I have always liked to think of myself as someone who is open-minded. I try to hear all sides of a story before making a judgement.
The world we live in depresses me. Violence, hatred, on a loop. Again and again, people are killing each other. And who gets killed? The innocent people. How many wars have we seen recently, and it is always the civilians who suffer.
Seeing how blind everyone is so frustrating. What is wrong with these people? Why must we kill, kill, kill, and when will it stop? I know that it will be never, and such is the nature of humans. For some reason we find it hard to love, but so easy to hate.
Think about yourself for a second. There must one sort of group of people that you hate. For the sake of an example: if you are a Muslim, you’ll probably say, I hate Jews. Yet, I ask you: Why? Is it because your culture demands of you to hate them? Your religion? That is not true. Was it your parents? This hatred goes down from generation to generation and it seems it will never end.
So what would you like to do? Would you like to hurt anyone who is a Jew, kill them perhaps? Yet what has that one person done to hurt you? Have you thought that perhaps this one man who you hate so intensely has a family? A mother, a father, a brother, a sister? That he has feelings, emotions, memories? And when you discriminate against a race and hate on them, think about those who discriminate against you. Has there ever been a point when you felt uncomfortable because you were put into a racial stereotype? Well, you’re doing the exact same thing to whoever you are hating on.
The solution to war is simple. It is empathy. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Would you like to be in that position? Why insist on killing, hurting? If you are being discriminated against, hate who is responsible, not the innocent. Better yet, forgive, ignore, and then they will have nothing to hate on.
Stop being influenced into who you are. Figure out for yourself who you are. Don’t become something just because everyone around you is so, or just because your culture demands you to be so. Analyze yourself, ask yourself: what about me is like that just because it is something I grew up with? Make the choice on whether it is really who you are or not.
Another thing that baffles me is hatred towards homosexuality. It is something I will never, ever understand. As a straight person, what has a homosexual person ever done to me that was wrong? Nothing. And so, I have nothing to hate. Why not let people do whatever they like, if they’re not hurting anyone? It’s their life, not yours, and what gives you the right to tell ANYONE how they should live their lives?
And are you innocent? Have you done nothing wrong in your life? First, criticize yourself. Then, you might be able to start looking at others.
What is wrong with humanity? Is it really that hard to simply stop hating, stop killing, stop ruining everything around us? Why can’t we just stop, think, and try to see the consequences of our hatred? Why must we be selfish and greedy?
Make your own choices. Make your own decisions. Think your own thoughts, and have your own opinions. Next time you start to act discriminately against someone else, ask yourself why you are doing it. Don’t generalize. If you have been wronged, you have been wronged by a certain person or small group of people, not everyone (for example) of that race. Don’t stereotype.
And for God’s sake, try to love, not hate. Try to see the good in the world. Try to promote peace, not war. Always reject violence and hatred. Try to be emphatic. And most of all, try to spread this way of thinking. We are all blind, all asleep. Let’s wake the nation up, let’s help everyone see, and understand. Let’s try to help everyone be who they really are. We are the generation with all the power, we can make a change.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Fear
You have a fear that grips your heart and squeezes your stomach. It’s quiet, too quiet… so the music you put on stays in the background. Your thoughts are wild, a hurricane in your head. You try to catch as many as you can, get a glimpse of your emotions. Because you don’t know how you feel, there are too many of them, not enough you. Your feelings of love, loss, hate, despair are all so intense that they hurt. Suddenly a memory comes up like a punch to your stomach. You try to clear it all, but you can’t, you can’t because pushing down the volcano will only bring it up harder.
If only we had an off button we could push. But then what? If we use it, will it all come back once we are on again? Is there no way to escape this? Are thoughts physical? Where do they go once we are done with them?
You can’t trust yourself, because you don’t know what you want. Does anyone? What goes on underneath that barrier to the subconscious? The only thing you are sure of is that you have a great sense of pain, and loss, and you are sitting here, your body has a mind of its own because you don’t know where you’re going. Maybe you’re trying to overtake your thoughts, leave them behind. And the darker it gets, the longer the road, the heavier and harder the thoughts push.
You’ve lost yourself. The person you trusted the most to tell you what is right and wrong is gone. Who can you listen to now, if not your own body? Nothing matters but the fact that you’re gone, and in your place is paranoia and fear. It’s like losing trust in your lover because of infidelity. How much does it take before you can trust them again? How much will it take for you to trust yourself again? And there will always be that doubt, the ‘what if’, and if your judgement is wrong, it’s all over.
Note: This was written from personal experience, and although the story is not really over, the post feels finished. Maybe it was because of the finality of the situation, but I cannot continue it. Whatever the case, I think it's good to have something to look at that shows you a time in life when feelings like these were still fresh.
If only we had an off button we could push. But then what? If we use it, will it all come back once we are on again? Is there no way to escape this? Are thoughts physical? Where do they go once we are done with them?
You can’t trust yourself, because you don’t know what you want. Does anyone? What goes on underneath that barrier to the subconscious? The only thing you are sure of is that you have a great sense of pain, and loss, and you are sitting here, your body has a mind of its own because you don’t know where you’re going. Maybe you’re trying to overtake your thoughts, leave them behind. And the darker it gets, the longer the road, the heavier and harder the thoughts push.
You’ve lost yourself. The person you trusted the most to tell you what is right and wrong is gone. Who can you listen to now, if not your own body? Nothing matters but the fact that you’re gone, and in your place is paranoia and fear. It’s like losing trust in your lover because of infidelity. How much does it take before you can trust them again? How much will it take for you to trust yourself again? And there will always be that doubt, the ‘what if’, and if your judgement is wrong, it’s all over.
Note: This was written from personal experience, and although the story is not really over, the post feels finished. Maybe it was because of the finality of the situation, but I cannot continue it. Whatever the case, I think it's good to have something to look at that shows you a time in life when feelings like these were still fresh.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Your Gracious Host
You wake up early to the sound of your alarm clock. It takes you a moment to register where you are; the room is small, the bed uncomfortable. Outside, the sky is black and the breeze is quite strong. You stumble to your bathroom and take a hot shower. The clothes you wear are warm, and you pick up an umbrella because you know you’ll need it.
You take the elevator down and exit the building. Outside, the busy street greets you, and puddles are already forming. But you love it, you relish the feeling of knowing that you currently live at the very heart of London, the city of eccentrics. To your left, Trafalgar Square, and not far away, Hyde Park, Picadilly Street and Covent Garden. You don’t have time to stop and think, however, as you have a lecture to attend. And this lecture is in one of the most prestigious universities in the world.
You debate whether you want to walk there. That would take 20 minutes or so, and the rain does not seem to want to stop anytime soon. So, instead, you choose the underground. No matter how many times you ride the trains, you wonder at how organized English transport really is. The number of people briskly walking around is astonishing, and there are constantly announcements on the radio. Around you are people off to work, some holding coffees, some reading newspapers, but all wearing suits. In a few minutes, you arrive. The building where your lecture is being held is old and traditionally English. You sit in class where an old, but obviously very clever man, teaches you about the economics of the world. His teaching leads you to wonder about how distinct the English really are. Forming little queues, being very polite and very good at following rules.
Your daily walk home is always interesting. What you love most is how naughty you feel crossing the street when the little man is still red. People here are always in a rush, always anonymous, and this makes seeing a familiar face a pleasure. Tonight, it’s a talented but unknown musician playing his guitar on the streets. You pass by him, wondering if you will see him again tomorrow. Here, nothing is definite.
Where will you spend the rest of the day? The choices are infinite. Will it be in the massive Hyde Park, feeding the ducks? Will it be shopping on Picadilly Street? Will it be visiting one of the many cultural museums? Tonight, you decide to see your friends at Covent Garden. You meet in a small pub with a low ceiling. The drinks are typical, but the atmosphere is not. Suddenly, you feel free. This is where you have no boundaries to do what you want to do. You are with the people you love most, the friends who will never judge you or betray you. The sip of your drink and squeeze of your loved one make you feel warm. Now, you can take your time. People around you are laughing. The pub is warm and you are safe. When you’re done, you all decide to take a walk. Covent Garden is dotted with little restaurants and cafes. It is so full of life, all the time, that it’s almost a blur. During the night, it is cold. But the hugs, the laughter and happiness make you feel satiated and warm.
Tonight, you don’t mind that the night might soon end, because you know that there are many more like these to come. London will be your gracious host again soon. Back at your tiny room, you get to bed feeling tired but content. You fall asleep to kisses, and you have never felt more comfortable in your life than in this cramped bed.
You take the elevator down and exit the building. Outside, the busy street greets you, and puddles are already forming. But you love it, you relish the feeling of knowing that you currently live at the very heart of London, the city of eccentrics. To your left, Trafalgar Square, and not far away, Hyde Park, Picadilly Street and Covent Garden. You don’t have time to stop and think, however, as you have a lecture to attend. And this lecture is in one of the most prestigious universities in the world.
You debate whether you want to walk there. That would take 20 minutes or so, and the rain does not seem to want to stop anytime soon. So, instead, you choose the underground. No matter how many times you ride the trains, you wonder at how organized English transport really is. The number of people briskly walking around is astonishing, and there are constantly announcements on the radio. Around you are people off to work, some holding coffees, some reading newspapers, but all wearing suits. In a few minutes, you arrive. The building where your lecture is being held is old and traditionally English. You sit in class where an old, but obviously very clever man, teaches you about the economics of the world. His teaching leads you to wonder about how distinct the English really are. Forming little queues, being very polite and very good at following rules.
Your daily walk home is always interesting. What you love most is how naughty you feel crossing the street when the little man is still red. People here are always in a rush, always anonymous, and this makes seeing a familiar face a pleasure. Tonight, it’s a talented but unknown musician playing his guitar on the streets. You pass by him, wondering if you will see him again tomorrow. Here, nothing is definite.
Where will you spend the rest of the day? The choices are infinite. Will it be in the massive Hyde Park, feeding the ducks? Will it be shopping on Picadilly Street? Will it be visiting one of the many cultural museums? Tonight, you decide to see your friends at Covent Garden. You meet in a small pub with a low ceiling. The drinks are typical, but the atmosphere is not. Suddenly, you feel free. This is where you have no boundaries to do what you want to do. You are with the people you love most, the friends who will never judge you or betray you. The sip of your drink and squeeze of your loved one make you feel warm. Now, you can take your time. People around you are laughing. The pub is warm and you are safe. When you’re done, you all decide to take a walk. Covent Garden is dotted with little restaurants and cafes. It is so full of life, all the time, that it’s almost a blur. During the night, it is cold. But the hugs, the laughter and happiness make you feel satiated and warm.
Tonight, you don’t mind that the night might soon end, because you know that there are many more like these to come. London will be your gracious host again soon. Back at your tiny room, you get to bed feeling tired but content. You fall asleep to kisses, and you have never felt more comfortable in your life than in this cramped bed.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
A week touring in Norway, summer '07
It was somewhere mid-March when my mum found a site advertising a week-long tour in Norway. We'd done something similar in Scotland, when we visited the castles there. This is not what you imagine it to be- the tour meant that every day, we slept in a different city and visited different sites with the same group of people and tour guide. We were eager for adventure, and my mum, being parters with the firm organizing the trip, decided to go for it.
The plan was to get to Oslo from Germany, because we have a place to live in Baden-Baden. This was different from everyone else- the rest of the group was arriving in Olso on the same plane together from Moscow. Anyhow, we talked to the organisers it was agreed that we could get to Oslo ourselves.
Because we had such long trips on the bus, the tour guide used the opportunity to get us familiar with Norway. We learnt that only 3% of Norway can be used as land for living. It's a pretty expensive country too, because of extremely high taxes. Education is free. Norwegians are fiercely protective of their country and nature, and try to preserve as much as possible, preferring not to disturb natural spots at all. At the age of 14, kids are given a choice to either keep their religion or refuse it. All in all, Norwegians aren't religious at all, and in our week there, we only saw one church. The cities are pretty much all very small, and Norwegians' definition of a city is the same as ours for a village.
So:
Day 1, July 27: My mum, small brother and I got to Frankfurt Airport, feeling excited and not really knowing what to expect. For those of you who don't know me very well, I have an irrational fear of flying. This started after the 9/11 incident, but, funnily enough, it's not terrorists I'm afraid of, but airplane malfunctions. So, on the Lufthanza airplane, I was pretty worried- I don't trust any airline except Emirates. Well, as you can guess, we DID arrive (though I almost pissed myself on the take-off), to the small, unusual city of Oslo. I fell in love the first minute we got there. My mum and I observed that all Norwegians are blonde and the men are quite good-looking. They have an interesting language that seemed to be a mix of others, and their own ancient language. Because we got there pretty late at night, we didn't get a chance to explore. So, exhausted, we got to our hotel, which was located in the very centre of Oslo. We tried to sleep, but it was Saturday, and our window was very close to a noisy nightclub. It was a long night...
Day 2, July 28: Waking up early, breakfast at 8... and then looking for our guide. Being the freak that I am, I immediately starting thinking up all these scenrios where we don't find him, or he doesn't know about us, etc. But, everything was in our favour and we soon found him with the rest of the group, of about 45 people, all Russian. The guide was a Russian guy called Ruslan with very unusual eyes (changing colour from green to blue to a weird violet colour depending on the weather) and he turned out to be a very interesting person. The first day included a bus tour around Oslo, and then a trip to a city called Lillehammer, where the Winter Olympics once took place. It was surprisingly warm that day, and after a long drive to a small city called Otta, we spent the night at a hotel.
Day 3, July 29: Another early morning, and we made our way to the famous city Ålesund. Along the road we drove up through a valley to the top of a mountain, some surrounding it covered with ice. The drive to it was extremely narrow and windy, and, being on our massive bus, it was quite an exhilerating experience, especially when we met other gargantuan buses coming down the same way. After that, back on the bus, we finally saw our first fjord. The view was so unexpected and so much more beautiful than we anticipated, that there was a an audible gasp from the group. It was an unusual dark blue colour, a "river" (but not really) between mountains. We got onto a boat and sailed along the fjord, passing huge waterfalls, the most famous of them called "The 7 Sisters". When we were done with the cruise and finally got to Ålesund, we found a city that is mostly made up of little islands. It was typical Norwegian weather- rainy, cold, and windy. Nevertheless, it felt like a genuine Norwegian experience when we finally went to bed.
Day 4, July 30: The 4th day was mostly uneventful, filled with lots of driving on the bus on roads surrounded by beautiful mountains, lakes, rivers and fields. We saw the place in the sea where all the fjords start from and had a few absolutely heavenly strawberries. All in all, day 4 was mostly preparation for what was to come. We spent the night in a fishing city called Måløy.
Day 5, July 31: The 5th day was by far the most interesting, at least for me. On our programme it was written that we were going to visit a glacier. I sort of imagine it as white and flat, and that we'd walk around on it. I couldn't be more wrong. When we were about 3 kilometers away from the glacier, which was a massive block of ice wedged between two mountains, the road was narrow and on one side a huge lake a most unusual light blue colour. Waterfalls were everywhere. Closer to the glacier, a river flowed, also that unusual light colour. We were told that it had that colour because the water had melted from the glacier. We had to walk 1.5 km before an amazing sight opened in front of us- the glacier, a light blue colour, speckled with dust from the mountains, slanting down into another lake. It was so different from what we expected (and so cold) that we all stood frozen on the spot. Then we were told that we would get boats and drift up to it! And sure enough, using about 6 inflatible boats, we paddled to this giant. It was very, very cold and pieces of ice where floating around like icebergs. After half-an-hour of tedious paddling, my fingers numb, we got back the shore. Then we walked the whole 1.5 km back. By the time we got to the coffee shop and I had a steaming hot chocolate in my hands, I was absolutely exhausted. But, nothing comes easy... and I wouldn't trade that experience for anything. That night we slept in a tiny city called Sogndal.
Day 6, August 1: On this day we visited the famous town Flåm. What is so remarkable about it? It's railway station. We got into a train on a one-hour route to Myrdal. The route itself is under protection by UNESCO for its beauty, and truly, the waterfalls, valleys and mountains we passed were breath-taking. The night we spent in a (relatively) large city Bergen, which was also my favourite one.
Day 7, August 2: Our last day on tour was also an interesting one, as we spent the first half exploring Bergen. This city is home to the composer Grieg, one of my few favourites, and we had the chance to visit his museum, which was located in the very house he lived. It was truly an experience, for Grieg, rather unusually, composed significt Norwegian music. It was obvious to me now where he got his inspiration from- the surrounding nature and people of Norway. Listening to his music, you'd always hear the love of his country in it. The day was also an unusual one because when we were travelling before on the bus, the landscape was usually high mountains, fast rivers, waterfalls, forests... now, we passed through a flat land that had few or no trees, with still lakes and many rocks and stones. This road was taking us to the ski village Geilo, which stood 800 m above sea level. That night we went on walks in this cold and windy place, and finally got to bed quite late.
Day 8, August 3: The final day, and we, feeling tired and fulfilled, got onto the bus for the last time to make our way to Oslo Airport. On the way, our guide, Ruslan, told us about the place he lived in- Panama! We heard about South America and he was so good at advertising that we decided our next destination will be Brazil.
And that was our busy, tiring, beautiful and fulfilling trip!
Photos part I
Photos part II
Photos part III
The plan was to get to Oslo from Germany, because we have a place to live in Baden-Baden. This was different from everyone else- the rest of the group was arriving in Olso on the same plane together from Moscow. Anyhow, we talked to the organisers it was agreed that we could get to Oslo ourselves.
Because we had such long trips on the bus, the tour guide used the opportunity to get us familiar with Norway. We learnt that only 3% of Norway can be used as land for living. It's a pretty expensive country too, because of extremely high taxes. Education is free. Norwegians are fiercely protective of their country and nature, and try to preserve as much as possible, preferring not to disturb natural spots at all. At the age of 14, kids are given a choice to either keep their religion or refuse it. All in all, Norwegians aren't religious at all, and in our week there, we only saw one church. The cities are pretty much all very small, and Norwegians' definition of a city is the same as ours for a village.
So:
Day 1, July 27: My mum, small brother and I got to Frankfurt Airport, feeling excited and not really knowing what to expect. For those of you who don't know me very well, I have an irrational fear of flying. This started after the 9/11 incident, but, funnily enough, it's not terrorists I'm afraid of, but airplane malfunctions. So, on the Lufthanza airplane, I was pretty worried- I don't trust any airline except Emirates. Well, as you can guess, we DID arrive (though I almost pissed myself on the take-off), to the small, unusual city of Oslo. I fell in love the first minute we got there. My mum and I observed that all Norwegians are blonde and the men are quite good-looking. They have an interesting language that seemed to be a mix of others, and their own ancient language. Because we got there pretty late at night, we didn't get a chance to explore. So, exhausted, we got to our hotel, which was located in the very centre of Oslo. We tried to sleep, but it was Saturday, and our window was very close to a noisy nightclub. It was a long night...
Day 2, July 28: Waking up early, breakfast at 8... and then looking for our guide. Being the freak that I am, I immediately starting thinking up all these scenrios where we don't find him, or he doesn't know about us, etc. But, everything was in our favour and we soon found him with the rest of the group, of about 45 people, all Russian. The guide was a Russian guy called Ruslan with very unusual eyes (changing colour from green to blue to a weird violet colour depending on the weather) and he turned out to be a very interesting person. The first day included a bus tour around Oslo, and then a trip to a city called Lillehammer, where the Winter Olympics once took place. It was surprisingly warm that day, and after a long drive to a small city called Otta, we spent the night at a hotel.
Day 3, July 29: Another early morning, and we made our way to the famous city Ålesund. Along the road we drove up through a valley to the top of a mountain, some surrounding it covered with ice. The drive to it was extremely narrow and windy, and, being on our massive bus, it was quite an exhilerating experience, especially when we met other gargantuan buses coming down the same way. After that, back on the bus, we finally saw our first fjord. The view was so unexpected and so much more beautiful than we anticipated, that there was a an audible gasp from the group. It was an unusual dark blue colour, a "river" (but not really) between mountains. We got onto a boat and sailed along the fjord, passing huge waterfalls, the most famous of them called "The 7 Sisters". When we were done with the cruise and finally got to Ålesund, we found a city that is mostly made up of little islands. It was typical Norwegian weather- rainy, cold, and windy. Nevertheless, it felt like a genuine Norwegian experience when we finally went to bed.
Day 4, July 30: The 4th day was mostly uneventful, filled with lots of driving on the bus on roads surrounded by beautiful mountains, lakes, rivers and fields. We saw the place in the sea where all the fjords start from and had a few absolutely heavenly strawberries. All in all, day 4 was mostly preparation for what was to come. We spent the night in a fishing city called Måløy.
Day 5, July 31: The 5th day was by far the most interesting, at least for me. On our programme it was written that we were going to visit a glacier. I sort of imagine it as white and flat, and that we'd walk around on it. I couldn't be more wrong. When we were about 3 kilometers away from the glacier, which was a massive block of ice wedged between two mountains, the road was narrow and on one side a huge lake a most unusual light blue colour. Waterfalls were everywhere. Closer to the glacier, a river flowed, also that unusual light colour. We were told that it had that colour because the water had melted from the glacier. We had to walk 1.5 km before an amazing sight opened in front of us- the glacier, a light blue colour, speckled with dust from the mountains, slanting down into another lake. It was so different from what we expected (and so cold) that we all stood frozen on the spot. Then we were told that we would get boats and drift up to it! And sure enough, using about 6 inflatible boats, we paddled to this giant. It was very, very cold and pieces of ice where floating around like icebergs. After half-an-hour of tedious paddling, my fingers numb, we got back the shore. Then we walked the whole 1.5 km back. By the time we got to the coffee shop and I had a steaming hot chocolate in my hands, I was absolutely exhausted. But, nothing comes easy... and I wouldn't trade that experience for anything. That night we slept in a tiny city called Sogndal.
Day 6, August 1: On this day we visited the famous town Flåm. What is so remarkable about it? It's railway station. We got into a train on a one-hour route to Myrdal. The route itself is under protection by UNESCO for its beauty, and truly, the waterfalls, valleys and mountains we passed were breath-taking. The night we spent in a (relatively) large city Bergen, which was also my favourite one.
Day 7, August 2: Our last day on tour was also an interesting one, as we spent the first half exploring Bergen. This city is home to the composer Grieg, one of my few favourites, and we had the chance to visit his museum, which was located in the very house he lived. It was truly an experience, for Grieg, rather unusually, composed significt Norwegian music. It was obvious to me now where he got his inspiration from- the surrounding nature and people of Norway. Listening to his music, you'd always hear the love of his country in it. The day was also an unusual one because when we were travelling before on the bus, the landscape was usually high mountains, fast rivers, waterfalls, forests... now, we passed through a flat land that had few or no trees, with still lakes and many rocks and stones. This road was taking us to the ski village Geilo, which stood 800 m above sea level. That night we went on walks in this cold and windy place, and finally got to bed quite late.
Day 8, August 3: The final day, and we, feeling tired and fulfilled, got onto the bus for the last time to make our way to Oslo Airport. On the way, our guide, Ruslan, told us about the place he lived in- Panama! We heard about South America and he was so good at advertising that we decided our next destination will be Brazil.
And that was our busy, tiring, beautiful and fulfilling trip!
Photos part I
Photos part II
Photos part III
Monday, April 02, 2007
The Room
On the first day, I walked in with buckets of paint and brushes. I set them all down on the bare floor and opened them up one by one. Red, blue, green, yellow, black, pink, purple, colors you wouldn’t even find names for. I took the first brush and dipped it slowly, gently, into the first can. I pulled it back up, the rich color dripping from the other end, and lifted it up to the plain white walls. The first stroke, the beginning of it all, and I couldn’t believe how right it felt. I dipped the brush back in, and put it up to the wall again, this time more confidently, painting quicker and stronger. For hours after that, I painted all four walls lovingly, passionately. I painted the story of my life, my thoughts, my emotions. I painted everything that meant something special to me. It took me the whole day, and at the end I saw a room given art. I was so exhausted, I lay down on the floor, covered in paint, but with a huge, satisfied smile on my face. It felt right.
On the second day, I walked in pushing a huge, black grand piano. I set it up in the corner of the room. The smooth wood felt good under my palms and after I was done familiarizing myself with every inch of what itself was a work of art, I sat on the soft leather stool and lifted up my fingers to the black and white keys. Then, I played everything that was in my heart and soul. I played my sorrows, my joys, my hopes and dreams. I played with a passion so strong I didn’t feel like I was me anymore, but something floating in harmony with the music. I played for the whole day, and at the end I knew I had given the room music. Tired but fulfilled, I lay my head on the cool wood. It felt right.
On the third day, I walked in carrying a shelf, a pillow, a cage and a box. I set up the shelf opposite the piano and opened the box. On my knees, I took out each object- always a cat from some exotic place, cleaned it lovingly, and put it proudly on the shelf. One after the other, pausing to relive every memory attached to each special cat, I patiently wiped and carefully added to the collection. When I was done, I placed the pillow next to the shelf and opened up the cage. I watched as a careful paw came out and tentatively touched the floor. I watched as a being of beauty, patience, and perfection stepped out and slowly took in what it was seeing. Carefully, the cat walked around the room and explored it with curiosity. Sometimes it asked me questions with long, beautiful meeeeeeows and I laughed at its acceptance of change. At the end, it walked over to me, its eyes filled with trust and love, and curled up to me. I smiled, knowing I had given the room a loyal friend. It felt right.
On the fourth day, I walked in carrying candles. Tall ones, short ones, round ones, thick ones, of every kind. I went around the room and placed them at the edges, one by one, lighting them all. I turned off the lights and sat in the middle, closed my eyes, finding peace and calm within myself. I let the warmth be my comfort, the aroma my tranquility and the darkness my friend. I sat there, allowing the calm settle down into the room. When I was done, I opened my eyes slowly and patiently- I had given the room peace. It felt right.
On the fifth day, I walked in pulling a bed and a couch. I placed them on opposite ends of the room and smiled at how complete the room had become. I spent the day with the knowledge that this was my room, made with my hands, my heart, my sweat. I thought about everything I had given this room, marveling at its sense of unity and harmony. I left that day knowing I had given the room comfort. It felt right.
On the sixth day, I walked in leading a friend. I showed him everything I had done and let him experience the art, music, friendship, peace and comfort in this room. With him inside, it felt truly complete. His presence made it special, understanding and open. I held his hand in mine and let his friendship, warmth and peace into the room. I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that I was done, and the best was yet to come. I had given the room love; it felt right.
On the seventh day, I rested.
On the second day, I walked in pushing a huge, black grand piano. I set it up in the corner of the room. The smooth wood felt good under my palms and after I was done familiarizing myself with every inch of what itself was a work of art, I sat on the soft leather stool and lifted up my fingers to the black and white keys. Then, I played everything that was in my heart and soul. I played my sorrows, my joys, my hopes and dreams. I played with a passion so strong I didn’t feel like I was me anymore, but something floating in harmony with the music. I played for the whole day, and at the end I knew I had given the room music. Tired but fulfilled, I lay my head on the cool wood. It felt right.
On the third day, I walked in carrying a shelf, a pillow, a cage and a box. I set up the shelf opposite the piano and opened the box. On my knees, I took out each object- always a cat from some exotic place, cleaned it lovingly, and put it proudly on the shelf. One after the other, pausing to relive every memory attached to each special cat, I patiently wiped and carefully added to the collection. When I was done, I placed the pillow next to the shelf and opened up the cage. I watched as a careful paw came out and tentatively touched the floor. I watched as a being of beauty, patience, and perfection stepped out and slowly took in what it was seeing. Carefully, the cat walked around the room and explored it with curiosity. Sometimes it asked me questions with long, beautiful meeeeeeows and I laughed at its acceptance of change. At the end, it walked over to me, its eyes filled with trust and love, and curled up to me. I smiled, knowing I had given the room a loyal friend. It felt right.
On the fourth day, I walked in carrying candles. Tall ones, short ones, round ones, thick ones, of every kind. I went around the room and placed them at the edges, one by one, lighting them all. I turned off the lights and sat in the middle, closed my eyes, finding peace and calm within myself. I let the warmth be my comfort, the aroma my tranquility and the darkness my friend. I sat there, allowing the calm settle down into the room. When I was done, I opened my eyes slowly and patiently- I had given the room peace. It felt right.
On the fifth day, I walked in pulling a bed and a couch. I placed them on opposite ends of the room and smiled at how complete the room had become. I spent the day with the knowledge that this was my room, made with my hands, my heart, my sweat. I thought about everything I had given this room, marveling at its sense of unity and harmony. I left that day knowing I had given the room comfort. It felt right.
On the sixth day, I walked in leading a friend. I showed him everything I had done and let him experience the art, music, friendship, peace and comfort in this room. With him inside, it felt truly complete. His presence made it special, understanding and open. I held his hand in mine and let his friendship, warmth and peace into the room. I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that I was done, and the best was yet to come. I had given the room love; it felt right.
On the seventh day, I rested.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
The devil came to me (temporary title)
The devil came to me.
Well, technically, I came to him. He was waiting for me. I didn’t ask him to, mind. If anything, I doubted he even existed.
So there he was, waiting in my apartment as I opened the door to my home from a long day at work. At a passing glance, he would seem like a completely normal man. But as I had the opportunity to observe him properly, I realized that the… man standing calmly in my living room was far from normal. For one, he was painfully handsome. Tall, slim, dressed elegantly, if slightly formal. He had a mischievous and at the same time alluring smile on his face that was absolutely sincere and as much liquid brown eyes as soft lips. His curling blonde hair seemed to always have a light breeze passing through it. He looked at me, unflinching, honestly and completely openly, and I was in love.
Other than the fact that I had fallen in love with this being the moment I set eyes upon it (and consequently contradicting everything I believe in), the other unusual thing about him was becoming noticeable. He seemed to be a little… blurry at the edges. Not so much that it would be obvious, but just a little, enough to make you wonder.
He knew everything, of course. He knew exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I was doing. Everything about him was calculating and deliberate. It was almost as if he put the thoughts in my head.
At that instant, his smile grew wider, and slowly, gracefully, he approached me, until his face was inches away from mine. He lifted a finger to my lips and whispered, “My darling, your thoughts are only your own.” Then he moved away and patiently waited for me.
Dazed and weak, as if I was using my voice for the first time, I asked him: “W-why are you here?” I didn’t even need to ask who he was, there was never any doubt.
“Ah,” he said, “the question at last. I came here, dear Marla, to make a deal with you.”
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the blood hot in my veins. I was afraid, but also dangerously excited. I felt I could do anything for him, deal or no deal.
He smiled a little sadly at that. “Unfortunately, my sweet, innocent angel,” he chuckled quietly at his little joke and lifted up my chin with a finger, “that is against the rules.” He made a disapproved face, then started when he realized I was still there. “But back to the topic. Surely you have heard of the phrase, ‘selling your soul to the devil’?” He grinned widely, perfect white teeth and all, but the grin was also a bit frightening, as if he was ready to eat me up.
Realizing that the grin may have had the wrong effect on me, his face changed to a slightly worried and thoughtful look, as if trying to understand why something he had never failed at before had gone wrong. He quickly looked back at me.
“I want you,” he whispered.
His face moved even closer and he lightly brushed his lips on mine. I felt his tongue for a split second, and it felt like tasting something sweet and forbidden, but with dangerous consequences.
(to be continued)
Well, technically, I came to him. He was waiting for me. I didn’t ask him to, mind. If anything, I doubted he even existed.
So there he was, waiting in my apartment as I opened the door to my home from a long day at work. At a passing glance, he would seem like a completely normal man. But as I had the opportunity to observe him properly, I realized that the… man standing calmly in my living room was far from normal. For one, he was painfully handsome. Tall, slim, dressed elegantly, if slightly formal. He had a mischievous and at the same time alluring smile on his face that was absolutely sincere and as much liquid brown eyes as soft lips. His curling blonde hair seemed to always have a light breeze passing through it. He looked at me, unflinching, honestly and completely openly, and I was in love.
Other than the fact that I had fallen in love with this being the moment I set eyes upon it (and consequently contradicting everything I believe in), the other unusual thing about him was becoming noticeable. He seemed to be a little… blurry at the edges. Not so much that it would be obvious, but just a little, enough to make you wonder.
He knew everything, of course. He knew exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I was doing. Everything about him was calculating and deliberate. It was almost as if he put the thoughts in my head.
At that instant, his smile grew wider, and slowly, gracefully, he approached me, until his face was inches away from mine. He lifted a finger to my lips and whispered, “My darling, your thoughts are only your own.” Then he moved away and patiently waited for me.
Dazed and weak, as if I was using my voice for the first time, I asked him: “W-why are you here?” I didn’t even need to ask who he was, there was never any doubt.
“Ah,” he said, “the question at last. I came here, dear Marla, to make a deal with you.”
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the blood hot in my veins. I was afraid, but also dangerously excited. I felt I could do anything for him, deal or no deal.
He smiled a little sadly at that. “Unfortunately, my sweet, innocent angel,” he chuckled quietly at his little joke and lifted up my chin with a finger, “that is against the rules.” He made a disapproved face, then started when he realized I was still there. “But back to the topic. Surely you have heard of the phrase, ‘selling your soul to the devil’?” He grinned widely, perfect white teeth and all, but the grin was also a bit frightening, as if he was ready to eat me up.
Realizing that the grin may have had the wrong effect on me, his face changed to a slightly worried and thoughtful look, as if trying to understand why something he had never failed at before had gone wrong. He quickly looked back at me.
“I want you,” he whispered.
His face moved even closer and he lightly brushed his lips on mine. I felt his tongue for a split second, and it felt like tasting something sweet and forbidden, but with dangerous consequences.
(to be continued)
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Black and White
It’s alive. You can feel it from that very first note, the beginning of it all, that breath before a torrent of emotions. It is clear in the air, and in this enclosed room, you can almost see it, its shape definite yet at the same time without boundary.
The wave of notes that follow fill you up with warmth in every point of your body. The life and soul of the music that is now inside you mixes with that which is already yours, and you are at one with it. It is like a child- innocent, playful and inquisitive. It wants to be loved, and as it caresses you softly, beckoning to you soulfully, you cannot help but give in to it.
As you let the music take over you, you are stripped of all that is impure. Naked, you enter a world that is one of the few left untouched. Here, music is everyone and everything. It is that breath of fresh air, it is that cool breeze, that soft grass in a never-ending meadow of beauty. Here, it is innocence. It is love. Peace. Harmony.
The music has a story to tell, and it wants you to hear it. It sits you down and tells you all that it knows. It laughs at the humorous parts, its laughter sweet and melodic to your ears. It cries when it’s sad, the tears big and heartbreaking. All it wants is to share all it has with you, to sympathize with you, to comfort you.
Music is a force stronger and more pure than anything else in the world when it is loved and allowed to love. When it is ignored, however, it is weak and helpless. A child in need of its mother’s attention, a plant in need of the sun. It cannot grow without love.
When, finally, the story reaches its end, you wake up as if from a dream. You remember glimpses of what happened in this other world, yet you cannot grasp them in your mind. The feeling is like catching a lost memory- the harder you search for it, the further away it will get from you. It cannot be forced. It can only be reached through total surrender of mind and soul.
The wave of notes that follow fill you up with warmth in every point of your body. The life and soul of the music that is now inside you mixes with that which is already yours, and you are at one with it. It is like a child- innocent, playful and inquisitive. It wants to be loved, and as it caresses you softly, beckoning to you soulfully, you cannot help but give in to it.
As you let the music take over you, you are stripped of all that is impure. Naked, you enter a world that is one of the few left untouched. Here, music is everyone and everything. It is that breath of fresh air, it is that cool breeze, that soft grass in a never-ending meadow of beauty. Here, it is innocence. It is love. Peace. Harmony.
The music has a story to tell, and it wants you to hear it. It sits you down and tells you all that it knows. It laughs at the humorous parts, its laughter sweet and melodic to your ears. It cries when it’s sad, the tears big and heartbreaking. All it wants is to share all it has with you, to sympathize with you, to comfort you.
Music is a force stronger and more pure than anything else in the world when it is loved and allowed to love. When it is ignored, however, it is weak and helpless. A child in need of its mother’s attention, a plant in need of the sun. It cannot grow without love.
When, finally, the story reaches its end, you wake up as if from a dream. You remember glimpses of what happened in this other world, yet you cannot grasp them in your mind. The feeling is like catching a lost memory- the harder you search for it, the further away it will get from you. It cannot be forced. It can only be reached through total surrender of mind and soul.
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