We created a world, you and I.
We invented a language and its syntax, its lights and its shadows, its satellites and its stars.
We created a world with our hands as we explored the boundaries of our past experiences, tinged with the complexity of our realities.
We created a world as we made sense of our feelings, of a love that made a sudden, unexpected entrance and has grown stronger ever since.
We created a world, you and I
I walk down these corridors and the place is empty. The sombre rooms, once brimming with joyful exchanges, are now devoid of meaning.
I wonder where all those spirits have gone. I wonder why they decided to abandon what had been built with so much effort.
I walk down these corridors and their words hang from walls neatly arranged by colours and moods, an assortment of feelings stranded deep where light doesn't reach.
Every now and then one of us comes back. After exploring the dusty kitchens, the silent living rooms, the dry gardens, this lone visitor sets off treading over past memories, wondering where all these spirits have gone and why they left their words behind.
Sunsets like you are meant to be free.
When your silky pastel shades pave the way for the sun to seek refuge at night, you tinge life with magic in the pinkest pink of cherry blossom and orchids.
Who am I to lay claim to your iridiscent smile or your gleaming eyes that spring out of the nothingness that surrounds us?
All I can do is treasure each transient ray of joy you mysteriously choose to gift to this project of being, and not wonder when, or why, or even how. All I can do is let myself bathe in your aureate light as you beam in every possible way.
When you focus on who you are
And what you have achieved,
Life seems easier.
The attentive ears
You used to borrow
Were for you
To grow from within
And not a mere
When I kiss your lips, I forget everything around and in this world that dissolves once our eyes turn irrelevant.
In your arms, the irrational becomes strictly logical, and the gaps left by incomplete stories become part of something meaningful, something greater than ourselves, structured from the prologue to the epilogue by unconditional love.
Earthling (me Charu)
My goal for this year is to strike a balance between work and the rest of my life, between myself and others, between duties and fun.
Believe me, it's a daunting challenge for someone like me.
Last day of holidays. Tomorrow I go back to work, where we are supposed to prepare our annual planning.
My plans to survive post holidays interrogation and fake compassion comments:
When the dramatis personae page of your life gets crowded with secondary characters mushrooming in every scene but having an insignificant role in the plot, it's time to rewrite the play and allot more lines for the protagonists who do make a difference.
What does 'holding on to you' mean?, you asked.
Well, basically it means that when I'm on the verge of tears at 3am and I write to you, you just help me put things in perspective.
Basically, it means that, although I'm not depending on you to solve my own problems, you are a positive presence by my side as I try to come up with solutions.
Basically, it means that I trust you, with all the weight of the term in mind.
I choose to trust myself to you, today and every day, in joy and in pain, not because you are my saviour, but because you're the best companion to share the journey of a lifetime.
For a long time I have
Erased and rewritten
On the same sheet of paper
Words that get refined and polished
Just to become vacuous
The moment I bring them to surface
Now this sheet threatens
To self destroy before my own eyes,
The language unclear
The lines blurred beyond hope of recognition.
A story worked and reworked
with feeble foundations
And a lost identity.
I'd better forge
With a blank page
And start from scratch
A more profound plot where
My name isn't nowhere near
The secondary character list.
'Don't leave me, please.'
' I love spending time with you'
'The hues of your hair are beautiful'
'I'm here for you'
And yet, these words were nothing but a dazzling costume designed to conceal the nothingness he had carefully woven in his soul, perfectly crafted to catch an unsuspicious passer-by.
Now that I'm on holidays, I have more opportunities to think about my life, where I am and where I'm heading to.
Sometimes I lose direction and fail to tell the relevant apart from the useless. On my last working day prior to the holidays, I was stressed out. For the first time in my career I had a managing position this year, which means endless work hours on bureaucratic school paperwork and angry and frustrated parents. I accepted this job thinking that I could make the difference, but time proved me wrong.
Like Oedipus, I hurled my voice to the winds, but my call echoed in the nothingness of the empty halls around my office. That last day my body, which isn't as fond of metaphors as m...
Sometimes memories strike you like a thunderbolt. Sometimes they don't tiptoe into your conscious state, they simply clear their way with a sledgehammer until they become visible.
That was grandma yesterday.
Every shared smile turns the fabric of space and time into a seamless work of art.
When I inch my way in the crowd, I often feel lost in a labyrinth of pieces of glass, each tinted in a different shade of the light spectrum.
Some fragments dance in the breeze to their own tune, some mirror others' moves, some intercept the sun beams and alter the reflection of the rest. Some swing menacingly over the others, some are shattered in uncountable pieces on the ground.
At the center of that maze is you, a crystal as transparent as nature allows, standing serene with all the hues carefully kept in your pockets, inviting me to be myself.
Thanks for your response dear...
Sorry for Mah late response...
I wiSh U will get everything u love...
Keep smiling always ☺ T. C. Urself
Love & care from India 🇮🇳
® Sinu ™ 🗿
Wanting to run aimlessly, Forrest Gump style, until every worry is left behind and I'm only breeze and light.
As the last sunrays trail off this evening, I look through my window and see the tall faceless buildings surrounding my backyard. Their orange and pink tinted walls stand around my cherry trees, fully blossomed in white. Even though I know my neighbours, their lives remain shrouded in the mystery built out of bricks and mortar, painted in pastel shades.
The sunset has tiptoed away from the day, and I simply walk back to the familiarity of the strident yellows in my kitchen, where I am just another human behind my own walls.
When the daily quicksands of uncertainties threaten to devour you, the only solid structure that can be built is a bridge between two souls.
Has it ever happened to you that some people seem to have an aversion to you, and you don't know why?
Most humans are hieroglyphs for me: alien but also feasible, for understanding the symbols written all over their reactions is not unattainable if you have found the pattern underlying the intricate combinations of tiny drawings.
However, for some people, the Rossetta stone is useless.
Some of the dumbest questions people asked me:
1) Why don't you have kids?
2) If you don't have kids, why don't you go dancing and have fun?
3) Why don't you drink alcohol? Is it forbidden in your religion?
4) If you are a teacher of English, how come you have never been to England?
5) What do you do all day, apart from working, since you shouldn't be so busy?
6) Do you really understand when people speak in English?
1) I don't have the foggiest idea. Neither do you.
2) Because I don't have fun by going dancing at a club.
3) Because I don't like the smell of it. It's like I'm a vegan, but with drinks. Only that Vegan sounds more chic than teetotaler. I should come up with a coo...
El sonido necesita un medio en el cual propagarse.
Esto implica que en el vacío, en la ausencia de toda sustancia, prevalece un silencio puntilloso, preciso y sostenido.
Quizás por esta razón soy una supernova más del universo insonoro para los rostros que gravitan graciosamente, cada uno en órbita alrededor de sus propios soles, mientras mis gritos son devorados ávidamente por la nada.
You move in circles but time pushes you forward.
When you look back, smiles have faded into tears and, regardless of how you retrace your steps, the resulting image is blurred, a mishmash of expressions. Nothing is crystal clear anymore.
I wish I could see the light in your transluscent soul, enough light to help me make a leap of faith to the quicksands you're standing on.
Love lives in every small gesture we have towards others.
Two days ago, I was rather tense before a syntax presentation I had to make in a linguistics congress. To be honest, my topic was a bit dull (copular clauses), so the attendance was about twenty people.
However, speaking to a teacher audience is always challenging: they are constantly evaluating your points and making connections you might have not seen (I know this from personal experience) :)
Two familiar faces showed up in my presentation at the last minute.
One, my English 1 teacher, the very first teacher I had when I started studying at Uni. She sat at the back of the room, irradiating widsom and calm as she did when I was her...
Grateful for this day.
Grateful for your smile every morning.
For mother's love, for father's guidance, for brothers' life-sharing.
Grateful for my job. For having the chance to do what I love and be paid for it.
Grateful for the people I meet: the good have taught me where to go, and the bad what to refrain from.
Grateful for life.
Some try to clutch novelty and meaningless fun, in a desperate attempt to keep their coolness afloat, while they let empathy drown helplessly in the deep sea of their egoes.
This noise they chase after, the polished photos of their meals, the meetings with friends that appear to be no more than drinking buddies, all this mishmash of events carefully selected to prove that they love life and fun.
While running this race against time itself, building a bond with other people is too laborious. To continue with the masquerade, they get some other humans to be the backdrop for their amusement.
I rather be light-sabering with my own monsters in writing or in silence, than putting up a facade of ...
It will all pass.
That could be my mantra, the words I cling on to when the exits to my daily labyrinths are shrouded in darkness.
It will all pass, the pain, the sadness, the stress, the illness, the wounds, the people. This will all evaporate and leave no trace.
All I can do is put my bravest face on this storm and build myself so strong that any quake will see me unperturbed.