Thursday, October 01, 2015

Old Friend.

You know, even if I am in a corner, dying (unless I am already dead!) I would write for my dear October. My old friend is here again and as always it has been a lovely and much awaited reunion. Unlike last year, this year I am walking a lot in October. Embracing every bit of it and that excites me immensely. I greet it in the mornings with its soothing mist and damp grass. I meet it in the afternoons with its not so-hot-and-not-so-cold but just-right, breeze. I hear it from the window at nights with its orchestra of the swaying branches mixed in with a special melody by the crickets.

Life has been mostly good... and quiet. Quiet is good. Quiet is always good. Don't ever not be grateful for the quiet, because chaos is always lurking beneath and it's only just looking for an opportunity.

So yes, life has been good. My daily struggles involve changing bandages on my feet (because no matter what shoe I wear, it just wouldn't become friends with my feet), and fighting with a spider. There is a spider that made its home outside my gate, by the mailbox, and he just wouldn't leave. Its web looks ugly, and makes it seem as if I don't care for my home.  So giving into my vanity, I have destroyed its home multiple times but he builds it right back up, sometimes within hours.  Tough little guy. So there you have it, these days I have been losing to a tiny spider. Sigh.  I may have to call it a truce. I may just give it a name and see what happens. Like Charlotte… (or Aragog?). It looks like we are spending the winter together.

Sometimes we should. Sometimes we should stop fighting and let things run their course. Autumn teaches me that every year. Let go. You can't stop the leaves from changing the colors, dying and disappearing, you can either enjoy the destructive beauty or you can fight it. You'll fight it and you'll loose. Because things have to run their course. And sometimes when we give into the stubbornness, we loose sight of what we are fighting for or fighting with.  For instance,  no matter how I look at it, my vanity is not more important than that poor spider's life. But if I continue at it, soon it will become a matter of pride and I’ll loose sight of the fact that I am about to kill a living thing, for really no reason at all.

Monday, September 14, 2015

The Beach House.

~Short Story~

We had been coming here at Kay's beach house ever since we were in college. Every spring. Every year. All of us would be here. Significant others changed through the years but we remained. The five of us. After college, I would see all of them during the year except perhaps Sam. We saw less and less of each other with each passing year. And then just only at the beach house.  One year he showed up wearing a bow tie. Looked like a compete idiot. Not many men can pull off bow ties, some shouldn't even try. Another year he was supporting a full bushy beard. His brownish-blond beard. Very unruly and unkempt. I wanted to run my fingers through it. I stopped myself from doing that.

While so many things changed, some things remained constant. Every year on the third night, I'll come out of the beach house around 2 a.m. when everyone else is asleep. I;d walk up to the shore and find him sitting there among the rocks, smoking. We never talked about it, never planned to meet, but it always happened that way. He kept coming back to the beach in the middle of the night, so did I. Perhaps to just remind ourselves of the life we once inhaled among the rocks, when the roaring inside us, the thrashing life, could easily drown the roaring of the ocean. Now there was just silence, except the mockery of the waves.

I sat next to him. He looked at me like he always did, with longing for something you've once had and then lost. He touched my bare feet with his hands. I let him. His hands were warm. My feet were cold. I could see him through the dark. His eyes were always bright bringing me to life.  He touched my head. I closed my eyes. I didn't need to see him after that, I knew I wouldn't be able to feel him much longer.

For a moment, it felt exactly how it used to feel when we were in college - all reckless and thinking that life was full of possibilities. Now we were old. We had learned to live with the voids in our hearts. We weren't even sad anymore. Now we are mature enough, and scarred enough to know when to surrender our happiness.

Wednesday, August 05, 2015

Wall of Imagination.

Sometimes when I am lying in the bed or on the couch, I stretch as if I am trying to reach for something. But there is nothing there except the wall of my imagination. Have I reached it, I wonder. What if I can’t indulge myself in my fantasies anymore. What if this is it. This life. These early mornings and late nights. These chaotic afternoons and silent evenings.

Sometimes I find myself humming a tune, reliving a moment and feeling a tickle in my heart. Sometimes I wonder if I have just conjured it up and it can’t possibly be real. What I felt and feel and touched was nothing but a figment of my overly dramatic fascination with this life and this love. I waited for something and then something died. It was over but then it begun. It’s a funny game.

This makes no sense - what I wrote above. Just like life sometimes. But you have to witness it and write it as best as you can hoping that someday it will give you an end that you’ll weave into a tapestry you always imagined.

Monday, June 29, 2015

All You Get.

What do you get for falling in love?  You get to be dizzy, slightly nauseous, like you've taken one too many Vicodins.  You get to be a little paranoid and a little suspicious.  You get to always worry about someone else, you get to always put their desires and needs before your own. When you fall in love, on some level you give up your liberty to do all the things you want to do, whenever you want to do them.  You get to have little to no privacy. When you love, you get to always be afraid... of loneliness, of heartbreak, and disappointment.   

But if you are lucky, you get to feel warm and safe. You get to have the privilege to know someone more than anyone else, and in ways that no one else can. You get to know them in the most mundane of ways, like right after they wake up and look like a mess, or on a lazy Sunday afternoon, when they are just sitting and reading the New York Times, like when they have   nothing left to say right before you go to sleep. 
You get to know someone beyond the dating games. You get to see them eating Chinese straight out of the take-out box. You get to watch them watch T.V. on a Monday night feeling no pressure to entertain you. You get to see them scratch their hair and rub their arm and twirl their fingers. You get to be the only person aware of their silly little quirks. You get to witness them in their most elemental form. For me, that has always been exhilarating. 

You get to share your life with someone and invite them to participate in the most arbitrary decisions of your life. “Chicken or steak tonight?” “Scandal or House?” “Dress or Jeans?” “Baby or no Baby?” You get to be inspired to be a better person, to be the type of a lover who knows how to really care for someone. You should want to protect them from everything that’s wrong with the world. You don’t want to be the one they need to be protected from. No they’ve already had that, they’ve already been burned. You want to be the best partner, an antidote to all the venom they’ve been made to inject.  

You get to know that if you ever died alone in your apartment, your body would be discovered shortly thereafter. It wouldn’t be left to decay and ultimately be found by your landlord. You get to know that you really affected someone’s life. You left an indelible mark. They will never be the same after you. They will cry and cry in your absence. It sounds morbid but there is a certain comfort in knowing that you have the ability to leave someone grief stricken once you’re gone. 

You get to go on vacations together and witness new places that you would have never had the courage to experience alone. You get to revel in the fresh experiences together and smile (and sometimes laugh) at all the weird memories you've made over the years. Like, when you get lost in the woods, or, when you slammed on the brakes too late and scared the bejeezus out of your partner. Or when you lost your balance while snowboarding, went flying to the ground, and they caught it all on tape.   

You also get to be a goddamn brat. You get to push the wrong buttons and kick and scream, and trust that you won’t be penalized for it. You get to test their patience away, run them against the wall, be an overall crazy person, and still be forgiven. You get to test your insane theories and sadistic fantasies without being judged. You get to defame the neighbors and be totally immune to repercussions. You get to have someone who always takes your side, whether it is during an argument with your mother-in-law, or a screaming match with a reckless driver. They support you. They have to.  

You get to say no. You get to say yes. You get to say screw it. You get to be okay. You get to be safe. You get to be in love. 

Well, most of all, you get to be in love. 

Friday, June 19, 2015


I can whistle. I just can't whistle to an actual tune. I wish I could. There is something about whistling that speaks to me. When I hear Dylan whistle, for just a split second I pause, like time stops for a fraction of a second and starts again. I listen and even ask for more sometimes. There is something soothing about listening to the "Dock of the Bay" being whistled in the kitchen. Makes me realize all over again the difference little things make. That's what we need in life. More whistling.  I need more of you whistling.



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