Closing Pandora's Box

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.

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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.

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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.”

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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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