Closing Pandora's Box

Each person is like a jotter, the days of their life penned on the pages within. Some pages are covered in squares, each minute detail, pre-planned and organised is written meticulously in the separate boxes. Others are scribbled onto lined paper. There is some order retained in these days too, but at times when the things don’t go as planned or too well, the flow of the words can be seen to break apart, no longer comfortably hugging the line. There are some pages that are completely blank for the days that cannot be described in coherent sentences, thus abstract words, feelings, pictures or colours do them better justice. Each day our story is recorded. There are some who are able to translate these writings into the words of man. He was never really a writer, but this is his story.

*****

His eyes were bloodshot. Each askew streak of blood represented a tribulation, rarely his, that had kept him awake at night. The redness shrieked STOP, they had seen enough already. Remnants of dark bags sagged under the burdens of what he had witnessed. The French say ‘les yeux sont le miroir de l'âme,’¹ but when people looked into his eyes they saw nothing. There was no light behind them that would illuminate the secrets of his soul. It was like a black hole; you could observe things that went in, but if you stepped too close and looked too hard, you too would be sucked into the nothingness.

His skin was really quite soft and smooth, except on the hands and feet. The soles had been roughened by the treacherous paths of his journey through life and the hands hardened by moving the obstacles that were blocking his way. He tried to take good care of his skin, as well as he possibly could. Deep cleansing face wash followed by a healthy layer of a special brand of moisturiser in the morning usually did the trick.

The hair on his head took care of itself. It wasn’t too long and neither was it too short. Somewhere in between; of a length through which he could pass his fingers but not long enough to blinker his vision. Like grass, it would dance to the slightest of songs played by the wind and settle down appropriately without a fuss when the music stopped. He rarely ever used hairsprays, gels or waxes except on special occasions. But even then sometimes he just didn’t bother with the effort. It was lighter than it had once been and hidden among the dark matte black streaks of white could be seen, unwanted like weeds that had invaded.

People said he looked older than he really was, but what is age? And older compared to what? He put Aloe Vera Vaseline on his parched lips to give them some shine and practiced his smile in front of the mirror for the last time. Then he left.

Yes I know I have a really long eye lashes, and no I don’t curl them.

*****

I don’t talk much about myself. It’s just not something I enjoy doing. There are a select few people who I do talk to about everything but sometimes a flicker in their eyes makes we wonder whether some of them really couldn’t care less. Anyway, that’s not the point. Because of my few word attitude, the General has a notion in his head that when I leave the walls of university, I turn into some gangster pimp with three girlfriends; muffin, AK, and I can’t even remember the last one. So to dispel all these mind wanderings of his I have promised to give him an open, no restrictions imposed interview on Sunday. That’s in two days time. Knowing the General and some of the things that go on inside that head of his, I have a really bad feeling I’m going to regret this. But it was a promise and so it shall happen. I owe two other people interviews too but I think one of them has completely forgotten.

Today the guys celebrated Dum’s birthday which was last month on the 27^th. I didn’t go. I couldn’t go. I’ve been getting ill quite a LOT recently and finally got an appointment, the only appointment, today. It made me really sad.

In other news, I have made an about.me page the idea of which I found on Gian Faye’s blog, Loading Info. Her blog is really cool and focuses on the internet and all things related. There have been many instances when I have read something on her blog about a website or a program and after having done so, made use of it. You can find the link to my about.me page it on the right hand side. I have also made a twitter because my phone has a twitter app. But I don’t really know how to use it so yeah.

That’s all for today folks. Have a lovely weekend.

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Title: Writer – Ellie Goulding
All photographs in this post are from my personal photography
¹Translation in English reads ‘the eyes are windows into the soul’

I sat down, scattered my lecture notes all over the table looking for the ones on ‘Immune cell-cell interaction at the molecular level’, took my laptop out of my bag and turned it on ready to do some work. When it finally booted up, I smiled when I saw the post-it notes on my desktop:

(Click on the picture to enlarge and read the big green post-it)

The smiling didn’t last very long, when I realised I was now officially 21. TWENTY-ONE! But before my mind starts wandering down the ‘OMG you’re getting old’ path, I’m going to start making those notes I was going to. Plus, I have a lot of other work to do as well, just take a look at the other post-its. And their cheekiness, I have to buy 3 twirls now. 8-)

And thank you to all you lubbbbbly jubbbbly people who have sent me cards and messages and mails already! <3

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Title: City of blinding lights – U2
Screenshot showing desktop – Personal photography

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Some of you may remember I posted a collection of reflections back in September in the name of “For Your Story” which dealt with my reaction to the passing away of Charley. A very lovely friend of mine, Yara, drew a front cover for it (above), signifying the single path which in its continuation leads to life and ultimately to death. Is death not a part of life, just as the two sides of the tree are still part of the same tree? It is an amazing drawing and I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to her for sparing some of her time to make this drawing.

I’d also like to thank Hijabi Hippie Hypo for awarding me the versatile blogger award. There were some conditions to go along with the award, and as I have already made it once, you can view it here. It is also her blog’s 1st anniversary today and so a very very happy birthday HHH! You all should pay her a visit (click here).

In other news, I was requested by a reader who wished to remain anonymous, that I should start a medical blog. What do you guys think? If you’re going to give me thumbs up is there anything in particular you’d like me to start with?

Yesterday I heard an amazingly thought provoking Khutbah (sermon) on Jumu’ah which I shall share with you soon. Also, I’ve been working on the ‘closet’ post which is self reflective and consists of 2 parts that will be posted in the near future (next week-ish).

That’ all for today because the football is about to start, so I take my leave, and wish you all a very happy weekend. OMG! I’ve missed the first half. NOOOOO

:)

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Title: Reach – S Club 7
Drawing Cover for For your story by Yara.

Many hundreds of people walk through our lives each day but only those who love us, and whom we love, and those that care for us, and those for whom we care leave their footprints engraved on our heart.

What does it feel like many people ask. Sometimes it feels so very much like fear. That same fluttering in the stomach I get while standing at the top of a very tall structure and looking down below, the same agitation and that same restlessness. Sometimes there is that dry mouth because the swallowing wont stop. Sometimes it makes me feel so detached and so alone, as if there is an invisible barrier between me and the world. The words people speak, the things they say just doesn’t seem to register. Or maybe it’s just hard to want to understand, it can be so uninteresting. I fear the moments when I am alone.

Some days a little voice inside me shouts out from the depths and tries to assure me that it really isn’t that much of a big deal. After all, people come and go, so what is different about death? I was happy before I met Charley. It happens to everyone and people move on. As I contemplate, I am left ashamed listening to what my mind says. On the other hand it does speak sense. But then something happens, or I hear something, or see a picture, or visit a place and memories flood back like a gushing river. Every single particle of ‘rationality’, ‘logic’ and ‘common sense’ is swept away by tears of grief. It is then you are left sitting alone on that park bench with nothing but darkness and cold surrounding you. Just so alone.

This is the park bench Charley and I used to sit on. I took this picture of the snow covered park while on one of my midnight walks – 2^nd Dec 2010, 01.55am.

*****

Over the years, many people have tried to explain ‘grief’ to me using all sorts of analogies. While at the hospice training one day, we were discussing this matter and the coordinator explained a few different models of grief. I’ll explain one of them here:

This first circle (left) represents you, me, him, her and everyone in their normal ‘grief-free’ state. The greatest worry or problem we have to deal with is what pair of jeans to wear in the morning or what sandwich to buy at lunch. Life is okay with no major drama but being humans we still complain.

The flaming red and orange in the circle on the right is representative of grief. Grief felt after the ending of a long term relationship or the bereavement following the death of someone very dear. It is totally overwhelming and takes over us (the whole circle of ‘us’ is full of it).

Most people assume that over time the grief due to a bereavement or loss for example, will lessen and there may even come a stage when it completely disappears. In this ‘assumption’ we don’t really change as a person, it’s the grief which changes. After all, time is a great healer is it not?

In reality however, the grief doesn’t change. It is always there. We just grow around it, learning and developing ways to cope so that it hurts less and less each day. This is how I like to think of it. The human brain is an amazing thing. The way it can store, recall, sort and process information is just mind boggling. I think grief is like constantly playing music; it’s always there in the background but your mind learns to block it out. If you’ve ever sat in a classroom with a road just outside, you’ll initially hear the cars going past. But as the lesson progresses and you get stuck into your maths or English or whatever, you no longer hear the cars. You’ll only notice them when you look out the window and concentrate on them. Grief is the same. After some time, which may be a few hours, a few days, weeks, months or even years it becomes like music playing gently in the background.

*****

Tomorrow (18^th Dec 2010) would have been her 21^st birthday. On her 18^th, standing in the freezing cold at the edge of the river Thames, we made so many plans and so many promises for the years to come. I remember holding a warm cup of coffee in my shaking hand and telling her, ‘Whatever you plan for your next big one, just make sure it’s somewhere warm. I’m giving you three years to think of something.’ But there wasn’t to be a 21^st, there are just memories.

Though we all take trips to the city of memories, we have no choice but to come back because unfortunately they are only trips. In our remembrance of the dead, we can not forget the living. Today is the birthday of a lovely friend of mine; Rosaline Lifeo. May the Almighty grant you a long and healthy life. May it be like being on a ferris wheel, dominated with that indescribable feeling of limitless happiness and awe when you are the top. But when you are at a low may you have the strength, the faith and the belief that it will only be temporary.

Come to think of it, life isn’t that much different from a ferris wheel. The only difference being we buy the ticket for one and are given the ticket for the other. Otherwise, both the rides have their ups and down and regardless of what happens, they both go on.

*****

They make it look so easy, connecting with another human being. It’s like no-one told them that’s the hardest thing in the world. I’m left not with what she took from me but with what with she brought. Eyes that finally saw me for what I am. And this certainty that nothing, nothing is set in stone, not even darkness. – Dexter, Season 5, Episode 12.

We meet new people each and every day wherever we are. Some of them we stop to talk to. Others we go out of our way and make the effort to talk to. Connections are laid and a relationship is made. The hardest thing I think is maintaining those connections and keeping them living. In my remembrance of the dead I must not overlook those whose footprints are engraved so deeply on my heart that time shall never be able to erase them. In my remembrance of the dead I must not hurt those who give me a reason to live. In my remembrance of the dead I must never forget those who teach me how to keep going. I will not forget them. <3

(I hope you understand this person with no name, this one is for you and all those who I know are grieving or have grieved. I will not forget you)