Sliding doors – Granting Pennies

The sun was waking up from behind the grey clouds as the wind howled from within the door cracks. Martha, stretched her dirt-black hands and used the only clean rag she had remaining to wipe the morning dew from her eyes. She was the old widow who was left homeless and alone after her husband died and the state seized their house due to unpaid debts. She lived in the spaces other people left empty. She was the shadow that filled the empty enclosures. The silent presence in a seemingly fine world.

Her day relied on the friendliness and compassion of strangers. She had nothing else left to hope for.

As she shook of the dust from her worn-out dress, she tried as best as she now could to make herself presentable. She put on her straw hat with the still luminous green bow, and stepped out into the busy street.

That day was different.

There was a lot more people rushing by than usual. It left Martha wondering whether something had happened, or if someone important was visiting.

Either way she carefully observed passers-by and the minute she detected a hint of sympathy or a sip of kindness in someone’s look, she would approach and timidly ask for assistance – “even a two-pence will do” she would plead.

Sympathy is a strange thing. No matter how much you may hurt or empathise with someone’s suffering, it is hard to reach into your pocket and actually do something about it.

And that day, no one did.

Martha was left standing in that very spot she had begun her day. Only now she was hungry, tired, and emotionally drained. It was unusually cold that night too. The rain and thunderstorm that ensued covered up the beating of her weary heart as she lay on her hole-filled blanket to rest, in a sleep she would never wake up from.

 

But what if her day had been just a little different?

There was a lot more people rushing by than usual. It left Martha wondering whether something had happened, or if someone important was visiting.

Everyone seemed to be rushing to go somewhere.

Martha carefully observed passers-by and the minute she detected a hint of sympathy or a sip of kindness in someone’s look, she would approach and timidly ask for assistance – “even a two-pence will do” she would plead.

Every once in a while, some kind soul would appear and make the difference. You simply had to be ready to accept it.

Martha found this in the face of a young woman. She wore a blue sleeveless dress, with a white belt suited at her waist, and elegantly covered with a blue trench coat. Her eyes were as blue as the ocean, but they seemed to reflect the grey of the clouds that covered the sky that day. The woman stopped in front of Martha. Their eyes locked for a moment that seemed eternal. None of them spoke. They did not need to.

The woman reached for her bag and pulled out an almost overflowing envelope. She placed it in Martha’s hand giving it a squeeze as she left it there, smiled and departed.

Martha watched as the woman turned the corner and disappeared.

She opened the envelope and gasped. Inside were hundreds of money bills. Enough to repay her debt and get her house back. Enough to regain a decent living. Enough to reclaim her life.

What Martha never knew was that that woman had just won the lottery. And decided to give the money to someone who she judged needed it more than she did.

Sometimes even the smallest gesture can change someone’s life. You just need to be bold enough to make it.

Also part of Daily Prompt: The Kindness of Strangers

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There are people you wish you never knew
Places to which you never went,
Things you wish you had never seen,
And words you never said.

Dwelling on lives of others
Will only make you feel incomplete,
For jealousy comes from counting the blessings of others
And failing to see your very own.

It is hard to continue fighting an unfair battle,
But life was never just
Nor is it the fantasy party you dream,
But an experience you need to pull through.

There are so many things to do,
so many places to go,
so many sights to see,
so much food to share,
so much fun to have;
but it all hardly means anything
unless you have someone to share it with.

Be it a hug from the person you adore,
A kiss from the one you love,
a joke from a friend at heart,
or a gesture from a furry buddy,
having someone by your side,
always makes you stronger.

 

Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.
                                                     – Helen Keller

Regal at heart

With the proclamation of a new King in Europe, the question of monarchy or republic is once again brought to the forefront. But truth is, people like these royal traditions and pompous ceremonies. They bring an air of glamour, of majestic pride, of fascination and of elegance to an otherwise dull, boring and sometimes even pessimistic routine.

Kings and Queens in the modern world are more of a symbol. One of national pride, which also provides a sense of stability and continuity in times of political and social change. The system of constitutional monarchy is seen to bridge the discontinuity of party politics. And despite the corruption scandals of both democratically elected politicians and hereditary monarchs, people love to fondle over where the royals go on vacation, what they are wearing, and where they live. In essence, you would be more interested in a glimpse in the life of a queen for example, than of a Member of Parliament. The former simply has more prestige attached to it, if only by title.

Nonetheless, we are often left to wonder what the point of a monarchy is nowadays.

It is all about the symbolism.

And the innate desire of every human to have a bit of royal in themselves. We all wish to be king or queen (or even prince or princesses) of something. Getting some ideas out of the lives of people who officially bear the title never did any harm.

“In the past, people were born royal. Nowadays, royalty comes from what you do.”
– Gianni Versace

What life sounds like

What does a roar sound like?

They tell me that when a footballer scores, the crowd “roars”. I don’t know what that sounds like.

All I see is people jumping up and down in the stands, with their faces mutating from the strain of excitement. They seem to be living every moment as if their life depends on that single goal. And when something goes wrong, you can see the blood gushing to their face, painting it red with anger.

They all seem to be yelling something at every instance, but I don’t know what it is.

I don’t like watching football. Everyone tells me that I am missing out from all the fun if no screaming is involved. But it is not my fault.

It is even worse when I go to a concert. Well, actually, when they drag me there and I just stare at the stage at people jumping up and down in what appears to be a contest of who will wear less clothes.

But I can’t hear anything.

I was born like this. Deaf.

I don’t know what a singing bird sounds like. Or what my parents’ voices are like.

I have never heard the crack of a biscuit, or the ruffling of leaves. Neither the sound of pages turning, or the beating of a heart. Nor the noise a jumping car makes, or the swish of waves.

I don’t know what music is. Or what it means to yell at the top of your voice to release the tension.

I never experienced the thrill of a good shout.

And I will never know what it means to roar like a lion when you are mad. Or sob and squeak like an infant when you are sad.

I wish I could hear a voice. Even an angry one. Just hear something.

I am living in a silent world. And the only thing I can hear is the sound of my heart breaking from it.

Free and Gone

It’s hard feeling unable to concentrate and drifting away into a world that doesn’t exist in reality.

Zelena knew that feeling well. She was not tall like the other kids her age; she lacked the confidence young adults so boldly proclaim; and she often perceived the world much differently than others tend to. Having a name that began with the last letter of the alphabet often did not help at all. She was always last on the list.

So she found an escape in daydreaming.

She could do this anywhere and at pretty much anytime.

Like the other day when she was sitting by the window, rolled up in a cozy armchair when it was pouring outside. In her head, she was living an adventure in a mountain with real friends and they were going on excavations for a lost medallion that would bring power to the person who wore it, as long as their heart was pure. The cabin was a wreck and they had to take cover from the thunderstorm and rain. And suddenly, the bad people (there are always some of these in every story) tracked them down and they had to hide. And the adventure ensued…. Well, until dinnertime. Food had to disrupt the dream.

In the summer, when the stifling heat and humidity did not permit for a lot of time outside, Zelena would lie on the cool sheets in her bed and as the fan cooled her down, she would dream of being on an exotic Caribbean island, swaying on a hammock and indulging on a tropical iced juice.

A little while later she would spin off, bare feet in the golden sand tickling her toes, and she would rush playfully towards the tide into the arms of the man she loved. They would swim together into the tranquil ocean; snorkel to gaze at the fish and corals that decorated the ocean’s depth; and even play around with a couple of dolphins that would join the fun.

Daydreaming was Zelena’s thing. And it all seemed so real. So true. So different from the world she lived in. In her fantasies, Zelena could do and be exactly what and who she wanted. Without restrictions, without concerns, without limitations.

The only problem was that she could get so enraptured in a dream, feel it was so real, that she could not tell the difference between the dream and the real world. Something like being caught in The Matrix. Only maybe worse, because even that was a fantasy.

“Getting lost into something that is not real will make you lose yourself.” That it was her beloved uncle told her. He was the one who made her fantasies so real, for she grew up with his exciting, swash-buckling stories.

Zelena did not pay attention to the severity of the warning. When she had been unemployed for over a year, still living in her childhood room, and still dreaming of what she wished her life was like, Zelena disappeared.

Her final daydream was of bungee jumping over a cliff to feel the freedom and adrenaline rush of flying.

What lies in a bed

What most people look forward to at the end of each day is falling into soft, clean sheets and getting the rest they deserve after a tiring day. Then of course, you have to find the courage to get out of bed the next morning. George Horace Lorimer perhaps said it best “You’ve got to get up every morning with determination, if you’re going to go to bed with satisfaction.”

Sleeping in your own bed entails the comfort of floating – that light-weight, carefree, burden-less sensation that allows you to carry off in a deep, tranquil sleep.

And when you’re away from your own bed for a while, you learn to appreciate it more. It is more than just the feeling of luxury, it is rather feeling where you belong. It is being embraced by a mattress, into which you have molded the very shape of your body. Which has been fashioned over the years so as to act as a perfect fit.

But the best part of it all is when you turn in tired and satisfied after a productive day. That is when you truly experience the indulgence of cuddling into bed, wrapped into warm sheets and drifting into the arms of Morpheus.

Business is not pleasure

In all our lives we seem to struggle to find something that we love to do. That we enjoy investing our time and energy in. And that will reward us for it. Something that suits us and pleases us both metaphorically and literally, as it is common knowledge that satisfaction alone cannot pay the bills.

Yet it is very few people who have managed to make a living out of their hobby. Feeling passionate about what you do is one thing. But basing your entire earnings on it is a whole different story.

When you enter the business side of negotiations, you realize that no matter how much you love what you do, it all becomes so commercialized and trivial. It is complicated trying to get a revenue out of what you so far have only seen as a delightful hobby.

You never truly realize what you’re in for, until you’re ankle deep. But when you’re already in the middle of the ocean, you have to swim. No matter the sharks that surround you.

The business transactions involved in making a living out of your dreams often drowns out the fun of what you do, but it all depends on who you work with.

The arduous nature of it all – the bureaucracy, the scamming, the deals – is that in the end you might dislike the very thing that got your heart racing in the first place.

You’ll get excited, thrilled, confused, upset, angry, irritated.

And in the end you’ll just realize you’ve spend an incredible amount of time thinking about inconsiderate people that weren’t even worth it.

There is a reason why the saying goes “don’t mix business with pleasure”.

Doing what you love doesn’t always mean you’ll get a financial reward from it.

So the most you can do, is try to enjoy what you do.

And then have enough time to dedicate to your true passion.

Who knows, maybe one day the right opportunity will come along at the right time, with the right people and the right circumstances to make a living out of it too.