The Fluttering Hearted Flirt

Position, hit, miss! Position, hit, miss! Sweat beads collected on her forehead to discuss her stupendous failure after all that practice. Hit, miss! The adrenaline was long gone and sun was its peak. She tightened the grip around the neck of her hockey stick….Hit,Goal! The corners of her mouth twitched. “Hey! Do you want to come for that movie?”, asked an insignificant entity, about a terribly boring movie. “OK, cool!” She replied, sticking her tongue out to the sweat beads; if it won’t give then I give up. She left the ground feeling like she made the right choice; why flirt with failure when you can relax at ease?

Yes, the fearful Fiona described above, was me. My entire life has been about philandering with ideas and romancing visions. Yet, I failed to see, what was right before my eyes.  Others couldn’t believe how easy it would come to me, any form of self expression… writing, dancing, all of it except for music… for me to one day become a musician of any sort, the audience will have to develop a very different taste for music and by different, I mean go deaf.

And yet, writing was always something that came very naturally to me. When I would read, or experience something, I would develop, construct a whole world around it, down to the last intricate detail. It was a beautiful place to be in, my own little paradise, hell, home, whatever I wanted it to be. I wrote and impressed many around me. Until, one day I didn’t any more.

It is easy to take your gifts for granted, to tell yourself that you are not good enough, and not even try. It is difficult, on the other hand, to roar into the face of the fear, and walk away with a chuckle, leaving a stunned look on it’s face.

“They’ll” tell you one of 2 things:

1) Your dream’s too easy – that rarely ever happens, but the ones that want to push you to dream bigger, well those are the keepers. (Not if they fueling your madness like the Joker in batman…. no, there you need to go seek help)
2) Your dream’s too big/unrealistic/risk-ridden- now these are the larger set of people. Here is what happens when you share your idea with the general person: you think you are sharing a wonderful idea of growth and prosperity for yourself and such an ingenious admission from your end deserves an applaud, a pat on the back, a little jiggy dance and a gold star on your forehead. Well, no. So here’s what happens when you Do share your ideas: the person either thinks about his/her implication in your struggle coming ahead OR when he/she isn’t implicated, he/she will think about the arse they are for not thinking of it, before you. So they will try to put you down, kill you. They will do this by giving you stories of people “who never made it”, “couldn’t even get started eventually”, “gave up”. They will try to pull you down to their level of fear.


In the George Lucas movie, “THX-1138”.. yeah I know it is a darn old movie but that’s what I do, I watch movies and eat books. Anyway, so in this movie, the world exists underground because the surface is supposedly “radioactive” and it isn’t safe to go out there and out there, you shall not survive. But this one guy, THX-1138 (yeah, they all have codes for names) decides to die on the ground rather in that hole. So he fights, the guards, police, everyone and he finally makes it up there. And guess what? The sun is shining, everyone is happy and enjoying our beautiful nature in all of her bounty and glory and he is welcomed with open arms. This movie is a lot similar to our present day scenario.

So, I for one, have made my decision. No matter what people say, or no matter how stupid they think my writing is, I shall write.

End of story.


Some dreaming


I feel inspired today, 
Why, you ask? I don’t know. 
But, I feel inspired. 
To do what, you ask? Well, anything, and everything. 
I want to run really fast, throwing my hands in the air, blood coloring my face, adrenalin rushing through me, and all the while still hear the wind-chimes making soft sweet music, hanging in the balcony of the busy banker, who makes so much money and yet has not had time in three days to kiss his little girl good morning, or good night, to tuck her into bed. 
She waits. 
I want to burst into a billion tiny pieces, into the tiniest form of my existence and fall like rain from the sky, light rain.. supple and tender on the forehead of the mother cradling her baby in her ever so careful arms, singing a lullaby, so loving, so tender, the baby falls asleep. Her mind wanders, over the soft breaths sighs of her precious baby as he sleeps, she is now thinking about the five other gifts of life. She thinks about the dreams unfulfilled, the aspirations left undone, the life left unlived. 
She wonders. 
I want to disappear into the dark shadows, and follow that mysterious man next-door, follow his shadow to that dark place he goes to, in his head, out of his head, in the night, when he shot the man, dragged him away, chopped him and disposed him away, it’s his job. He dreams of riches, and considers himself a good man. He feeds his wife and children, he runs a business. He looks at me, his neighbour, and feels irritated. He is a good man, he is just doing his job, why less respect for him? 
He ponders. 
I want the hair on my body to shoot out leaves and my legs to shoot up like tree trunks, they take me high up, among the stars… no tree grows that high, you say… but I’ll explain the science of it another day. With my head up in the clouds, I hear my mother’s yelling pleas to come eat my dinner but there’s birds on my branches, playing with the stars that sit like dew on my leaves. How do I stop that, I ask? How do I stop dreaming? But mother’s worried about my growling tummy, she’s still there on the ground, while my head’s in the clouds. 
She worries. 
I want to dissolve into my bath water, blue and wet, like the ink in that fountain pen. I want to flow on her paper, like paint, become a tree, a bird, the ocean, the sky, a dog… her dog, she loves him… but he reminds her of the man that stole best years of her life. Somtimes she must look away, she can’t bear it. She remembers, she hears him coming, only to hear him go away again. She wishes it turned out differently, that the brush had painted out different shapes, faces, situations, colors, so she paints her dreams, her life, different lives she lives in her dreams every night. 
She wishes. 
I want to be me, as I wait, wonder, ponder, worry and wish. I want to blend into sidelines and give way to the Tornado when it comes, disperse into something tiny to let the wind blow things into their own place. I want to watch, in the background, as water, wind, earth, life or fire, how the whirlpool does it’s job. I want to live another life, while the divine fixes mine, and then come meet myself like an old friend, when life allows me.