"Happiness
is a Butterfly which, when pursued is just beyond your grasp... but if
you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
- Nathaniel Hawthorne, novelist.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Thursday, September 06, 2012
Incubator
I remember a day when I was in primary school, the school had organized an outing to the SeaWorld and I still felt the excitement on the night before. I put out my best outfit from my wardrobe, a little dress my mom gave me the previous week, combed my hair and hoped that it will not rain the next day that I will not be able to see the fishes. I remember running around with my best friends, my carefully put up hair already messy from all the queuing. I remember the salty snacks and the oversweet soda drinks. The instructions to stay close to our buddy for the day. The meeting point. The threat of not falling into the water in the petting pool.
I remember the awe when I stood on the beginning to the tunnel, with thick glass above me and around me. A blue wonder where fishes swam and shells slept. I remember looking up until my neck was stiff. There was too much happening, too much to see. It felt like an incubator, where one rests and learns from everything that is taking place all around, everywhere, all the time.
I feel like I am in one now. I do not know where it will take me, what I will be once I step out. I just feel in awe every day. So many moments, so little time, so much to tell but too much to write.
I remember the awe when I stood on the beginning to the tunnel, with thick glass above me and around me. A blue wonder where fishes swam and shells slept. I remember looking up until my neck was stiff. There was too much happening, too much to see. It felt like an incubator, where one rests and learns from everything that is taking place all around, everywhere, all the time.
I feel like I am in one now. I do not know where it will take me, what I will be once I step out. I just feel in awe every day. So many moments, so little time, so much to tell but too much to write.
Thursday, June 07, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
India Ink: The Stars of Jaisalmer
Jaisalmer, the far-most corner of Rajashtan that borders Pakistan, was very hot. If Jaipur was the loud, chatty sister then Jaisalmer would be the calm, reserved one who enjoyed beckoning the sense of agelessness. The city, where its inhabitants derive most of their livelihood from tourists, was small with the Fort majestically residing in the center of it all; walking through the empty lanes one feels like being in a maze yet reassured that being lost is not possible.
One day I was walking alone, and during the blazing heat of the afternoon stumbled upon the city's only Italian place in the old Fort. I ordered some pizza and chai, sat next to its largest and only window. I could see the waves of heat seeping through, blurring the Fort. Tourists were seldom seen, perhaps they too had taken cover as I did. The city seemed deserted, just little girls waiting for their little stalls selling some shiny desert crafts and camel miniatures. Sometimes some women would pass, always in a little group and never alone, walking silently in their long dresses and transparent headscarves that even covered their ankles. All I'm hearing is the jingles of their bracelets but never any chatter.
Right outside the city, right at its backyard lies the desert that separates the Indian sand to Pakistani's. From the jeep I saw little huts that looked like tropical igloos. Gipsy settlements, my guide exclaimed, protects them from the heat. I looked outside and they looked inside, it was as if they could see through my cotton veil, that I was a foreigner and a stranger in their backyard.
A mosquito bite. My guide laughed. Pakistani mosquito, he said in all seriousness he could muster, no mosquito here in India!
We continued the journey by camel. I have never been a rider, despite my love for horses, and in all truthfulness being on a camel's back was like that scary ride in the amusement park you always wanted to take and regretted just when the seat belts are put on and the instructions read. Without any saddle or a rope to ease the rider's fear, the tall-legged creature stood up, hind legs first and after an awkward 3 seconds was followed by its front legs. He then walked on, slowly and dramatically, munching something while flies escorted us near his nostrils. A royal treat.
When we decided to camp, it was almost sunset and I took advantage of it by climbing on top of the tallest dune to sit and write while waiting to see the sky change color. A true generousness of nature, this change when the sky went from light yellow to softer orange, purplish red to a calm blue whose hue goes darker until everything is dark and the only light came from the moon that appeared so large and full from where I was sitting and the stars which were numerous.
Contented, I noticed another camp fire over the sand hills. 2 camels were munching on grass. Intrigued, I naively crossed and waved. They waved back and invited me over to make chapatis. A Czech traveler with his native guide who was preparing for dinner. We sat there as the night grew darker and the fire brighter, eating with our hands. I asked the guide whether he ever thought of living in a city like Delhi. He looked away, shy, and rolled another chapati. No option there, he mumbled, no, no, only camel safari.
We sat there by the fire until my own traveling companions found me and I returned to another meal, another story until we finally fell asleep under the stars that remained even after the sand storm passed.
One day I was walking alone, and during the blazing heat of the afternoon stumbled upon the city's only Italian place in the old Fort. I ordered some pizza and chai, sat next to its largest and only window. I could see the waves of heat seeping through, blurring the Fort. Tourists were seldom seen, perhaps they too had taken cover as I did. The city seemed deserted, just little girls waiting for their little stalls selling some shiny desert crafts and camel miniatures. Sometimes some women would pass, always in a little group and never alone, walking silently in their long dresses and transparent headscarves that even covered their ankles. All I'm hearing is the jingles of their bracelets but never any chatter.
Right outside the city, right at its backyard lies the desert that separates the Indian sand to Pakistani's. From the jeep I saw little huts that looked like tropical igloos. Gipsy settlements, my guide exclaimed, protects them from the heat. I looked outside and they looked inside, it was as if they could see through my cotton veil, that I was a foreigner and a stranger in their backyard.
A mosquito bite. My guide laughed. Pakistani mosquito, he said in all seriousness he could muster, no mosquito here in India!
We continued the journey by camel. I have never been a rider, despite my love for horses, and in all truthfulness being on a camel's back was like that scary ride in the amusement park you always wanted to take and regretted just when the seat belts are put on and the instructions read. Without any saddle or a rope to ease the rider's fear, the tall-legged creature stood up, hind legs first and after an awkward 3 seconds was followed by its front legs. He then walked on, slowly and dramatically, munching something while flies escorted us near his nostrils. A royal treat.
When we decided to camp, it was almost sunset and I took advantage of it by climbing on top of the tallest dune to sit and write while waiting to see the sky change color. A true generousness of nature, this change when the sky went from light yellow to softer orange, purplish red to a calm blue whose hue goes darker until everything is dark and the only light came from the moon that appeared so large and full from where I was sitting and the stars which were numerous.
Contented, I noticed another camp fire over the sand hills. 2 camels were munching on grass. Intrigued, I naively crossed and waved. They waved back and invited me over to make chapatis. A Czech traveler with his native guide who was preparing for dinner. We sat there as the night grew darker and the fire brighter, eating with our hands. I asked the guide whether he ever thought of living in a city like Delhi. He looked away, shy, and rolled another chapati. No option there, he mumbled, no, no, only camel safari.
We sat there by the fire until my own traveling companions found me and I returned to another meal, another story until we finally fell asleep under the stars that remained even after the sand storm passed.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
India Ink: Jaipur
We arrived in Jaipur exhausted from another train ride at dawn. The temperature difference is apparent, dryness prevailing in this desert province of Rajashtan. Somehow this city reminds me of Delhi; the traffic, the lively bazaars, overshadowed by pink buildings that granted it its nick name: the Pink City. Never before have I seen arrays of crafts more colorful than these Rajashtani heritage. Never before have I seen such immense collection of markets selling everything from shawls, sandals, saris, Lassis, accessories, gems, holy stuff, shirts, tents, teas to donkey and camel apparels.
Truthfully, slight reluctance accompanied my journey here. I thought that it would be a mistake staying here for so long, what would we do, I wrongfully assumed, in this boring tourist city? My first day proved me wrong.
Walking through the large gates, into the Old City, is breathtaking. Honks from the traffic was only surpassed by the incessant calls of stall owners, kids, strangers with accented English to beggars who spoke Hindi and demanded compensation for their misfortune. The colorful bazaars are inviting, the owners eager to get you in and shopping. Despite this, bargaining in Jaipur entailed a myriad of conversations, stories shared over a cup of chai even without a sale.
All the time, I would blink and felt like everything changed. Leaving a store, high on sugar from the Masala tea, I turned and saw a colored elephant navigated gently by a local to avoid crushing the (tiny by comparison) cars next to it.
We walked the whole time we were here, stopping here and there for pictures and conversations and trinkets. We laughed alot; I ran for pictures, my heart raced in pure excitement. Moments - I wanted to capture everything and yet I know I will never be able to. It's like you are dancing to a special song and you don't want the song to stop for when it stops, the curtains are pulled up and everything is normal again.
One afternoon, we stumbled upon a small temple and decided to go in to watch the daily procession. I looked at the flower seller who was composing a bouquet, the smell drew colors so bright in my mind. He looked at me, smiled. Namaste, I mustered. He looked at me still without a word. He was a deaf-mute. Without any reply, without a word he lifted a necklace of jasmine flowers and put the link on my neck. The sweetness of the flowers infatuated me. The sweetness of the gesture surprised me. I put my hands together and said thank you before waling into the temple, sitting at the far back, not knowing what to expect.
We sat there, talking and feasting on the rich visuals of calm believers. Suddenly the bell chimed, I looked up and saw the worshipers queue to hand a bag of fresh flowers to the "leader" on the stage. They raised their hands, closed their eyes and soon started singing, chanting. Some bowed their head onto the floor. There was no text, no instructions. I stood there, precisely quiet and still, not understanding but aware of the feeling, the energy they communally exuded to the gods they believed in.
The sun was setting when we started walking home. The street lamps and the everlasting traffic illuminated the city in a bright orange hue gave contrast to the dust (or was it the sand?), granting it the appearance of a suffocating fog. The Pink City was covered in a yellow polluted mist, tonight like any other night, I am sure, and remain so it will even in my absence tomorrow once more at dawn.
Truthfully, slight reluctance accompanied my journey here. I thought that it would be a mistake staying here for so long, what would we do, I wrongfully assumed, in this boring tourist city? My first day proved me wrong.
Walking through the large gates, into the Old City, is breathtaking. Honks from the traffic was only surpassed by the incessant calls of stall owners, kids, strangers with accented English to beggars who spoke Hindi and demanded compensation for their misfortune. The colorful bazaars are inviting, the owners eager to get you in and shopping. Despite this, bargaining in Jaipur entailed a myriad of conversations, stories shared over a cup of chai even without a sale.
All the time, I would blink and felt like everything changed. Leaving a store, high on sugar from the Masala tea, I turned and saw a colored elephant navigated gently by a local to avoid crushing the (tiny by comparison) cars next to it.
We walked the whole time we were here, stopping here and there for pictures and conversations and trinkets. We laughed alot; I ran for pictures, my heart raced in pure excitement. Moments - I wanted to capture everything and yet I know I will never be able to. It's like you are dancing to a special song and you don't want the song to stop for when it stops, the curtains are pulled up and everything is normal again.
One afternoon, we stumbled upon a small temple and decided to go in to watch the daily procession. I looked at the flower seller who was composing a bouquet, the smell drew colors so bright in my mind. He looked at me, smiled. Namaste, I mustered. He looked at me still without a word. He was a deaf-mute. Without any reply, without a word he lifted a necklace of jasmine flowers and put the link on my neck. The sweetness of the flowers infatuated me. The sweetness of the gesture surprised me. I put my hands together and said thank you before waling into the temple, sitting at the far back, not knowing what to expect.
We sat there, talking and feasting on the rich visuals of calm believers. Suddenly the bell chimed, I looked up and saw the worshipers queue to hand a bag of fresh flowers to the "leader" on the stage. They raised their hands, closed their eyes and soon started singing, chanting. Some bowed their head onto the floor. There was no text, no instructions. I stood there, precisely quiet and still, not understanding but aware of the feeling, the energy they communally exuded to the gods they believed in.
The sun was setting when we started walking home. The street lamps and the everlasting traffic illuminated the city in a bright orange hue gave contrast to the dust (or was it the sand?), granting it the appearance of a suffocating fog. The Pink City was covered in a yellow polluted mist, tonight like any other night, I am sure, and remain so it will even in my absence tomorrow once more at dawn.
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
Thursday, May 03, 2012
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
India Ink: Agra
Despite our growing fondness of Delhi, we soon decided to move on to primarily see the site that has been drawing tourists from all over the world: the Taj Mahal. We arrived early in the morning, having missed the sunrise we decided to save the Taj for sunset. Instead, our rickshaw drivers decided to take us to see Agra for free IF we would make some pit stops to some stores so they can get commissions. We obliged, protected against the glaring sun under the little roof, passing through the Fort, the Islamic markets, the traffic. We just sat there and saw the city, it was like being in a movie where everything changes while you remain inert.
We finally circled back around 17h, Taj time! The entrance ticket was truthfully the most expensive activity I paid through, the intense tourist surcharge compared to the local price. Inside, we realized that the best view of the Taj is NOT actually from in it but from the other side of the lake far from the people. With this, we went picture crazy, snapping and running to see the entire monument, spent 5 seconds in awe of the beautiful crafting and ran outside to hail a tuk-tuk which sped like no other tuk-tuk we have ever been on.
We sat there by the dry river side (it was drought period), far away from the people, until the sun finally set. On the right river bank, a holy cremation took place and the smoke remained high even after darkness took over. We decided to take our tuk-tuk driver to dinner and called it a night.
--
I have to say, taking the train in India became one of the best experiences throughout our stay. The train ride from Delhi to Agra took 4hrs that dawn(instead of the normal 2 - India!) and I found myself unable to catch extra hours of sleep from the excitement. I embarrassingly admit the feeling of being a kid in a train looking around in wonders.
Talk about sophistication.
I would look around, see someone asleep in this Sleeper compartment and go like woooow. I would turn, seeing someone ordering chai and go like wooooow. In front of me someone was sneezing from the morning cold and I would go like wooow. Finally, after everything settled, I put on my headscarf that I have grown accustomed to, opened my journal and decided to write.
We finally circled back around 17h, Taj time! The entrance ticket was truthfully the most expensive activity I paid through, the intense tourist surcharge compared to the local price. Inside, we realized that the best view of the Taj is NOT actually from in it but from the other side of the lake far from the people. With this, we went picture crazy, snapping and running to see the entire monument, spent 5 seconds in awe of the beautiful crafting and ran outside to hail a tuk-tuk which sped like no other tuk-tuk we have ever been on.
We sat there by the dry river side (it was drought period), far away from the people, until the sun finally set. On the right river bank, a holy cremation took place and the smoke remained high even after darkness took over. We decided to take our tuk-tuk driver to dinner and called it a night.
--
I have to say, taking the train in India became one of the best experiences throughout our stay. The train ride from Delhi to Agra took 4hrs that dawn(instead of the normal 2 - India!) and I found myself unable to catch extra hours of sleep from the excitement. I embarrassingly admit the feeling of being a kid in a train looking around in wonders.
Talk about sophistication.
I would look around, see someone asleep in this Sleeper compartment and go like woooow. I would turn, seeing someone ordering chai and go like wooooow. In front of me someone was sneezing from the morning cold and I would go like wooow. Finally, after everything settled, I put on my headscarf that I have grown accustomed to, opened my journal and decided to write.
I realized, sitting here in a non-a/c, Sleeper class train, that concur I must on the widespread opinion that nothing is truly like the experience of a journey by train in India. Most people are vastly asleep from their long journeys, some refer to their mobile phones for amusement. It is chilly at this time, perhaps I should close my window but I prefer not to for I enjoy looking out and seeing the city wakes up. The sun shyly rose as we pass through settlements and slums, people romantically started squatting everywhere to take their first dump of the day. We passed through some fields, with people practicing yoga on the little fields next to the tracks. Women are carrying water. Children playing crickets. A sighting of horses running in the fields was one of my highlights. It feels like being here yet invisible, taking part in a moment of intimate peak into their lives.
Halfway through the journey, a shift in the seating arrangements have taken place in this carriage. The boy who sat facing the sun rising from the East moved above me to sleep, giving space for me to sit on his place and see the scenery from the other side. It is so beautiful here... The misty morning through the rice fields. The sun is so orange, so light. Sounds began to emerge as the passengers began to wake from their slumbers, Hindi was spoke and accompanied by the chirps. The teenage boy sitting next to me seems to be highly fascinated by me taking pictures of the fields he seems to be so accustomed to. He smiles, always a smile while looking at me.
And all these time, the chai sellers remained our only faithful companion.
Monday, April 30, 2012
India Ink: Delhi
Sunday morning. I opened my eyes to a morning past its prime; the heat of the sun high up failed to wake me up due to the breezing aircon in the room. I lingered in the blanket, ironically, for warmth. I was finally awoken by the sound of the rain. The intensifying droplets covered both the sky line and my hearing. I blinked in the melody and walked towards my cupboard. I was searching through a fresh t-shirt for the shower when I saw the shawl, a bright yellow shawl with blue endings. I reached for it, threaded its silky surface with my fingers. It smelt cool, slightly damp, from the coldness of the room. I put it over my neck, let it cover my hair, while my mind raced back to India.
It has been 2 weeks now since I came back. A short spontaneous trip to meet a friend, traveling in the North of India with a backpack and a guidebook that left me with a smile. I arrived in Delhi clueless, as apparent from my uncertain look whilst queuing for my visa on arrival. In fact, the queue consisted of only me. I stood there with my passport while the officers ate their dinners from these little tin boxes, most probably prepared by their wives. I asked, they told me to wait, they're having their dinner. I waited until finally an officer cleaned his hands and asked what I wanted. A visa, I politely inquired. Oh just wait, he said and with that he left me standing again. He came back half an hour later with a lolly.
I exited the terminal with a grim face, tiredness from 12h of traveling and my visa incident apparent. Somehow the strangers I happened to meet appeared to be incredibly kind, randomly buying my water, sharing tips on what to do/see in India, invitations flown to spend some time and be shown around in their villages. The door opened and I saw my friend's face gleaming with a smile as we ran and hugged each other. It has been too long. Safely seated in our seats, our driver told me to open my window and breathe - and inhaled I did the cold night air of Delhi.
Our first days in Delhi were insane. Hectic. A mess, a collision, a mix that both seemed natural and unnatural the same time. Deafening honks. The heat dizzying, the dust suffocating. The range of offers included people who were screaming MADAM MADAM TAXI MADAM to some who pulled our hands hoping that we would obligingly enter their stores to children sticking goods in front of our faces hoping that we would obligingly purchase it. My daily observations made me conclude that these Delhiites can smell a Delhi-green, and we were a prime target. I come from Jakarta and truthfully I was never overwhelmed as I was there; face to face with the myriad of humans, animals, steel on wheels that seemed to be in a constant knot.
o
I am proud to say that within days we managed to adopt a look that when put on, allowed us to walk for 10 minutes without a group swarming around us with goods and services to offer. However, scams were still a never ending surprise that took different forms whenever we least expect it. Harmless ones included being brought to random stores hoping that we would obligingly shop and pay them the commission, rooms booked suddenly full which required upgrades, people giving the wrong directions and offered their tuktuk 'service' to bring us back. An obnoxious occurrence included someone intentionally making a scene to make us pay more than what we had agreed upon, drawing a crowd which hopefully will make us tourists feel uncomfortable and pay him the extra rupees. We did not give him the extra money but had a deranged beggar following us for an hour.
A positive result of these innocent street tricks was our fondness of the Delhi metro system, where we commuted mostly from restaurants to restaurants. We did not in fact manage to see major Delhi sites but the Red Fort and the Jama Masjid. Our days mostly involved random chai (Indian sweet hot milk tea) stops, hours browsing through occasional second hand books stalls, Thali stops, and our own little professional Sweet Lassi and mango juice tasting from the Old to the New Delhi. It is where I found my bright yellow scarf with the blue ends. My friend and I were having chai as we waited for the seller to tailor the Kurta that came with it, while a regimen of monkeys passed through the walls.
We left Delhi the day after I got my scarf. Our only souvenir from this beautiful mess were the phrase Dhanwaad (thank you) and a Spongebob miniature career as a doctor from the Happy Meals that a Delhiite student one day bought for us after helping us take our luggage from the train.
It has been 2 weeks now since I came back. A short spontaneous trip to meet a friend, traveling in the North of India with a backpack and a guidebook that left me with a smile. I arrived in Delhi clueless, as apparent from my uncertain look whilst queuing for my visa on arrival. In fact, the queue consisted of only me. I stood there with my passport while the officers ate their dinners from these little tin boxes, most probably prepared by their wives. I asked, they told me to wait, they're having their dinner. I waited until finally an officer cleaned his hands and asked what I wanted. A visa, I politely inquired. Oh just wait, he said and with that he left me standing again. He came back half an hour later with a lolly.
I exited the terminal with a grim face, tiredness from 12h of traveling and my visa incident apparent. Somehow the strangers I happened to meet appeared to be incredibly kind, randomly buying my water, sharing tips on what to do/see in India, invitations flown to spend some time and be shown around in their villages. The door opened and I saw my friend's face gleaming with a smile as we ran and hugged each other. It has been too long. Safely seated in our seats, our driver told me to open my window and breathe - and inhaled I did the cold night air of Delhi.
Our first days in Delhi were insane. Hectic. A mess, a collision, a mix that both seemed natural and unnatural the same time. Deafening honks. The heat dizzying, the dust suffocating. The range of offers included people who were screaming MADAM MADAM TAXI MADAM to some who pulled our hands hoping that we would obligingly enter their stores to children sticking goods in front of our faces hoping that we would obligingly purchase it. My daily observations made me conclude that these Delhiites can smell a Delhi-green, and we were a prime target. I come from Jakarta and truthfully I was never overwhelmed as I was there; face to face with the myriad of humans, animals, steel on wheels that seemed to be in a constant knot.
o
I am proud to say that within days we managed to adopt a look that when put on, allowed us to walk for 10 minutes without a group swarming around us with goods and services to offer. However, scams were still a never ending surprise that took different forms whenever we least expect it. Harmless ones included being brought to random stores hoping that we would obligingly shop and pay them the commission, rooms booked suddenly full which required upgrades, people giving the wrong directions and offered their tuktuk 'service' to bring us back. An obnoxious occurrence included someone intentionally making a scene to make us pay more than what we had agreed upon, drawing a crowd which hopefully will make us tourists feel uncomfortable and pay him the extra rupees. We did not give him the extra money but had a deranged beggar following us for an hour.
A positive result of these innocent street tricks was our fondness of the Delhi metro system, where we commuted mostly from restaurants to restaurants. We did not in fact manage to see major Delhi sites but the Red Fort and the Jama Masjid. Our days mostly involved random chai (Indian sweet hot milk tea) stops, hours browsing through occasional second hand books stalls, Thali stops, and our own little professional Sweet Lassi and mango juice tasting from the Old to the New Delhi. It is where I found my bright yellow scarf with the blue ends. My friend and I were having chai as we waited for the seller to tailor the Kurta that came with it, while a regimen of monkeys passed through the walls.
We left Delhi the day after I got my scarf. Our only souvenir from this beautiful mess were the phrase Dhanwaad (thank you) and a Spongebob miniature career as a doctor from the Happy Meals that a Delhiite student one day bought for us after helping us take our luggage from the train.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Words in tragedies
I sometimes wonder to what extent do the words from the people who, despite their honest inclination to console and help, have never experienced hardship can actually mean to those experiencing hardship.
Over the years, tragedies just simply happen; it varies in the level of intensity, yet it struck in moments when one least expect it without discrimination. Bad things happen to good people, bad things happen to bad people, bad things just happen. After such a profound change, naturally humans go into a state of a trauma. Everything seems to slow down, you began to ask why the world keeps on moving like nothing has changed where everything has changed for you. Slowly, grief grips and your door closes. Suddenly the world seems to have less meaning and is less fair.
I have yet to experience this, and honestly it both relieves and scares me of what’s coming. Somehow I believe that life is like a wheel, sometimes it goes up and you can see the sky flourishing with soft colors in the morning, before it moves and you find yourself in the mud. However, a direct implication of this is that I sometimes do not know what to say or what to do towards people who have recently experienced a tragedy.
I want to help, I wish to console yet I found my words empty. I wonder whether those you seek help from, like doctors or psychologists, or those who help you overcome this and be your true potential, like life coaches, ever experienced what their clients are experiencing. If not, I wonder what they would say, what they would look as, how they would say that the wheel will move up again sooner or later.
Somehow, it seems to me that perhaps the best approach one can show in such a situation is to simply be there; a call away or an email away due to (sometimes) geographical hurdles, but always there.
Friend, if you are reading this I am sorry I cannot be there to take you for coffee and just be silent. I am sorry you have to go through this alone. I am sorry it happened to you. Yet I know you, and I know that once you had your time you will walk out that door and learn from this. Hard as it may sound to hear, all humans have in them the natural power to survive and give their lives an empowering story. You will learn from it and you will be stronger from it.
Over the years, tragedies just simply happen; it varies in the level of intensity, yet it struck in moments when one least expect it without discrimination. Bad things happen to good people, bad things happen to bad people, bad things just happen. After such a profound change, naturally humans go into a state of a trauma. Everything seems to slow down, you began to ask why the world keeps on moving like nothing has changed where everything has changed for you. Slowly, grief grips and your door closes. Suddenly the world seems to have less meaning and is less fair.
I have yet to experience this, and honestly it both relieves and scares me of what’s coming. Somehow I believe that life is like a wheel, sometimes it goes up and you can see the sky flourishing with soft colors in the morning, before it moves and you find yourself in the mud. However, a direct implication of this is that I sometimes do not know what to say or what to do towards people who have recently experienced a tragedy.
I want to help, I wish to console yet I found my words empty. I wonder whether those you seek help from, like doctors or psychologists, or those who help you overcome this and be your true potential, like life coaches, ever experienced what their clients are experiencing. If not, I wonder what they would say, what they would look as, how they would say that the wheel will move up again sooner or later.
Somehow, it seems to me that perhaps the best approach one can show in such a situation is to simply be there; a call away or an email away due to (sometimes) geographical hurdles, but always there.
Friend, if you are reading this I am sorry I cannot be there to take you for coffee and just be silent. I am sorry you have to go through this alone. I am sorry it happened to you. Yet I know you, and I know that once you had your time you will walk out that door and learn from this. Hard as it may sound to hear, all humans have in them the natural power to survive and give their lives an empowering story. You will learn from it and you will be stronger from it.
Friday, April 13, 2012
22
A late morning. Lazily opened my eyes to see the sun high up, stealing minutes under the blanket. A normal day, a simple birthday with those closest. A lot of cakes. I suppose one cannot ask for a better way to turn 22!
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