When Life Happens…

When Life Happens…

IMG_4087.JPG

There are some people in this world, who have learnt the art of living and loving the life they’ve been granted. They are masters in leaving yesterday in the sea of the past and welcoming each dawn with a brand new slate.
They have learnt that this world would break us if we let it, and they know how to traverse it with cracks. They know that love put into the world is never a loss.

Those are the people you meet at a bus station, in a plane; strangers meeting solely by fate. And when you come across one, you will know because they have mastered the art of spreading rainbows no matter the weather; and the sun rays they bring with their presence, last with you long after they are gone.
These people are the gems of the world.

 

Advertisements
Writer’s Quote: Robert Frost

Writer’s Quote: Robert Frost

IMG_4059.JPG

How time flies. I remember posting the first writer’s quote/poem of 2017, Thoughtless cruelty by Charles Lamb, and now, we are heading into the last month of 2017. Only four more weeks left and whoops, we’ll be writing “2018” on our date stamps.

This week, I chose a poem by one of many’s favourite poet- Robert Frost, and I believe, the poem befits this time of the year.

My November Guest by Robert Frost
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walked the sodden pasture lane
.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

When I read this poem, I understood “the guest” he referred to in the poem as a personification of the emotion he felt. But today, I came across an analysis which opened my eyes to another perspective. Here, the November guest was viewed as not just the personification of an inanimate thing, but as “a person herself”, which actually makes total sense.

It’s true, the saying- “we see what we look for and hear what we listen for”. There are many poems which give their sadness and sorrow, human characteristics; that was what I searched for in this poem and that was what I found. But I do agree now with the second analysis, “the November guest” might be a person.

Robert Frost is one with many famous poems. Which of his other poems come to mind?

The faces of depression-

The faces of depression-

IMG_3985.JPG

Depression is not always tears,
And sweatpants;
Staying in- all through the week.

It’s not always anger,
And weight gain;
Laying, in bed through the day.

Depression- wears many faces.
Sometimes:
It puts on a smile,
With a face,
Which lights up a room.

It puts on work clothes,
Slaying,
(Seemingly) through the day;

It loses weight,
And craves insomnia;
It fears solitude,
Depending on who you ask.

Depression is not always tears,
Sometimes,
It’s- the brightest face in the room.

Flash Fiction: The View

Flash Fiction: The View

IMG_3864.JPG

D.S Fenworthy found a spot to watch the magnificent display happening right in front of his eyes. He laid on his back, with his head resting atop his intertwined fingers; unbothered by the sand grains gaining entry into his clothe.

The display lasted only a few minutes, but those minutes were everything. The sun transformed into a ginormous golden beauty from a speck; and in the process, created an undertone of subtle colours, evoking a feeling words could not describe.
For some reason, D.S Fenworthy felt at peace.

He searched in his pocket for the piece of paper his partner D.I Lucy had left for him and read it again.
We all have those days…. Thank me later.”
That was all it said, and then this location and time was scribbled beneath.

He smiled and crumpled up the paper, thinking, despite what the other coppers said, D.I Lucy was one heck of a partner and boss.


word count: 158. The above story is in reaponse to Flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Each week we are provided with a picture and are to write a 75-175 word story. Thank you for this week’s photo: @Footy and Foodie

 

Uncle, Danger

Uncle, Danger

IMG_3905.JPG

He told her it was okay,
And no one had to know,
This was their little secret,
A game- was what he called it.

And no one saw the bruises,
Or the terror in her eyes,
The tremor in her voice,
Whenever Uncle came around.

Doors were locked at nightfall,
To keep evil at bay,
But evil was within the home,
Masked as family.

Until one day, he wasn’t-
A car crash, they confirmed.
And smile as a free bird she did,
To all’s bewilderment.

Uncle…. oh you devil,
What have you got to say,
6 feet below the ground,
With all your evil deeds.

Lord- I can’t forgive him yet,
But I will try to move on,
I owe it to the little girl,
He almost… almost destroyed.

 

 

 

Mental Health Friday #19

Mental Health Friday #19

image

The cop came back into the living room where I was sitting, nursing my two and a half month old daughter. “The boy didn’t make it,” he said. “Ma’am, I need you to come with me.” I handed my baby girl over to her dad as I got up from the couch to obey the officer.

His words drifted through my foggy mind as I told myself, this is all just a bad nightmare— I will wake up soon. With no socks or shoes on my feet, I silently followed the officer out of my house not knowing that would be the last time I would ever exit that front door. Yet, I felt an unusual calm and peace enter my heart as I sensed that this was “my path” or “my destiny.”
Little did I realize my journey would lead me into years of torment and pain when the truth finally came crashing through my delusional head….
*****

I once had a previous life where I attended college full-time, studying business management. I held on tight to a 3.9gpa as I managed to make mostly straight A’s in my classes. I was officially divorced from the abusive “sperm-donor” of my happy little boy who seemed content without a man in the house. I smoked marijuana on a regular basis to help me with my terrible mood swings as well as to help me focus on my homework (which I started to find hard to concentrate on while sober).

Then a few years later, during my senior year of college, I became pregnant again with my daughter. I was excited and filled with joy at the opportunity to raise two children as a single parent. My daughter’s father was a good man that kids naturally seemed to flock to. My son adored him and in spite of our cultural differences, he accepted me and my son as family.

He helped me when he could; however, with his mother being in her late 70’s, he lived with her in an apartment across town to take care of her. As a result, we never officially “lived together” and this arrangement worked perfectly with my increasingly introverted self.

Then came the day that I started speaking in tongues (and no, I wasn’t at some radical church at the time). I was home alone with my two children. I also had an “internal interpreter” who could understand just what I was saying. I went to the bathroom to use the facilities and then I started to shout out a name. I heard my son saying “What?”
This happened about three times until my son opened the bathroom door and said, “What?” again.
“In the name of Jesus you shall flee!” I shouted at him from the toilet in English.
My son replied: “Goodbye.” Then he shut the bathroom door.

Once I got done in the bathroom, I went to check on my son. He was in his room holding a little ball. He told me,
“Mama, I tried to hit that boy with the ball, but he flew out the window.”
I knew then that a demon was trying to attack my son. Yet, I had a sense of knowing that this moth that was flying around in his room was actually that demon which transformed and it would be dead soon.

The very next morning, as I was nursing my daughter on the couch, my son came out of his room with the dead moth in his hand. So I “knew” the demon was gone… This initial experience along with my son’s statement and behavior started my trip into what most would call a very delusional and psychotic journey.
The command hallucinations held me like a puppet on strings for about a week doing various things to rid the demon from my son as I thought the voice in my head was God telling me what to do. For example, I started fasting and eating nothing, just drinking water. Read more

Finding Me-

Finding Me-

IMG_3804

I didn’t know who I was and morphed into any societal version I found appealing; Alternating between personas of people who may or may not have found themselves.

I was one person until I came across someone I thought to be better; and then I became that person. I was lost, yet thought that I had found myself.

But… there was always someone better. Someone more charming, more sassy, funnier, kinder. Every corner housed someone who brought something unique to the table; I wanted so badly to be someone until I wanted to be everyone.

And when the lives around you, of the people you badly want to be start crumbling in massive chunks onto the blemished ground, you realise that you don’t even know them; Those people you tried to be. And in that moment when all around you is failing, you will be forced to look within… I was.

I found a gaping hole born of emptiness; I heard a voice faint and devoid of strength; I found a soul weak and barely there. That was all I had and I was forced to accept it. I acknowledged what I had within, as flawed as it was; and that marked the beginning of my evolution.

Writer’s Quote: W.B Yeats

Writer’s Quote: W.B Yeats

IMG_3715

Have you read a poem which makes you smile. Simple and straightforward, devoid of complexities or dramatic punches. Well, you are about to.

For this week’s writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday,  I chose to share a poem by William Butler Yeats, which is different from his usual poetic style. And being the great poet that he is, W.B Yeats nailed this short melodious poem.

I hope you enjoy it

Where my books go by W.B Yeats
All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken’d or starry bright.

Flash Fiction: Evil Genius

Flash Fiction: Evil Genius

IMG_3458.JPG

Randy was the new kid in class, so he didn’t get to see Bradshaw hills with us during last term’s excursion. For this term’s, we had formulated a plan to trick him. Bradshaw hills was unique for its cave markings. The class as a whole decided to pretend we couldn’t see the markings on the cave, to make Randy think he’s going nuts when he points at them.

It was funny when we planned it. What began as a joke ended up with Randy screaming his head off and throwing a tantrum to the teacher, declaring that he was losing it. It resulted in his parents being called to take him home and “we” all scared and getting a week of punishment.

That night, I got a call from Randy, thanking me for getting him 2 days off school to rest. Turns out, he had been to Bradshaw hills before and knew of its markings. He only played along because he could use it to his advantage.

Oh the little evil genius.


Word count:171. The above story is jn response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you @Any1Mark66 for this week’s picture.

Mental Health Friday #23

Mental Health Friday #23

IMG_0215

I’ve always been quite an anxious child. When I was young, if my parents would tell me they would be back at 8 or whatever, at 8.02 I am already panicked that they’ve been in a car crash.

When I was in about year 9 my anxiety got a lot worse, I was in a toxic friend group which worsened it over time without me realising. At the start of year 10, things got bad. I was at a point where I would come home from school everyday crying. After a lot of crying, I numbed out which I was so happy about.

Roughly 6 months after the ordeal with my mates, I decided to go and see a counsellor. I’m not sure what prompted it, I just decided to. I was then diagnosed with depression and anxiety, although my counsellor didn’t really understand it as I was always so happy and laughing (which is just my default I guess. Everyone assumes because someone tells jokes and laughs that they are happy, but it can be quite the opposite). The fact that a lot of people didn’t believe I was suffering made it worse I think, it’s still something I suffer with.

I remember one of my mates told me once “I’m probably more depressed than you because you don’t cry”. A big myth about mental illness is that you’re in your room crying 24/7, but that’s far from the truth. Over the year (year 11, I think it was at this point), my depression kept getting worse and there were many nights where I contemplated suicide and even wrote notes on some nights. I am not sure why my depression was so bad, I had a great life. Another thing about mental illness- it can just happen, nothing bad needs to have happened.

I got put on anti depressants which helped me a lot. Then in September, I was raped (you can read my post on that to find out more) and because I was so numbed out on the anti depressants, it didn’t really affect me. In January when it did affect me and I told my counsellor, they told me ‘that explained everything’. But in my opinion, I was just depressed because of how my brain was working, not because of the rape. Read more