Tag Archives: Writing101

Size Matters

The home I lived in when I was twelve?

It was comfortable, if I were to describe it in one word; it was just small enough for the four of us that lived there, and still big enough for the six extra visitors we’d get everyday. It wasn’t cramped, though it did get a little tight when you had six children screaming and running after a ball.

It was a terrace, with the same, white walls as both its neighbours. It had too many plants for its own good, though I certainly did find butterflies of many colours more than once. We had a dog, too.

He was old when I was young, and it wasn’t too long before he left us for a better place, but he was a delight to have. He’d never fail to bark at any of the others when they visited. The same way he’d never fail to quieten down when either my mother or myself went to see to him when my cousins got scared.

When I pass it by now, it’s dusty. It’s still unoccupied, just as we left it, and though it looks nothing like it used to.

It brings back the memories of butterflies and company.


Point of View

I stared calmly at him.

“We can’t, John,”

I could see that what I’d said struck him deep, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to care like I should have.

I spotted the woman on the bench suddenly, and realised that she’d almost stopped moving the red lump in her hands. Nosy, I sneered before turning back to him.

“I know,” tears streamed down his cheeks, but his brilliant blue eyes were clear as he straightened, wiped at his face with a hand, and walked off.

I could see it in her eyes, the coldness, and for a moment, I wondered where the warmth had fled.

“We can’t, John,” those were her words, clear and sharp, and I knew that what she said was logical.

I know we can’t, I wanted to scream at her, but I held myself back and tied myself down.

I swallowed the irrational anger and hurt that flooded through me, which resulted in warm liquid splashing over my cheeks.

Something in her eyes flickered, and I wanted to laugh.

“I know,” I said, voice choked before I wiped at the traitorous tears that had spilled over. As I walked away from her, I spied the woman perking up as if she were snapping out of a daydream, and there was a warmth in her dark, knowing eyes that made something inside me soften.

I ignored the couple as they passed by me, I had better things to do than eavesdrop on other conversations, despite what most people seemed to think.

I could feel the sweater, already warm, between my fingers, and I smiled to myself.

Little Kathy would love it, I’m sure.

I saw Kathy in my mind’s eye, seeing her warm eyes and her bright smile when she told me that she was expecting her first baby.

‘It’s going to be a girl, ma,’

She’s been so excited that she’d spilt half a cup of tea when she’d told me.

Suddenly, the couple in the corner of my vision split apart, and for the shortest of moments, just before the man walked off, I saw a flash of bright blue and a hint of tears.

Death To Adverbs?

It’s large and bright, but still somehow warm and cosy.

There aren’t too many people, which is relieving, but there are far too many tables to choose from now, which isn’t.

The smile on the wide face of the cheery waitress is welcoming, and I’m hard-pressed to not return the gestureĀ asĀ I find a table by the window.

When she brings the coffee over, it’s entrance is hailed by a thick, bitter, and absolutely brilliant scent that makes my mouth water.

She’s careful with the tray, as if she’s afraid that she’ll spill something if she’s too fast, but when she brings it over, all is forgotten and I revel in the warmth of the beverage.

The cafe is quiet for the most part, and when I leave, it is with a light peace inside me that I’ve not quite felt before.

Serially Lost | The Light Goes Out

Some might say that sentiment is a defect of our thoughts; that we should not try to latch on to and keep hold of what has already come and gone. They might say that whatever it is, has already served its purpose.

For the most part, I would agree.

Everything is easier when we don’t think about what we’ve already done. It does not mean that we shouldn’t learn from our mistakes, it simply means that we should keep moving forward, and not try to stick ourselves back into the past.

So it is sentiment, then, that keeps me writing this post, because it has been a while now, a few years, since this particular event occurred, and I am simply, defectively, unable to release it.

Many people say that life is a journey, or in this case, allow me to use a description to help move us along.

Many say that life is like a train ride.

There are many stops on the way, and many new people enter the carriage that is your life. There are some relative constants; parents, siblings, relatives, but there is one constant that, to me, most travellers forget about.

It is your pet.

It doesn’t matter if you had a healthy, vivacious white cat or a sickly puppy while growing up. It is my belief, that having a pet teaches one to care for something, someone, other than oneself. I’ve heard of many who’ve said that their pets keep them company when they cry, hear the complaints that they have, and snuggle when they need someone to hug.

They show us love even when we don’t return the favour, and even if it isn’t love, it is a feeling quite similar to it.

I had a dog growing up. She was a sickly puppy, and the person who gave her to me tried to give me her healthier, more robust, brother, but I refused. I took the puppy who couldn’t walk right for days after her brother was scampering clumsily around the house, and I grew up alongside it.

When she … left, it was similar to the train slowing down, the lights in the carriage flickering uncertainly, and every other passenger suddenly becoming a complete stranger. It felt like the train was a second away from crashing head-first into a barrier, but then I realised later, that the train was merely making another stop.

And at this stop, my little light got off.

I knew … know … that if I got off the train, I won’t be allowed back on. And oh, how I tried to get that train moving again.

It’s been almost three years now, and every time I remember her white-and-brown fur, the train threatens to crash again.

Embrace The World In Grey

If I write this list to celebrate three songs that I’ve fallen in love with, then I will be hard-pressed to make a decision.

I will mention that this list is in no particular order, or perhaps, by writing them down, I will discover which means more to me than the others.

Thinking about my favourite songs now, I would be lost if I wasn’t to mention this one in particular. It’s an old choice, one that I’ve learned, mastered, and twisted on the piano since learning it almost five (or maybe even six) years ago. The title I remember is ‘Valse Lente’ by Vaughan Williams and though I never did, and quite possibly never will know what it means, I doubt that I’ll forget how to play what I consider as my all-time favourite piece.

The next song, I believe, would most certainly have to be one that is a more recent acquisition. ‘Shadow of the Day’ by Linkin Park. It isn’t a new song, and I will say that I don’t care much for the newer songs, but it is one that strikes something deep inside me every time I listen to it. Yes, the song might not be speaking of the most pleasant of things, but it is beautiful in it’s conception and melody, and one that I find … soothing, and one that has helped me through a lot.

The third song. Ah, there are quite a number that vie for a place on this list, and there are many that could replace this song, I think, on this list. But the fact is that I have listed this song here, and it is Ludovic Einaudi’s ‘I Giorni’. It is a soft, simple piano melody that brings my mind to peace and calms me down at the worst of time. It brings me to a different state of mind, and lifts me from the one I normally burrow myself into.

A Room With A View | A House With A Soul

It’s a cold place, the one I wish to return to. It’s cold, covered with plastic, and layered with enough dust to kill. I don’t dare to take my slippers off, as I’ve been taught to, when I enter through the door, and there are clear imprints on the ground where I’ve stepped.

One part of me wants to run down for the brooms and clean the entire room until it’s as bright as the day you left it.

The other part of me yearns to move on from that same day.

I pull the sheet off one of the sofas, and drop on the soft fabric covering. Despite the musty smell and the awkward feel of the plastic pressing into one of my legs, I lean back, and I remember the last time we’d sat on this together.

That day had been a cold day too, and you’d oh-so-politely offered to ‘warm me up’, which meant that you’d thrown your arms around me and pinned me to the sofa. I can still remember the way your legs had tangled with mine, and the way your coat felt when you’d pulled it around me soon after; playful, boyish smile fading from your lips. I distinctly remember the way I’d brushed your short hair aside and asked you what was wrong.

And that was when you told me.

I can remember the hurt, pain, and utter betrayal I felt after that. When I stand up, I can see the marks and dents I’d left in the walls that night; throwing anything in arms’ reach. Now, when I look back, all that anger was for naught, because I also remember crying the very next day and hugging you … pleading for you to not leave.

Not that you had an actual ticket for where you were going.

A few more days, and I was alone, just like I am now.

It seems almost like a fantasy now, a half-remembered dream, whenever I try to look back and see your smile. It’s been five years since then, and there’s not a day that passes that I don’t fail to live up to your last request. I haven’t gotten rid of all our memories together, and I most certainly haven’t moved on.

How can I when the place where our souls can meet is still here?