not stare at the beauty above with awe? The stars twinkled mischievously as though they were hiding a secret from her. A secret she would so often ponder on those rare but peaceful moments. It was breath taking. Her arm’s itched to reach up and pocket herself a little diamond. One that would warm her with it’s resonating light and could be worn as a talisman around her neck when time’s were hard. Sighing with longing, reality hit her like a whip hits bare flesh. Sharp and painful. She gazed down and in front of her saw the path she took everyday to make her dreams come true. How ironic it was, that it was paved with nothing but broken dreams. Filled with paddies of flowers and thorns, it meandered like a river twists and turns - maybe it represents the unforeseen turns her life took? Instantly, she shook her head. She diverted her attention back to the velvet canopy above. No, she wouldn’t think about that. Not today. Why waste a beautiful night contemplating on bitter thoughts? She had tasted the flavour of bitterness before; it had almost engulfed her. Infected her even! She would seek refuge in the stars tonight.

Then she begin to think. What if the sky was just a canopy? An intricate architectural overlay which could only be looked at - never touched. Or a mirror? Reflecting a reverse image of all that took place down below. Maybe, behind it lay the secret of the heavens? That no human can ever bear to know. What if the luminous stars were a reflection of the bittersweet symphony playing below? And what of those stars that shone quietly and just as luminously as the moon? Heavily underestimated, overlooked and forgotten. But then again, it was all quite simple. They represented the people on earth who shone quietly and as luminously as the moon. Who silently emitted rays of light into even the darkest corners of the earth. The Saints. The one’s who flourished out of the media spotlight - who never made a dictionary definition of themselves or insisted their name be uttered by many. They were happy to be remembered by a few. A supernatural phenomenon which scientists and physicians were oblivious too, but which philosophers ached to know. When alive, they lit the earth and when dead, they lit the sky. So so beautifully - one’s eyes have to blink a thousand times to capture the serene miracle. Guiding all the lost souls below in the dark but so iridescently. These stars - are more than just pretty, glowing specks of light. They were symbol’s of hope. Why?
Because
they
never
stopped
shining.

Snowyy ★
@Snowyy_
http://snowyy22.tumblr.com/

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Unfortunately I do not have a source for the picture used in this post, for which I apologise.

It was one of those mornings; falling out of bed the wrong way, narky moods and that heaviness in the heart which dragged you down into the murky waters where visibility was markedly reduced. And when drowned in the darkness, if you even tried to open your eyes, the particles in the water would cause a burning pain making you shut them again. No matter how much you yearned to see, the pain of doing so would stop you. That same heaviness in the depths of your heart, as it sank, pulled with it a string that tightened the noose around your insides; suffocating and leaving you gasping for happiness. Somewhere in the darkness is a light they say, one that you cannot find and you wonder whether it's too far away or whether you are blind. Yeah it was that kind of morning.

She hadn’t called like she promised she would. Promises, made with such vigour and feeling, yet broken so easily like the snapping of a stalk on a windy day. What are words if you don’t mean them when you say them?¹ Lies portrayed as honest truth. Do not make promises when engorged on the elixir of happiness and neither take decisions when hate has its hooks lodged firmly in your heart. She always apologised when this happened. Maybe not straight after, maybe the next morning, or after a few days, or when she remembered. So he didn’t mind too much. He knew he would hear from her. He didn’t know when, but he knew.

A bench, empty and desolate. Seats covered with moss and insects crawling all over, on seeing it however, he smiled. And the rush began. There were those memories he had always wanted to forget. But he realised that by spending so much time and effort keeping those unwanted memories at bay, he may come to resemble that statue of the grieving parents; transfixed and petrified by the past, looking over the garden that never grew.² Mourning till eternity.

The beauteous yesterday is fading away
like a blushed twilight;
Though nothing can bring back
the hours of sweet treasured past,
I will grieve not but rather find
splendour in the memories.³

The bench looked old and forgotten, but it reminded him of a memory. Many years ago, they had promised one day they would sit on a park bench and read the story of their lives together. And smile. And laugh. And poke. And have fly inviting moments. He remembered the walks at midnight in Hyde Park, hand in hand as they talked, discussing the mysteries of life and all its treasures. He remembered the late night calls and the choking on red bull to stay awake. He remembered the nicknames, sounding so irrelevant to others, but full of meaning. He remembered standing in the rain after lectures and listening to her as she mourned her losses. He remembered the coffee dates and burning his tongue on his first ever mocha while sitting on the train. He remembered craving pizza and it was carried all the way from the other side of the city for him. He remembered the anniversary they celebrated every year and how she always left him speechless. He remembered her last words the day before she died.

Though there were lines in his diary he wished he had never written, there were pages upon pages that he wished to never forget. For every memory that brought about the shackling heaviness in the heart, there were countless more, priceless and pure, that set him free.

He never forgot people. He remembered every memory and smiled. There is always a reason to smile.

*****

These two posts (part 1, and 2) were written in response to a tweet I saw a few weeks ago in which the person had said how the “suckish people” made it so hard to appreciate the loved ones in our lives. I couldn’t disagree more. For every “suckish” person I come across it makes me realise just how blessed I am with the family and close few close friends that I have. And it makes me love them even more.

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Photograph of a book of memories I made for a friend from personal photography, available here.
¹ “What are words if you don’t mean them when you say them.” In reference to a previous post, available here.
² Reference to the statue of the Grieving Parents, by Käthe Kollwitz, in the memory of her youngest son who died on the battlefield during World War I, and was buried in the Vladslo German war cemetery.
³ This was a quote from a very small diary I once gave to someone. Some one from the past, who used to be a friend.

The web of life. Sprawling. Interconnected. Laced together with fine strings of silk. Each thread, a different moment, a different relationship, a different entity, held together with the glue of emotion. Each fine fibre holds firm another, supporting and being supported. And yet at times it feels so flimsy and weak. All it takes is the blink of an eye, a moment, an incident, the breath of a single word to tear it all apart. And then you are left with the pieces of your life scattered across the floor. Battered, broken and longing for a reason to believe.

The silk of a spider is stronger than steel, they say. It acts as a place to sleep, a place to catch food and much more. Who taught the spider how to spin its web? We humans regularly demolish these beautiful structures. What do spiders do? They move on, and rebuild their lives, from scratch.

Bad things happen, but life goes on.
It is not long before we go are gone.¹

God gave everyone the ability to make a life for themselves. Yet, “we do not rise to the level of our abilities, but fall to the lies (sic) of our excuses”.² When it feels like it is all disintegrating, remember the spider. Every thread you lay, make sure it is stronger than steel. And try again. Remember, when it all seems to be falling apart, it may just be falling into place.³ Remember, and keep the faith.

*****

Thank you to B for giving me the idea for this post. I dedicate this to Tutti Fruitti and all others who are going through testing times.

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Photograph of an exposed web just after sunrise from personal photography, available here.
¹ A couplet from a poem I once wrote.
² This was a quote I posted on Twitter in the last couple of weeks, but I can no longer remember where / who it’s from.
³ This is another quote I posted onto Twitter a month or so ago. Unfortunately I cannot remember its source.

She said she would call at midnight. The beginning of a new day. But not the beginning of a new story. They had not spoken for a long time and he had waited and worried. It wasn’t the first time either.

As the second hand moved to mark quarter to, he slid into bed, propped himself against a pillow with a book in hand and the phone resting on his legs. And he waited. With sombre excitement. The words on the page became like raindrops, merging into each other, their beginning and end undistinguishable from those around them. He checked his phone again. 23:48. What would they talk about when she called? He had many things to ask her; the lack of replies to his texts, her quietness and where she kept disappearing to. He also had many things to tell her too, but he never got the chance as she would go on and on and on about herself. There were many words unspoken. But that was okay, he didn’t mind. As long as she was okay and said what she wanted, that’s all that mattered.

The alert on his phone vibrated telling him it was time. Midnight had come. He was always punctual unlike many of his friends. People came into his life like seasons. Unexpected and bringing with them a range of emotions, ideas and promises. But when their storms passed and the rains had cleansed away the dirt and the virgin sun put a spring step into their steps, they too would leave. He never forgot the people. The blessings and the curse of keeping diaries. Images of what he had seen and felt remained in his mind, many of them too painful to be allowed into full awareness. Our memories, which lend us a pattern to our lives, also condemn us to relive our past. His eyes bore witness to the struggles and other episodes of trial he had seen through his life. No matter how many times he tried to bury them; the burning of the pages, the avoidance of places, they would shift in their shape like a constantly mutating virus causing infection. A constant struggle to banish those stubborn memories, would only result in them coming back, again and again.

00:27. What if she didn’t call? The last time they had spoken she had been brief and left half way through. He never even had a chance to say goodbye. But she told him why and he understood. He always understood. But sometimes he wished there was some magic to reverse those memories, but no matter what he tried, it didn’t work.

Sleep stole him while he waited. The time was 01.03. She didn’t call that night.

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Photograph of burning letters from personal photography, available here.

The URL for this blog will be changing on the 18^th of December 2012 to:

closingpandorasboxx.blogspot.co.uk

Note the double x at the end of the word box, for there is already a blog URL by the name of closingpandorasbox. Please remember to update your various readers / feeds. I’ll also be unveiling a few other links at that time.

Thank you,

Nas

[This is a scheduled post]

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?
You, my Queen, are fairest of all.¹

The mirror and the timepiece tell the story of your beauty. Mirror mirror on the wall, the glass hides not neither does it stall. Who is the fairest of them all, would my beauty silence the hall, a question many would lie in response to. Not the mirror, nay, for it speaks that which it sees. It flatters not and neither does it deceive.

Your glass, be it hanging on the bedroom wall or hidden away among the contents of your bag, shows just how  your beauty goes. When decades pass; the soft needles of the winter snow, dig deep trenches upon your brow. Your beauty, a radiating field once the envy of many, will be covered in weeds, no longer gazed upon in want or in need. What worth will it hold then?

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?
Queen, you are full fair, it is true, but Snow White is fairer than you.¹

Then when they ask, where is your beauty now, what will you have left to show? Hidden in the lines on your forehead or behind the sunken eyes, which saw your lustful days? And your timepiece will show you the precious moments that went to waste as you tried to outwit time’s thievish ways.

Why ask others, do I look beautiful, when men lie to please for in that is ease. Question the one that never lies, not intimidated by royalty or repelled by a ragamuffin. If your eyes tell you, you are beautiful when you look in the mirror then be it so and be you grateful.

But what is beauty? For that which is skin deep only lasts as long as the skin holds its keep. Be like that flower which catches the eye in its prime but still gives off its sweet scent even as it is about to die.

[This is a scheduled post]

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Catachresis – (noun) 1. The misuse of a word; application of a meaning to a word not its own, as asset used in the sense of advantage; also a mixed or strained metaphor, as a paradox for example. 2. The use of a wrong form of the word, through a misunderstanding of its etymology. – Taken from Webster’s Comprehensive dictionary.
¹ Mirror mirror on the wall – from the fairy tale, Snow White and the seven dwarfs.
Image of mirror taken from here.

26 letters. That’s all there is in the English alphabet. Arrange them in different ways and you have at your disposal means to change the world. When Sir Winston Churchill rallied the nation during World War II, telling the people, “Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days - the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable,”¹ he used the same 26 letters. When Martin Luther King told the American people, “I have a dream today,”² he did so by rearranging the 26 letters. The quotes we so dearly love and copy down for rainy days or those that we sign off emails and letters with, “I’ll see you soon then,”³ are all made from those same letters.

A bunch of plain letters linked together can have a worlds worth of meaning in them at one point and then they can be utterly meaningless, devoid of any emotion at another point. Or for someone else. – Rosaline

Words, that once people gave to each other as gifts, as inspiration or as binding contracts are now thrown around and kicked about like trash; uncared for and unwanted. Devoid. Empty. Shallow. Words. A person would once say, “I give thee my word,” and that would be all, for their words upheld their honour. Now people plead to one another for their words to be listened to, but they are heard only by deaf ears. Those that once would trust now build their walls higher and higher and those that talk the talk hand out the bricks.

Why can’t we just believe and be trusting? Everyone can talk the talk but it takes an honest, upright man or woman to be able to walk the walk. Say only that which you mean, and mean what you say.

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Title: What are words – Chris Medina
Photograph from personal photography, available here.
¹ “Never give in” – Wartime speech by Sir Winston Churchill. Full transcript here.
² “I have a dream” – Speech by Martin Luther King Jr. Full transcript here.
3 “I’ll see you soon then” – Quote from the film Dear John.

“So this is it then?” she asked, staring at him intently.

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding slowly.

“But why? Why now?”  He remained quiet and continued to stir his latte. “Will you stop that please?” She said irately.

“What? I’m just mixing this,” he retorted.

“You haven’t even added the sugar yet, what are you mixing it for?”

Quiet.

“Is it because of the haters?” she nudged trying to understand.

“I’ve had a lot of haters. Some people hate because they’re jealous of what you have. Others hate because they are unable to refute what you have to say due to ignorance or stupidity. But sometimes, just like I don’t necessarily like everyone I come across doesn’t mean they gotta like me either,” he said quietly, eyes still not meeting hers.

“What about the others? Surely not everyone is a hater?” She said.

“Are you trying to make me change my mind?” he asked, a flicker of a smile in his eyes.

“Just shurrup and answer the question,” she retorted.

“No, not everyone is a hater. There’s balance in everything. With the bad there is always some good.”

“So then why?” she asked for the second time.

His latte was cold, lacking in warmth just like the words that came out his mouth. Resigned words that had accepted fate, cold and calculating. He finally looked up, held her tenderly in his gaze and let his words fill the empty gaps that remained. “Everyone talks these days,  but there’s only a few people who actually say something worth listening to,” he explained. “I just need some time to deal with a few things and find the one that used to own this place. It’s his responsibility to bring this place back to its former glory.”

“Deal with what?”

He shook his head but didn’t speak.

“But will you be coming back? So this isn’t goodbye?”

The poker face was back. The mask had fallen. His eyes gave nothing away. “I just don’t know yet. I don’t even know if I want to be back. And what if I don’t find the person who built this place from scratch? What point will there be then? None.”

Silence sat in between them again. No-one else seemed to notice. The waitress cursed trying to clean the marks left by the man with his Swiss army knife. What mark will I leave behind he thought to himself. Will people curse when I am gone too?

[5^th May 2012]

*****

I wrote the above before I was leaving but didn’t finish it so it never got posted. I thought now was an appropriate time to do so.

If it is time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. – The Doctor (Doctor Who)

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and foes, girls and boys, giraffes and giraffesses (?) I am back!

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Title: Leave out all the rest – Linkin Park