A Map to Him

He stared at the map of the city that stood in front of him. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to the city. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been to the city before. But still it felt different, it felt strange. It was the first time he was in his city but he was not with him. It will felt strange to be in the same city and not be with each other.

As he continued to stare at the map small footprints began to form tracing the places they had been to. The cafés, the parks , the restaurants, a roadmap of their courtship on the map.

He remembered the hours they had spent in each other’s company, the parks where they roamed hand in hand, stealing glance and kisses, when mo one was around. All the names of places and streets and restaurants and cafés, began forming pictures in his mind of about the places they had been, the good time they had, memories of them together.

As he continued to stare at those imaginary footprints, he wondered if their path would ever cross, now that they were both in the same city? Although it was his decision to call it quits, but he couldn’t help but miss him so, and now that they were in the same city, he hoped that somewhere, somehow, destiny could conspire and bring their paths together.

He didn’t realise it but his eyes began to well from the yearning, from the longing that he felt for him. Just when he thought he was finding a way to heal, he once again began to miss him, to want him more.

However, he was determined to not to think of him and cry. That would be an insult of the bind they had once shared. He wanted to think of him and smile, for all the good moments they shared, the sweet memories that they had made.

So he wiped away the tears from his eyes and smiled, thinking of him. He noted the place he had to go to, using the map. He hailed a taxi and off he went into the city, smiling.

The Map to their Heart

Like clockwork, he saw her everyday at the bus stop, staring at the route map, trying to figure out the bus that would take her to her destination. And every time she ended taking the same bus as he.

He couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked, especially when the sunlight fell on her face, making look all the more beautiful, all the more radiant. He loved the way her hair fell over her face, from the window breeze, and how she tucked it behind her ears, every time.

She didn’t need no no make make up, no accessories, to enhance her beauty. She was beautiful naturally from the inside and out.

Oh how he could stare at her all day, if only his staring didn’t creeped her out. If he didn’t appear a weirdo to anyone who caught his glances at her, her included.

He was mesmerised by her, he was taken by her beauty and her simplicity. Seeing her each morning was the high point of his day.

Oh how he wished he could find it in him to talk to her.

Like clock work she saw him from a distance, as he approached the bus stop, a handsome, well-groomed, well-mannered man. And every time she saw him approach, she would immediately stare at the map, afraid he would see her stare and think I’ll of her. So she tried to steal glances at him when he was not looking her way.

How she wished to get a seat next to him, cause she loved the way he smelt, an earthy, musky, masculine smell. She was not sure if it was his aftershave, or his perfume (did men wear perfume, she wondered), or was it just his natural scent? Whatever it was, he had her under his spell.

She could sit and stare at him all day, if he didn’t think her mad, just try and avoid her. Seeing him was the highlight of her day.

Then one day, as luck would have it, the seat next to her was vacant, and he grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

They sat next to each other, trying not to have their glances caught, itching to say something, if that something was a simple, hi or hello, or a good morning, or a how you doing. But they couldn’t muster it in them to say those words. And if by chance, they happened to glance, at each other, at the same time, they just smiled and glanced away.

He sat there hoping that someway, somehow, he could find a map, like the one she stared at, that would show him the direction to her, to direct him to her heart, cause he couldn’t help himself but fall in love with her.

She too wished she had a map, a map to his heart, that would help her find her way to him. If she had the said map, she would know what to say and know what to do, she would know how to win him over. Oh how she wished,  she had map to him.

And as they both sat there, in seat next to each other, wishing they had a map to the heart of the other, not knowing that what they wished was one and the same. All they had to is ask and they would find the map to their heart.

Her Treasure Box

As he returned to her room to take the last of the boxes. He noted how empty the room  look, how lonely it felt, without all the flowers, without all the photo that hung on the wall, without the beautiful soul who had inhabited the room, who had now moved on to a much better place. 

He couldn’t help but miss her even more. soon there was tears welling in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat.

He stood there taking a moment to gather himself. He took a deep breath and wiped off the tears from his eyes. He reached down for the last of her boxes.

The label intrigued him. It was marked as “Treasure Chest”. As he lifted the lid off the box, he was greeted by photos of all colours and hues. He sat on the floor going through each of them. He remembered how much she loved photos, to click them, to be in them. She called it her way of freezing time forever, on a piece of glossy paper.

She insisted on clicking photos of every moment in life. Every occasion needs to be treasured, is what she used to say, and the ones in the box only bore witness for her love of capturing those moments.

There were photos from every possible moment, from the one from her first date with the her future husband, to the one from their wedding day, and their honeymoon.

Then were photos from every single month when she was pregnant with him, from conception to the time when he was born, all slimy and covered with fluids. Then there was photos from his christening, photos of her cradling him tenderly, his father and his godparents and grandparents beaming proudly. He could feel the warmth radiating from the photo.

There were the photos from the first step he took (he marvelled at how she was ready to capture his first step, she called it a mother’s intuition), his first day at schools (she told him how much he cried and how he refused to let go off her), his first holy communion.

There was a photo of him with his first, and last, girlfriend. As he stared at the photo, he realised how confused he was, it was indeed a confusing and scary time.

Then he saw a photo that choked him. It was a photo of him hugging his father. This was exactly after a year he had come out to his parents, the day father finally accepted him for he was. She on the other hand accepted him with open arms and love when he came out. She always knew he was special, different from the other kids. She always knew who he was, even before he realised it and was happy when he finally did, when he was finally able to live his truth.

The photo brought back so many memories, flooded his mind with so many emotions. 

There were pictures from all the Pride she had been part of, that she so proudly and enthusiastically marched at and supported.

There was photos from his wedding. Each of those photos showed how proud and happy she was when she saw how happy her son was for cementing his love with the love of his life.

The last picture was that of her cradling her grandson. She looked so frail, it was around the time when the cancer was getting the better of her, her last few days. But no matter how frail she seemed, there was joy in her heart and that made her glow with happiness, and made her eyes twinkle brightly. He remembered that day and how excited and happy she was. It was the happiest he had seen her, in quite a long time,  since she diagnosed with her cancer.

And within a week she was gone. It was like she had waited for her grandchild to be born, to see her son finally settle down with the love of his life, on his own term, completing a modern family.

He didn’t realised that he was tearing up. When his husband came in to check on him, he just hugged him and began crying. He just held on him and cried, for her, for the world without her in it.

When he finally able to gather himself , he put the photo back into the box and closed the lid. He lifted her treasure box, while his husband put his arms around him. He took one more glance of her room before switching the light switch off. 

Her box of treasures was now his box of treasure.

The Pencil

As I sipped my cup of  chai, there were thousands of thoughts running through mind. Thousands of stories being formed, thousands of ideas slowly taking shape. Thousands of words running through my itching to find an outlet, itching find a way in paper.

I looked around for my laptop, only to realise that I had given it for servicing. And luck would have it, my phone was completely drained. 

So I looked around for something where I could pour my thoughts  before it slipped into oblivion, thanks to a very forgetful mind (I blame it on those diminishing grey cells and increasing greys in the hair).

And there it lay, like a long forgotten friend, a best friend who at one point in time I couldn’t do without, but now had been relegated to the back of mind, my dearest pencil, with its trusty sidekick, notepad.

The sight of this trusty old friend flooded my mind with sweet memory of the wonderful times we shared.

I remembered how I proudly showed it off to my friend. How I used to sharpen it to ensure that it was always on point. Remember all the competition it helped me win, when I compared it with those of my classmates, the tallest and the most pointed. It was incomparable, unbeatable, one of a kind.

I remembered all the access adorned it with to not just increase its utility but make it all the more fancy.

Come birthday, it was that what you distributed amongst your classmates and not seemed so cheap.

I remember all the doodles I had drawn, the incoherent scribbling, the examinations and papers I wrote. A very trusty friend.

The advent of the digital gadget had diminished it importance, reduced it dependency, speeding it up to near obseletion.

But now that I found it, it was time to make new memories with it, relive the old ones. So I began scribbling my thoughts with glee, behaving like we were never apart.

The Intangible Joys of Life

Oh how I could sit here forever

And listen to the waves 

As they rise and fall

In the vast expansive sea

And crash against the rock

Oh how I could sit here forever

And listening to the gurgling sound

That water makes

As it seeps through niche and crevices 

Into little hidden pools, between the rocks

And away from the warmth of the sun

Where I dip My weary toes 

Oh I could sit here forever

And bask in the sun warmth of the sun

That’s not reached its midday peak

But is still is warm enough

Like the warmth of a comforting hug

Oh how I could sit here forever 

And put all my cares behind me

Put all my worries behind me

Dry off the tears streaming down my face

Put the past in the behind 

And not worry about what is to come

Just live in the moment

The blissful moment

And enjoy what you have been blessed with

Oh how I could sit here forever

And enjoy the intangible joys of life!

Hate Begets Hate

Hate begets hate

The hate you give 

Is the hate you’ll receive 

A vicious cycle of no healing

Just more wounds and pain

A word when held as a weapon

That can cut sharper and deeper 

Than any sword

Creating fissure, tearing apart

What once was whole and beautiful 

What was once together

But now broken and shattered to a million pieces

All toothless and blind

Hate doesn’t bring any solution

It just leads to more hurt, more pain

More resentment, more life gone in vain

Hate is not the answer

Hate is not a balm

Hate just creates more wounds

Where there was once none

Hate consume you whole

Like a fire that consumes a soul

Hates takes over your body, mind and soul

So if you do want to stop this cycle of hate

Learn not give into the seduction of these words

Maybe then there would be a little bit of peace

So let’s not given into hate

The Rope

She was an avid mountaineer who was quite well versed with her ropes and how to take care of them. She had many climbs under her belt, make that carabiner, so she knew what she was doing. But when the ledge that she had perched herself on gave away , it was her mountaineering experience and choosing the right rope that saved form plummeting to a sure death.

She dangled by her rope that was attached to her carabiner, grateful for choosing the right one that  that could absorb the impact of her fall without snapping under her weight.

As she waited for the rope to stabilise, she surveyed the rock face  trying to find a niche or even a crevice which she could anchor herself and ascend up the mountain.

But there was none to be found leaving her with no other way but to haul herself  up, hoping  nothing untoward would happen.

But as luck would have it, the moment she tried to pull herself up, using only the rope, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. The fall had twisted her shoulder and every movement took quite a lot of effort from her. But the only way to safety was for her to move up, and if she had to haul her self up she had to bear the pain, or dangle from the rope till either help came or she couldn’t hold on to it any longer.

So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and pulled herself up the rope, feeling the full brunt of her pain, wincing in pain, letting out a silent scream.

She stopped when she couldn’t bear the pain anymore and desperately needed a break. She needed to find a way to recover  her strength. But till then she would have to  hold on to the rope for her dear life.

She was an expert mountaineer, and often had undertaken many solo climbs. Today was one of those days, and she regretted undertaking this climbing by herself. There was no one to help her, the rope being her only companion.

As she held on to the the rope, she could feel the rope slip through her hand. She could feel it burn from the friction between the rope and her wet hand, causing her hand to blister and bleed. But she couldn’t let go. Letting go would mean sure death, and she was not ready to die. Not this way, not right now, not today!

She remembered all the the ropes she had to let go in life, because they had burnt her hand, because they blistered and cut her, because it made no sense to holding on to them while it caused her more harm. She remembered all those ropes that snapped because she tugged too tightly at it, a game of tug of war, which always ended up loosing. She remembered the ropes she used  to bind things together but would always come undone.

But this was not one of those ropes. Even though it cut and hurt her, there were no ways she was letting go of this one. Letting go would mean certain death, and if she wanted to keep death at bay, she needed to hold on. Even if meant she had to tie a knot to help her hold on.

But just holding on would not help her. She had to find it in her to haul herself up, with the rope her only support and tool. 

So she she mustered all the strength she could, gritted her teeth , closed her eyes, and tried her best to block the searing, sharp pain, no matter how sharply it stabbed her, causing her to wince.

Slowly and steadily she made it up the mountain face. Once she reached the point from  where she had begun, she just collapsed and lost all consciousness.

When she finally gained consciousness she found herself in the emergency room. A fellow climber had found her and immediately called for help. She had a fractured shoulder and a few broken ribs and suffered from acute dehydration. Her hands were bandaged. She had held on to the rope so tightly that they had to cut the the part of the rope and then surgically extract rest the flesh of her palms. It was certain to scar her but also give her something to remember of the ordeal that she had been through but through it all she never let go of the rope.