Closing Pandora's Box

“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.”

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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.