Be Ready When It comes Around 

It had been a long time since he felt such peace. Under the table, he easily swung his left leg over the right one, his hands tucked in the middle. It was weeping cold and outside it was still drizzling, yet he didn’t consider shifting his usual spot at the window. It was the only coffee place that opened its doors early. “Good morning, anything I can get you today, coffee, tea or water?” She smiled at her later suggestion. And he was fairly pleased by her cordial joke and her never changing warm reception. And an easiness and politeness that reminded him of the past. A past that many times he tried spinning, but he knew won’t go away. He had it all, an incredible friend and quiet life just as he always wanted. But things can get rocky, it’s like sometimes the earth spins on a different axis.

He loved the feel and smell of cappuccino and scone, but with it came loud whispers of the past he once knew. He missed the sound of her voice, he missed the smell of her skin. He missed the still of the silence when it was her rare smile that filled the room. He missed the day they were all over the best Chinese salad. Three times they turned to the Spittal of Glenshee before the spring, the winter sports. It’s not like they were a team, they just loved walking on ice, the sansation of rolling on ice. Her mother sanctioned it, his mother never rejected, never said a word. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. There are so many moments you can share with anyone someone and you just feel like it will last forever, those were the moments he knew would last forever. 

Not better, not worse. No one knew the nature of their relationship. He was a quiet one, he spoke not to be heard, he spoke when it was a necessity. Her friends called him “the silent weird boy of colour.” She never disputed, she never affirmed it either. They were just a girl and a boy. And she knew exactly what he meant to her. It’s fair to say it wasn’t her place to care about his weakness or strength. If at all there was need to, she understood that everyone had a flaw, a crack on the wall. But colour is about perception and nature, introversion is a personality trait not a weakness. Above all no one is ever closer to perfection. She was lovely and lively in such a way that you wouldn’t know if you weren’t part of it. And she was a reservist. 

It all started as a nice weekend out, a relaxing but rather interesting bike riding for hours from home. As he made it down the the third bend, minutes after enthusiastically taking the road. He found himself riding slightly behind a Vaude dyse light blue short and a long sleeve top dressed beauty. When he drew level with her, he took it to another level. “I’m awfully sorry to ask, are you doing what I’m doing?” Of course he was kidding, she was riding. She was made exquisite to look and he was willing to start from whatever angle, just to have the time. And he picked a fairly wide angle; silly question to be exact. Perhaps he understood the philosophy of consultancy from a hidden perspective and a rather reverse construct. Ask ignorant questions and listen to the many answers. “I’m equally sorry for I’m not exactly sure of what you are doing, but I assure you, I’m riding a bike.” She eased her face as he looked into her eyes their wheels turning delicately slow and he returned the smile, pleased at her sense of humour. And so it had began. They were exceptional, absolutely lovely to watch as they rode across the city street. It would not have been a mistake if it escaped and individual were it to be told that they had never met before. Indeed judgement is based on outward or just visible aspect of a person or thing. And what cannot be seen may as well count for nothing, they could be seen. We humans are incredible, but we are creatures of habit and an avaricious need to feel the conversancy with other people’s actions. He wasn’t interested in personal information of her life that pointed at any commonalities. But he fancied her from the instance he learned her existence and maybe more than he actually knew, perhaps more than he could fathom.

He could remember the day he told her how much he cared. It was after showcasing their best Scottish dance moves of which she won; she was a native and it’s never a good idea to outdo a lady on the dance floor. It’s obvious that our humanly characteristics are different, how we react to circumstances and our behaviours are entirely not the same. She didn’t respond, she said not a word, except for a line of tear that rolled down her cheek and she hurried off. However improbable certain things may be, he was certain she was upset. And there was a linger of regret. He wasn’t keen on sabotaging the friendship they had built. He never wanted to, yet he got carried away. He could imagine the silence that would be the day after. He knew he had to say sorry but he was not sure of his ability to, for all the shame that was locked deep inside of him. But her words sitting on a bench next to him that following day, were all the difference and all the medicine. It turns out, everyone wants to connect to something or talk to someone. 

There was a room inside his heart that no one ever knew. A room she had discovered. He could remember just standing there dripping. It was cold but he didn’t care, he watched startled as they carried her body away. Her friend told him she was found unconscious on the floor. News he thought concocted by a fool up to no good. Her mother told him, “sorry son, she is no more.” He didn’t know what news was worse, he hoped her mother was wrong. He wished what she said was just a crude joke. Oh, how he wanted to tell them how mistaken they were, she was still there somwhere. He hated everything, his life, relationship, the people who were there, the winter and the fact that he was still breathing the very air he was told she had stopped. He was broken. As he watched the snow falling from the comfort of his seat, his coffee and scone still waiting for another sip, another bite, he swallowed hard and bit his lip. He could not understand why he had let his sister into his head when he had the chance. One day, he thought; the Blessed Virgin will reunite them. She belonged to him and so did he. Be ware tragedy never tells when it’s due. The past is like a shadow that’s predicted on the existence of the object itself. The past has an ugliness that hurts. The ripple effects, the trauma. However you roll it, it always hurts. Be ready when it comes around, scaling the walls of cemetery to go waking the ghosts.


​Through The Sky To The Heart Of Her Heart. 

She frowned, listening to the voice of the cabin attendant, feeling guilty at having slept and wondering why she had to wake her up. She flicked her wrist to check her watch. Lo and behold! It was 0600hrs and the airplane was climbing down the altitude fast. They had been flying slightly above 40,000 feet for more than an hour. She cautiously engaged her rather sleepy mind as they dropped further. She was thrilled at the idea before, now that she was only minutes from touching down, she felt a little uneasy. 

She had vision before, better plans but it was now riddled with confusion in her heart. She was only 12 when she had earned the confidence of her parents. She was fortunate to fly around to places of her choice within the country and do things that she loved. The airplane was almost hitting the runway, the place she first met him. She unconsciously slipped into the past. His voice loud in her head, she couldn’t help but smile, a smile that soon turned into an expression of suspense. She closed her eyes tightly, it was happening. It was the only place she had felt the need to talk to someone intensely so. And she could vividly remember seeing him just standing there, his bag strapped around his shoulders his hands to his pockets. He looked, a little influenced by the circumstances that surrounded him.”A Little influenced by ideology or sentiments perhaps,” she thought. He didn’t look average to her in every way and she wondered what in the name of this earth did he subscribe to. She was only 15 then, but she was a curious one. She was jumpy, just a little and she understood its advantages. She took her chances and explored her options.

How many times have we found ourselves saying, what if? Hers was the initiative, a reason to begin, his was an answer, simple clear and cut. An answer that made her wonder if her choice of the person to chat was a mistake. Strategy and skill will only get you far, to win you need weapons and tenacity. The kind that she was more than gifted. She was not the one to give up and she was irresistible. And she had made her pick. She tilted her head, pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen to her face, she was more than ready to press higher. She wasn’t “cute,”she was sexy. Everyone could see it. And beautiful. Elegant. She had class. Medium, thin, blonde. With hands that one noticed, a face one hated to stop looking, a body one watched. She was beautiful. And she knew it. Her father knew it, her mother knew it. So what? She was beautiful too. It wasn’t something she really cared about. But other people did. Other people and she was sure he was going to. “You see, I love exploring stories that make me human, and probably you are wondering when the balance of power started shifting. I always fancy my chances and I’m here trying to make a conversation with you. If I fail, when I wake up tomorrow, it will be like plunging back into a nightmare. I’m careful not to have any of that, so are you going to be mean to me all the way?” She was just impressive.

He studied her for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say, he rolled his eyes and amusement touched his lips. All the indication that she had won the debate before it started.” I understand I haven’t seen a whole lot of different sides, hard to process. And sometimes I turn things a little dark. I’d like that to be my defence,” he said with a cute smile. He had seen subtler displays of arrogance before. He was however convinced otherwise. She exuded confidence with a warm smile and an air of sharp intelligence. 

There was a further disinteresting silence. She was not the one to misread people for she had met characters from travelling. Somwhere she thought he was either just a difficult person or he posed a condescending attitude. She wasn’t sure and so she had found herself a pretty job. “Don’t ever think that I have nothing to say,” he stirred the silence with a polite smile on his face and an encouraging look. She thought his qualities were intriguing, something she found quite attractive.

Her passion was learning the human,the human mind, the more reason travelling was fun. In the seconds and minutes that passed, she tried to make herself useful. She scarcely had the time and the person she was talking to, was someone with little to read from or rather confusing signals. He had a transfixing brilliance no moment in her life had ever seen, yet he was careful to hide. It was something that only intense scrutiny would unfold and time was of the essence. She thought him a superb deceiver. He rarely offered more than an outlook that spurned a lot of uncertainty. She could sense some element of insensitivity but that she could not only understand but explain.

There was a beauty in all, the rarety of the person he was. In its entirety though there was little possibility of evaluating the character of an individual without seeing the bad and the good. Seeing is believing and the paradox; all she could see were but meaningless symbols and whether to believe or not was something she could not determine herself at that time. As the airline touched down for their second meeting after the first, she felt a kind of pull like gravity. And it scared her, she didn’t know if she had fallen into his orbit.
The morning, the weather was so brilliant so magnificent. Sipping from her glass, she thought, she felt, honestly she wondered whether she was crazy. She thought of why she loved going places. And It gave her a tiny pinched feeling somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes searched, clawing a little, but carefully, and then, she realised that for some reason she just didn’t care anymore.

Just How Beautiful 

He was sinking or otherwise but he woke up and she walked in. She looked lazily around for her chair her friend, beside her. Her eyes sexy and expressive, blinking marvellously in a comic fashion, a clownish smile playing on her lips. The coyness and the explicit manifestation of her intelligence. Was it his exaggeration or his hesitant mind’s failure to adjust. God, a lot of things become really beautiful when you actually look. For more than months he had been seeing her around, but the only thing he thought they shared was the space they existed, in different circumstances.

Now he shared the space in his mind with her highly expressive beauty. Was he doubting, or rather questioning the contribution of his perception and his imagination before, or was he just being prodded by some strange ideas that just floated looking for an empty mind to perch. He did not believe so. Wanted to but did not. Was he being tugged away from himself and he was vulnerable as to allow being jostled away from his senses and he enjoyed the sensation of falling? Was it the illicit waft of the orange flower water she sprinkled on herself that he needed for a sniff. Who knows how many ideas choreographed a campaign against his initial state to a later state that, it was hard to tell whether he needed a discovery of new saints or he was good for the resurrection of the ancient to understand whether he was right or wrong to see. Was he just a rehearsing dog?

His nerves, his hopes, his thoughts and his whole being had subscribed in essence to the perfection of what he could see. He had heard people gossip but he was reluctant to join. It was like seeking the stars but watching from below. Nothing good would ever come off it. And chiming into peoples conversations has its disadvantages. Now he stepped into the ring positively, high of spirit and was gossiping in his head carelessly. Maybe he was carefully careless after all. Anyway who would have had the expertise to dissect his mind and realise he was completely immersed in the subjects beauty. After all he was more perceptive than he ever received credit for it. In the pool of his colleagues, he heard his name but he ignored. For the effectiveness of his brain was fully tailored into the matter he thought better appreciated at hand. Indeed God was flooded with time at her creation. Possibly she was made in a site separate from the others. Which then presents the question of fairness and equality in the time of creation. And the answer remains a fertile area to exploit. 

Her hair, rolled in braids and allowed to fall back on her neck, two or more strands to the sides that she pushed back at different intervals but seemed okay, perhaps it was a question of vision. And the very tip of the braids fanned in the cold morning breeze that swept in through the open door. Her walking style was something to describe with effort, for the most important things are the hardest to say, it was the hardest to describe for its rarity. Common things are umm okay, easy to describe, it’s much easier to find what suits commonality. 

Within the confines of truth, the fascination from her beauty made every other person of her gender a mere pretence. She was the kind, you could pick from a pool of surging heads. Her attire was simple and cosy and that made her the more amazing to look. He studied her cautiously and paraded her in his mind in her own space, for it would have been unfair to have another person juxtaposed against her for a modest comparison. She was human, made to satisfactory. Sitting there, to him he was closer to his northern star. And her lasting appeal made him willing and able to keep looking. It was like staring from a window down to the low buildings and the neat flowerd garden that spread around. A beautiful view. It was tempting to wonder, that someone else was seeing her the same way he was. A tint of jealousy. 

On a more serious and extremely extensive end he wondered what her lips tasted, there is no love sincere than the love of food. Was she more than the staple of the Victorian British working class, a crunchy-outside, soft-inside dish of simple, unadorned fundamentals; fish and chips. Thought not, or was it a near miss of divisive but irresistible buttered toast with marmite maybe. And perhaps the best sweetest treat, honey in a honeycomb was underneath her silken and only an invitation to a private buffet would tell. Bon Appetit, powerful and complex, without aroma but with the innate pure essence of expensive taste. A feast that left an oily mouthed-coating texture a mark of a perfect food, yum and the yuck factor, a legendary divine taste, just delicious.

Watching her was a kin to spending in the forest waiting for the final dredging of the lake watching it fill, inch by inch when the stream was near dryness. It required patience and dedication and not a question of pleasure and frustration. It was as though she would never fill the space he reserved in his head for her beautiful glow. His admiration for her was something no experience and emerging discoveries could explain. Indeed she was no cheap imitation of creation.

It wasn’t just what he could see. There was just some goodness in her, something in her whole self that ignited a feeling of twitchings, almost to the measure of joyous leapings. And a reason to go on living. God, how he wanted to be part of it. It was a feeling he associated with loosening the screws of the difficulty of this world and the hardness of life. And for some reason he had grown into a whale swimming blindly in his inner reflective thoughts to throw himself upon her shore.

Unsurprisingly reality at heart is hard to brush aside, the beauty of a woman can be so fascinating and yes she was brilliant. Her smile warm and real her face was radiant. Everything about her was inexplicably stunning, mesmerising perhaps. She was utterly perfect.

The Complexity Of An Individual

In the hours after dinner, he had three things to choose from:watching, reading his newly acquired book and sleeping. Watching had become so distasteful. It was the same thing over and over. Sleep was something he considered normal and he was little interested in things normal. He picked his book and poured his affection on the page he had folded. As he picked the tempo, the book transformed him from a human to a mere statue, his eyes were fixated and he only noded sagely and partially showed interest in whoever talked to him. Somewhere in the book he transited from a reader to a character. And thoughts mirrored in the glasses of his brain, lighting his inner senses sparking a flow of ideas like a network of spies. And in an unceasing procession glided through his internal complex channels and to his mouth. He realised that he was laughing to himself as though, at some good joke. A bloody funny one he thought , funny enough for a punch. And asked himself what he had to laugh at. Surprised he didn’t actually have an answer to his own question , he thought he was too good for the writer. Reading was the only thing on his list he could possibly take seriously. He hesitated, placed the book on his lap and stretched his hands flailing. He did nothing by half measures and now he wondered if the writer had figured that someone of his statue existed. He felt a little contemptuous and with a smirk on his face, he slightly chuckled. There was a large gap of satisfaction. Everything he ever did, embraced a great deal of skill, efficiency and greatly bordered on genius;he wondered why someone would be so proud in negative excellence as to display.  

He was already thinking too much on a matter he had neither control nor the intention to change. He was under the impression that he needed more and he feared the possibility that it had turned into an obsession. And that sent sufficient chill making him question the way he was thinking. Nothing but that alone appeared to stink worse than anything he could imagine. And he could feel the choke and the apprehension became strong and unstinting. “No one can tell that which I’m thinking, but I’m actually thinking and it’s making me nervous,” he thought. He placed his left hand on his chest, his heart was beating strong and fast. Was it fear or was it the silence that had projected his heart beat. If it was fear, what was he afraid of? He brushed his thumb down his cheek, slightly touching the corner of his mouth. Not that he had firsthand information of what he was wary about. He too was in the dark, basically he hungered for an insight. Either way he was a rare person. His greatest asset was silence and there were times he wavered off course, but he understood that ignorance is bliss. His only liability was instability and it drove him crazy that he possessed not the ability to control it. And many times he wondered whether it was part of his DNA or whether it was just something on the surface, a taint possibly. And for that, he believed himself shuffling between madness, near madness and complete madness. What he wasn’t sure was when he was in what specific state and what prompted each. And that he attributed to his father’s clumsiness. He also believed in the principle, “Madness is not permanent,” so he knew that even though he was a product of crazy individuals mixed admirably there were at least moments he was normal. Those were the times he tried doing the right thing and ended up tip deep in shit. So there was that bit of information that he sucked at trying. And deep down he felt as though it was some gigantic hammer, that tied him to the ground snatching his breath and strength. From his chair, he reluctantly craned his neck to check the clock. Little ever occurred to him, how time was actually flying. And in the context of time he fancied sleeping with an indecently large appetite. Something he felt a little uncomfortable with, but mixed with the eximement that it would at least dimmish or rather mitigate other circumstances. 

It was now only a few days until the time was due. It had happened once or maybe twice before. But at that time he had little to do with decision making. Now that he was managing transition, he felt somewhat comfortable about whatever it was that was coming. And it wasn’t like he was jumping at an opportunity which had presented itself. In fact there was a lingering thought that he would be leaving something behind. It was as though leaving was going to set a bad precedent. But there was his past that hovered, a past that he was too fond of to relinquish. And he wasn’t willing to be held back in terms of decision making again, but the uncertainty of what he wanted left him desperate, a little confused which was not exactly a good thing. There was that longing and hunger for knowledge, experience and understanding of life and yes he had learnt a great deal. Yet if he looked closely, it was worth noting that there was not just one place he could learn and that there was still a lot to learn. There was a time he was as pitiable a soul one would ever meet, an addict with no sense of direction and knew little to do with his own life. You see sometimes, people may step beyond this world into places of fierce storm. Places in which nothing else exists but constant rumble and tumble. He was a little lost, but as study shows, intelligence does not preclude people from taking drugs and intelligent people are more likely to use illegal drugs . In fact the connection between higher intelligence and poor decision-making is not anything new, for intelligent people are in the habit of applying abstract, logical reasoning to situations where such line of thinking may not actually be really helpful. But he looked sober and the fact that he was an addict was something that knowing would mean he said it himself. Indeed there was one person he shared. The only person he could talk to, the one person he could truly relate. The person he could tell his inner thoughts, his deeper imaginings and feel closer to understanding whatever it is he really felt. Something he found, strangely influencing his actions and thoughts in ways unimaginable to him. Clearly a lot had changed in the circle he found himself existing. He was born weird and there were times when he couldn’t differentiate what’s weirder; him or the fact that he was just weird. But whatever was happening barely fit his descriptions of what he understood as weird. There were times he felt they drew closer or further from each other depending on circumstances, notwithstanding, he appreciated she was an important part of his life. In many ways she helped him see the beauty in everything. The knowledge of her existence alone muted the power of his storms. He could still feel maybe but in a distant. And there were moments he felt like just hugging her, the biggest, but as a friend he knew that would be rush decision on his side. And perhaps she was his only friend. He thought of thousands and many steps and misteps and chances and coincidences that brought him where he was and he wasn’t willing to jeopardise any luck he may have scooped in knowing her. Having a friend might be a luxury or maybe a decision but it’s more than that, it’s friends who keep us from spinning off the edge. He understood how easy it is for things to change, how easy it is to start off down the same road one always take and wind up somewhere impossible to get back from. He knew that just one false step, a hasty move, one pause, one detour, and you end up with new and more overwhelming and complicated situation than before or just a bad reputation or a body in a resuscitation ward. It had occurred to him before that all of these different possibilities exist at the same time, like each moment we live has a thousand and plus other moments layered underneath it that look totally different. 

The water doesn’t lie still, but the water still lies. William Reade, has it right. ” We live between two worlds; we soar in the atmosphere we creep upon the soil; we have the aspirations of creators and the propensities of quadrupeds. And the explanation would be, we are passing from the animal into a higher form, and the drama of this planet is in its second act.” He adds, that as a single atom man is an enigma: as a whole he is a mathematical problem. As an individual he is a free agent, as a species the offspring of necessity. It was 3:30 in the morning and his eyes were still blinking in the dark. Indeed there was his real self and a reflection of himself and not even himself had a way of telling which one he was at any given time. Knowing the personality of a person, the sense of self, how he would love to be remembered or seen isn’t the easiest of puzzles in fact it may never be solved for some. In attempts to remind himself of which was his real self and which was the reflection: not entirely unusual for exploration is better before picking, he was bound to continue seeing in the dark. Indeed we are complicated people leaving in a complicated world.

Life, Humility And The Beautiful Dilemma. 

 I remember when I tried to focus my energy in understanding the smaller things in life . I promised to do my very best to understand the validity of the answers I was likely to receive. And to respect and accept the difference in the instance my answers or thoughts were any different. I must admit the fact that I feel clear about many things now. The way they are and how I do my stuff . My priorities and my supposed imaginations and my relationship with the world and the fact that I live in the world . I understand that it’s not just my world it’s our world. And now I’m equally ready to embrace that important detail. What scares me though is my level of progression. It doesn’t seem like I am . Especially in the aftermath of happenings that I feel uncomfortable about. It’s more like a retreat to the unknown unknowns, something I find very much disturbing. What perhaps more distressing is that I have allowed myself to fill with thoughts that clutter my mind and diminish my perception. Imagine yourself a member of the team on the high platform . And you presented the sole opportunity to convince your audience on your understanding of the world. A task I swear would be beyond my expertise and is quintessential to a game of hunting sharks. The difficulty to myself underlies the fact that my answers will always be the same and my explanations worse than a self inflicting injury and a pin scratch in the lungs. Perhaps a taste of what I say would suffice. I always refer life with the most unsavoury words. But this has never changed for the reason that I have formed it into a belief. I say life is a sneaky little bastard. 

Like I said, this world is ours and it’s not about me anymore. I know I’m a little obsessed with everything, probably I love myself more. It’s about someone else though, I’m just an insignificant little thing in the entirety of the world . It’s about time to bring into focus the perspective of some person, who is not me. So I got this for everyone. When life presents you with a golden pot of honey and customized wine brewed in the 16th century with your name on it. They are all in your destiny and you have to choose one.Life is a beautiful dilemma, when all our choices are the best. We stand by them and get the best out of our decisions. When the past was more than beautiful and you want to hang on , the present is glowing and you can’t possibly feel your eyes when you look, and the future has a scintillating effect on your prospects . When this presents you with an unwitting divergent paradox, whether to live holding on to the past or focus on the dreamworld of the future and somehow you have to live in the present . Live today for us, for the people we treasure, for the things we love, for the stabilisation of our emotions. I believe in aesthetics and the beauty of life, things money can’t buy. Things that are so invaluable . We should live for those moments of pure, silly but absolutely beautiful and packed with lots of emotions. And somehow happiness is interacting with good brains , fate is when you have coinciding interests, conflicting at the core. When likes and preferences couple. Tensions of living and the yearning heed of adverse adventure, somehow that’s when we are experiencing our destiny. And whether we care to admit it or not. Whether we say it loud or not or whether we say it in silence it remains.

And more is definitely better than less, ah, the joy, the incomparable rapture of our emotions is what I would explicitly expound to you. There is the only thing in the world worth striving for ; and there is the thing beside which all our hearts and minds and ideas and interests and ideals and all our philosophic tendencies. All our fine words and highly psyched attitudes and imaginations are but frail ; happiness . We laugh and tears fill our eyes and our hearts full of memories . The unfortunate truth is however impossible to sweep under the rag. Sometimes we cry in silence and wonder, if we would have just made the right decisions. The best of choices, and what if ? The miles we cover, sometimes we feel the fatigue and we over-adjust . And maybe sometimes it hurts, everything we touch, everything we see, everything we feel and everything we are meant to hear and those we’re not. The conclusions we’re able to draw drives us over to the edge. We work hard and for most of our maiden time we make steps in attempts of change. And many times when there isn’t any at the fore, we run wild tripping over stones, beating up the white powdery dust believing that we are searching for an exit. But I say wait, all the choices we make are more than better. The thing is we should look keenly to it that we steer the actions resulting from them, seizing hold of that which they can offer and be content and confident in them. Ah, yes happiness. The ecstasy, the joy, the ultimate reward for the opposite of the sole disadvantage of human beings ;disappointment. The highest and the most profound and refined emotion to which humans can possibly attain.

As a reminder though being human is beautiful, having a human body and a human mind doesn’t make us more human nonetheless . We do little things here and there, keep doing them the common good, I call it utilitarianism. It’s what makes every person human somewhat . And everyday in life we may set out to focus on the wrong things unknowingly and maybe unwillingly , those things we yearn for, those things we gain or rather we want to gain from other people. Only if we look without discretion that we realise this is where we lose it, where we miss the object of truth . Life is about the things we do, and we finally will reap that which we definitely put to multiplicity . And It’s the outcome of our doing that distinguish us from the homo erectus, home habilis (aka, the handy man) and what not, and the quality of what we do that proves our legitimacy in relation to existence . Before you embark on a journey , ask yourself with utmost sincerity , is it going to prove your humanity or your humanly. 

Hmm, so now that we are all humans as I suppose. Let’s do some catch up. Our relationship with the world and all that’s in it, is predicated on our perception and assumptions. But assumptions are common to flawed conclusions and wrong conclusions is to mistakes. We may despise beggars or maybe just sometimes. As the cliche, when you lie down with a dog you come out with fleas. You see a beggar and what he does tells you who he is. I’m not easily surprised though I have to admit that I get a little confused at variable lengths and situations as well . Ironic cheers though, sometimes I’m impressed by the strange relationship between what I really think and somewhat how my mind has been fashioned to confuse the same . But I have learned never to confuse what I have been taught by the world. “The princes and the beggar. ” She was standing next to a beggar. And the beggar was given something to eat and then she noticed the most extraordinary thing. There was a dog near the beggar. Instead of keeping the food for himself, he shared his food with the dog. When asked he said. ” I at least can beg,but the dogs can’t beg so I have to help him .” You see, even the beggars have manners and understanding . There always seems to be something in everything. And to resonate with the world I would love to punch in a few words. It never hurts to get a second opinion about other people,holding the mirror I would say. So if you didn’t do that yesterday, you don’t do it tomorrow. You just do it today, it’s the small things we do. Life is stranger than anything, life can invent.

My mirror is high enough and I can see my level of respect and acknowledgement of diversity. Arguably though , the ratings are not the best . I find my ideas very strange and I often wonder if I was born in the wrong universe or that I was born with the wrong mentality or that I was just born at the wrong time . I struggle to understand the word perception , at least not what it means but in pragmatic lengths. I find it bordering a region I have limited access in terms of knowledge, skills and experience . I don’t assume things because it’s an impossible mistake. So, I can’t help but notice that doubt is inherently part of me. And that it enganders distrust and distrust spawns disbelief. I believe or at least I want to believe that sometimes it’s not entirely what it seems to be. I often feel and conduct myself as if I am above certain matters. Every day I increasingly become aware that I am not so immune. And in my unproductive moments or less productive ; leisure, which I’m always very much aware of it’s scarcity in my strange life . For mostly I spend thinking in my invaluable silence, which is both a tragic mistake and a blessing . In practice , thinking is work and whether it is useful or useless it’s inevitable . I confess to not understanding the fact that I’m only but a riddle wrapped in mystery. The taut bastard I am, I have overly taken to unfolding the enigma I find myself encapsulated. I’m curious and that curiosity is the devil in me. It makes me every bit adept at committing horrendous mistakes now and again. And it’s obvious that I recognise that myself, for the world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes. I have learned that my isolationist tendencies are decidedly not my best quality . I am far from a better person. To myself it’s always about learning how to be good at being a person and the unfortunate corollary of that, seeing how far from good at being the person I am because of a lack of connection. I always expect nothing, the more reason I have been so exceptional in disregard of certain matters of the world, things that I advise others not to . But I have come to the point where I see that I have to disappoint my knowledge of the self, before I destruct . I’m highly growing in the direction of forming it a habit to care about my new found word “perception”,and it scares me that I actually give a damn . It’s reducing me into a mere psychological cliche. I fight back, hard and unrelenting. A quality that I developed and has kept me a float. I’m an animist too, I believe in all things natural objects having soul, a belief I watch in despair as I crush it mysteriously by self . I look set to hang on despite what haven’t been tranquil moments to hold on to such . I listen with intent and now it’s time to see that I pick. And I pick humility. A gesture of generosity towards others. The virtue that is the opposite of selfishness and vanity, for its not just about me.Life, Humility And The Beautiful Dilemma.

The House On The Hill.

​Anything to suggest, the front yard invited an eclectic view, a sitting area, a quiet spot to relax created by carving out space with gravel and surrounded with greenery and climbing vines. The compound was green. The kitchen garden was filled with all kinds and varieties of edibles. The sweet gale, the bog myrtle shrub garden, bulking out flower beds with pretty, sweet smelling yellow flowers. The front door opened to a cosy resting room, folding and plush velvet papasan chair, a bean bag chair and a piano chair and a mounted piano. Another door open and led further inside where there were more group, cosy chairs. A double staircase led to the rooms above from a rather hidden door. The backyard, was the swimming pool. And the water was maintained at body temperature, you couldn’t even feel the water if you deep your toes. He was standing by the door contemplating, when he started filling with ideas . A better one rolled up in his memory sooner . Mozart, Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Handle. He loved everything classical. 

He was woken by the feeling of slight scratching, a prick to his skin. When he drew himself to a sitting position on his bed. The cat was sitting a little to his feet , staring back up at him, meowing and trilling a sound he interpreted as “ Hello goodmorning – it’s time to get off this bed.” He played hard, he worked harder and he spent the whole night playing. He desperately wanted to feel the soothing of the music he played. But he couldn’t get himself to feel it so, again and again he ran his fingers across the piano keys . He loved cats they were the most adorable creatures he knew. The cutie cat was there to wake him up. He didn’t feel like it, but he wasn’t going to feel reluctant as to let down his cat. He smiled down at his cat, pushed aside the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed his hands folded to his face. The morning was surely cold and for a moment he felt like getting back to his warm blanket, only that Buency wasn’t going to let that happen. He took to the stairs and found himself in the kitchen, his eyelids making longer blinks to rest his frustrated and beseeching eyes. There was nothing in the kitchen,the fridge was empty just as the house had been empty for a whole month. Except for Buency, that seemed to be loving the space it had, and the long extended time it spent with the master. They were more closer than ever. He raised his hands to get something from the kitchen shelf and realised, his limbs were awkwardly shaking. The marble was weeping condensation and he was standing barefooted . He definitely needed something hot, something that could burn the morning cold. Coffee was a brilliant idea, but that meant he had to leave the house, an idea he was reluctant to consider. Disappointed, he hurried into the living room a quick peek at the fireplace, the windsor chair was just standing there, no one was sitting on it and there was no fire.He immediately began to appreciate the word family. He knew that if there were people in the house, there would have been fire as long as it was cold and the time would not have been an issue. He would have woken up to a warm house. But that wasn’t the case. He picked the remote , switched on the television and switched it off as soon as it started . There was a song by Peter Katz ; when the day is done . “What a terrible idea, ” he thought. The day wasn’t done yet, it had just started. It was that song that reminded him of the moments he shared , those moments he felt and thought would last forever. And for once he wished there was no such thing as fighting, no such thing as hatred and no such thing as disagreement. But he wasn’t ready for such a start. He wasn’t ready to let anything invade his morning and compromise it from the very beginning in ways unimaginable to him. Life in perspective, perception is two-faced bearable and unbearable. Attitude and belief forms the gist of any argument there should be about living. And sometimes life has a cheeky way of throwing things at people that they least expected. Scaling the walls of hard work to go wake prosperity, he was studying hard, he was working hard. He once asked himself though what his life would look like, or even taste like if there was the best lucky chance of putting it on a plate. He soon realised that easy as it sounded , it was a question that only extroverts had better, insightful and more satisfying answers to . The question was to him a minefield. It required great deal of experience, detail and attention. 

He went back to his room to prepare to go get something for his stomach , he had realised how hungry he was that morning.His eating habits had changed from bad to worse and he wasn’t even sure when he last ate . And there was that silence in his room , plenty of silence except for the purring of his cat that was enjoying the warmth of his empty bed. “What a traitor,” he thought but with a flash of a smile on his face . He ran his hand through its soft hair and held onto its tiny head lightly, something that ignited fun and pleasant exchange of play session. And in that same moment, the voice of his mom lingered in his head, swaddling his thoughts like a sea mist. Soothing him like it had done before and urging him on. He understood that his past wasn’t going to define him and he resolved not to regret anything he was going to do, because it was what he wanted to do that would make him someone. His mom told him it would not matter who she is, and that the only thing that was of importance was what he wished to be and how hard he was willing to fight for it. His mom was soft of speech, free of heart , quick to listen but slow to speak. Black of hair but light of skin. She was adorable. Democratic in her dealings and abundance of wisdom. And her humility was unparalleled. He couldn’t stomach that someone he barely knew, claimed he was some sort of his property. It pained him that he was just 3 miles away from his mom and she had to tender an application to see him for minutes not even hours . It was disgusting. He lived in a big house with amazing decor, but for what. There was nothing to be happy about. And his wish for uncensored justice grew stronger and bigger, bigger than the house he lived . He knew that one day he will administer justice, however cruel, it would be without flinching and without relenting. After all, justice is not revenge. But that was something his mom would be very much against, she had a heart a big heart in spite of all . From his window, he could see the kitchen garden and wondered if everything else was as beautiful as the flowers he could see. 

He checked into this southside cafe with wonderful artistic design, sat at the far corner next to a glass window. His pet bag on a seat beside him. There was a screen on the wall and he paid little attention to what was playing. Constantly he tossed his keys from his left hand to his right . The place was already filled with magnificent smell of great food . There was wine too, but he was only 16 years of age and it was morning, who does that . It was already 9:30 in the morning and it would not have been a bad idea settling for food either , after all it was his business . But he just wanted coffee. Then a burst. “What a sweet pet, how cute. You know what, I was standing by  the door wondering what seat to take, guess I’ll settle for this if you don’t mind.” The pet bag was already on her lap. She wasn’t bluffing. ” For most of the days I have been around, I see you coming from the house on the hill.I’m your distant neighbour, call me Jessie.” He was surprised, and said nothing. For a while, he stared into his cup of coffee, longer than he expected, unsure how to react or what to say . He was absorbed completely by the confidence Jessie exuded. Then, with an expression of admiration and a mix of respect but coupled with with an air of you are great , you just caught me flat footed but I surely can cope with that. “You know, I was more afraid of sitting here alone, but I should be afraid of you knowing my spot. I suppose you know who I am,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps, anything else I should know, ” she asked. She was so eloquent, and she was pushing. He was a conservative, and not very good with small talk. He worked hard to keep his life to himself, and there was Jessie, who wanted to know more. Something that triggered his anxiety. Regardless of his state, his flair and skills for doing things was strictly something of his own and of its kind. In spite of an awful lot going through his head, he wasn’t going to let it show. He said enough. It was until they left, when he felt the difference. Jessie had triggered his ideas. And he missed the conversation the moment they parted. He wanted to honour that memory and he secretly hoped they talked more. As he walked home, he felt the tension gather, there was an emptiness attached to the house on the hill. It might have been comfortable, it might have been the best. And maybe it was a dream house to those who could see it from a far. But it lacked the most important thing. The excitement, the exuberance it ought to have had and there was that longing for happiness. It was devoid. And it caused him pain, more than he could bear. A feeling that reminded him, the expression on his mom’s face the day he had to go, and most vividly of all the line of tears. She had lost the care of her only son to another man and to another woman who were scarcely concerned and their responsibility she questioned . He bow his head to disguise the tears he felt gathering. He looked back hoping that somehow, Jessie was still watching him in secret. And that she could see through him. Oh, how he needed a touch, a word, a smile, a spark to delectable memories. An isolated idea wanted him to go back and speak to her more , spend the whole day listening to her. But he just knew her and that would have been mysterious and ridiculous . He wished he knew her better. He wanted to close his eyes and forget everything but just when he did, he heard her voice fresh and new floating around his head . He opened his eyes hoping that she was there, hoping that it was real. As if to add insult to injury, the gate of the house on hill stood undisturbed and unmoving. It was very difficult that he was at the very place he thought was wrong.  Clearly it wasn’t what he expected it to be. He stood condemned to a house that added little meaning and spurned more doubts to his life and existence. 

He was sitting on a chair, his hands on the piano. His body was slightly moving , his head too moved with the crescendo and diminuendo of the piece he was playing when he stopped abruptly, his hands shaking, his breathing was racing and his eyes roaming without blinking. The harmonic progression wasn’t working. Execution may have been right but, it wasn’t working at all. His body was there, but his mind was wondering someplace far. He was thinking about the price of loneliness and the tenderness of friendship. But it is pretty far-fetched to claim that people provided satisfaction and relaxation, or at least if they sometimes do they as often do not. He stood from his chair and walked around the house touching the walls, the antique tiles covering the fire place. The tusk table and the ottoman, in a larsen velvet. It would have been easy to think, he was proud and at peace from the things he could see and touch. But he was confused and was hurting . He understood that tight bonds could make him vulnerable so he was careful not to have any before , but he needed a friend and perhaps more than a friend and he hated that about himself because it made him vulnerable. His only friend had been his pet. Was it luck or just coincidence, he was lucky Jessie crossed his path at the time he needed someone more reasonable than his pet, someone useful. He promised himself that he would study her and one day maybe understand her. That same evening, he was at the southside. He ordered a takeaway, simple lemon baked dill salmon and mache salad. He was sitting at his spot waiting for his order and Jessie didn’t show up when he left and he felt a little disappointed . He later learnt that, she wasn’t much of a speaker either. She just had her special way of letting people in her life, people she maybe cared about . She was calm, relaxed and peaceful and she extended it to whomever she talked. She was a business enthusiast. She loved singing but was a little shy to do so in public . Cooking was her favourite, but her intelligence was way past the kitchen. She was gifted at encouraging people and he learnt a lot from her. He needed her more than he was ready to admit. He asked a lot from her and at one point he felt he was exploiting her kindness. She was the only person he told anything about his life. He admired her more than he could gather the courage to say. Sometimes he found it difficult to talk to her, he felt so close and yet so distant. He was wary of his life messing her life. Sometimes he just watched her do things and said nothing .She was vibrant and full of ideas, patient but persistent. He needed her, he wanted her more than he could think to imagine , the last person upon which he could possibly rely for advancement. But he thought, he was too much for her and she was too good for his messed up life. Sometimes he wondered what her thoughts were, and what she felt. He wanted to give up many times but when he reached the inflection point, she was always there. He knew her just enough but he adored her. For sure she was. Her hair, the long braids, the coyness and the expressive of her eyes. She was surely a design that was highly successful in kingdom of creativity. And she was special to him and was scared of losing her. One day as he was standing in a distant beside his shadow, he wondered whether he felt huge or small or whether his heart had grown small that it could fit in her, or whether it had grown so big that she could fit in his heart. But words are the nuggets that stay and give comfort, did she know what she meant to him and was he going to tell her. He didn’t express things often, actually he didn’t just feel things often . He had gotten himself into a predicament. He had drawned in sentiment for Jessie. And whether he loved classical more was completely oblivious. But the most important things remained the hardest to say. He found her a challenge; one that, in spite of all that was happening , continued to stimulate. 

And so the conversation futile, though it may have seemed sometimes he wanted to continue  and he was left to wonder, had he simply failed to find the answers to the questions he sought in life. Was she the answer , or they just didn’t have answers. It was evident that she mattered. He had learnt so much yet so little. When he was drawn to understand more, it was time to leave the house on the hill.The House On The Hill


Something presumably useful, wise filled with resonance and overly helpful, encouraging and optimistic launched inside of me. “If you are two inches away, it will : no no there. ” One would think one or two steps sideways is the same but it is however not the case. It is not the same. Combine a solid plan with great commitment and boom ! You have an explosion of success. And everything else is pretty much inconsequential. I was fascinated by how things work. I was voluble and intense and with a courtly rhetorical style. Sadly my friend had little idea. I looked ignorant but viewed things with careful analysis and instinct. He erred big time and I was counting on him regretting every bit of it. I dissected his perspective, teared through the heart of his argument and there was no stopping. The culvinistic guilt at the idea that he was the proximate cause of his discomfort was surely going to be his. Self-inkling, spell-checking and smart answers, I was belching varieties. He could have explored fair avenues, but he chose a weather beaten path. He believed himself, full of wisdom. I thought him an instrument of madness and a monopoly of stupidity. Sundry, he was in stitches and he was painstakingly enduring the stay. Obviously he was exorbitantly brooding over my budding genius. And in my rollicking state I was giving no fig to the besotted fith he was. I knew he was feeling a spiral of bitterness and revenge but I was firmly in control. I walked the steps, stated my perspective candidly. With an elaborate background and understanding of the collosal benefits of what I was doing. Indeed I did not just push his sense aside, I completely obliterated him from the face of any consideration.

Our respective perceptions may be different, and mostly we profess contrary ideological fronts. It got its name, we always agree and mostly disagree. Supporting me as I stride along is definitely a remarkable thing. Supposedly that’s not the case, shaking me off my grip, and from my walks is not appropriate either. You can chime in to my conversation. You can hijack my conversation, I have absolutely no problem with that. You may say something quickly and in an uncontrollable way :unexpected . You can say anything triumphantly as though to prove a complicated point beyond all possible dispute, but when someone is quiet, never drag them into talking believing they have nothing to say. We can have reason and disagreement mix admirably. Never bring disdain and spite in any conversation. We can have aspirations, but let’s be conscious not to bring disrespect in such . If we have to disagree, let it be digital disagreement and not analog. By digital I mean, we can make circles without eyebrows being raised. For when you got something, you got it. As to my understanding of the modern world, telling someone the disgusting little squid they are. The filthy little blood traitor they may be, has no relevance. Shaking one’s head like an elephant bothered by mosquitoes is close, better yet there’s just the part you keep quiet . I believe disagreement is when we trade intellectual skills and ideas and not insults. I believe it’s when someone does the inevitable to satisfy the doubts I have on certain aspects one might be holding . It’s never about do or die. It’s always about understanding the difference.

I have since come to realise that sometimes, the pleasantness of some people is dependent on their being unrepentant spore. What a disaster. Perhaps they have disregard that being such is much a qualification, as to be a midget. When Reks invited me to his birthday, I had an ugly mix of reactions. I said curtly that I would think about it. Our relationship had been circumspect for months. We were a little wary of each, and perhaps, a little distrusting. I felt somewhat, his invitation was rather disturbing. I was trading scatalogical grounds nonetheless. There was only one thing I could do. I had every reason to initiate a thaw into our relationship somehow. He believed that he was the only voice of reason. There was a rumour in the lines of my emerging and he was keen to bring that down . Yet I was a nobody, at least I thought so . I was a junior enrolled in a course on legal and criminal justice. I had soon realised that I had become a target for a strong and unrelenting individual. But what was I? Besides I never anticipated that, I was less of age to be where I was and worse still socially awkward. And how could that have been possibly possible. Anyway whatever it was, I needed to fix it. From a distance, I could hear sounds and loud, laughing voices. I hated noise, it bugged the shit out of me. And it’s worse when someone says “It’s just having fun,”I seriously don’t think they get it. As I drew nearer, I felt like I was being pushed over a cliff. I had tested my enthusiasm for parties but I surely didn’t like it. I wasn’t timid though and I had a purpose. I was on a reconciliatory path. I was an inch closer to making a truce and, raising a white flag. And yet I did not have a clue how I found myself in such a horrible situation. When the glasses were raised in my name, I thought wow ! But I sensed the ephemerality of the gesture. You know that feeling when you wake from a dream and you are relieved to realise that it was just a dream. After that night I kept waiting. I gambled that was a bluff, I gambled and he won. That morning when I woke up, I felt as though, I was tied to my bed. So I hugged myself and lay still. For a moment I wished the sun had risen in my room. I wanted to feel hot , so hot that it would burn the pain I was feeling. In spite of that, I had learnt, I had learnt that the best mistake one can make is to try. When you don’t try you will always live a life suffering the awful shadows of what you should have done. When you fail, you will know that you had tried. The worst you can do is to change the person you are. Perhaps it’s much comforting to know you were close. I was set up, because my structure and my ways were different. My whole being, my modus operandi was disagreeing with the same old. I was doomed for who I was. That was my disagreement with the powerful of the day. Disagreement should not be that bad should it? When it was my turn to return the favour, I was shrewd and I cut him deep and when there was blood oozing, I was cutting to the bone , I did not stop, I wanted him to bleed dry. He beat me in his world and he extended the fight to my fucking world. I knew already, he was wasted. In a world where all the wisdom of the ancient flew through me, I ripped him to shreds. He had made a mistake, he took our differences too far. He was not conscious. He wanted fame and dignity, but he overlooked the details. Kindness and simplicity. And he had stepped in the only place I could see light, the only space I felt, I belonged and for what? Reks wanted respect, to show that he had a different and better ways, but he carried with it scorn and in an unfamiliar ground . And I hovered and sparked. Just when I did not expect. When you are you, respect will surely come.

Guilt, rage or chronic depression or hopelessness of deemed hypocrisy of normal people that their perspective and view of life is distorted. Disaster never taste so good. Don’t pinch yourself, I have been there. Sometimes you feel the difference. And you see the disagreement with life. Sometimes you feel your legs are in shackles and that you ain’t moving. Maybe you feel you are being ignored and the discontent hangs over your head. You feel the eyes and the mockery, the sounds of scourn. And that the ground is slippery. You feel you are facing a misfiring executioner and you are not immune to the thought that eventually, a bullet will spatter the contents of your brain. And you can’t help but feel the very strings holding to you to your life are slowly loosening or being cut . Such is the life. Like I said we can have, disagreement and reason mix with a pomp. Don’t lose your head, I found my niche. And I felt reborn. Voices maybe hurrying you, pulling you away and you may fear existing. Don’t hurry. You will find your space. You maybe invisible, more so than a spider retracing its web. Sometimes its not about visibility. You maybe criticised for what you are, or just what you are not. Those are the moments you will struggle, the times you will hit rock bottom. And while you struggle, being down there can be a great foundation on which to build. For sometimes wisdom comes through unexpected sources, mostly when you are dead beaten. Living is understanding the difference, agreeing to disagree with life. You don’t have to hold the same opinion as life, life can be unfair and that should not be your opinion. See the other side and take your chances. Find your passion. Never hide within the confines of similarities, explore the difference . When opportunity presents, collaborate and conspire tactically to defeat that which is an impediment. Regardless of race, language or ethnic background, the flair is strictly within your reach. It’s not restricted to certain cliques. It might be distant somewhat but, be sure you can find it. And there is no better person than you. Be kind to yourself and to others. However have due regards to other people’s feelings or beliefs and rights.

I had stumbled upon my real self when I least expected. The significant changes were immense. I understood the levels of my ability and the standards. The relationship between what I could not do and what I could. I was daring. Never had I been daring. Interest ignited and there was that positive thinking. There was that craving I wanted to satisfy, again and again to never ending. To myself, I was enjoying being the real me. When Reks stood against me, he didn’t know what he was facing . He was was still the person he had created. Find yourself and stand. No matter the tides just stand. Never give up. And when you have to disagree with life and the world keep it yourself. You maybe as charismatic as an iceberg, but that’s who you are. When life drags you into the conversation of disproval, stand your ground and with a spirited motion, show life that you prefer being silent but you have what it takes to say something.