Nothing Normal

© Marie Gail Stratford

There was a time when you’d find a never-opened fully-filled water bottle and take it to give to the first person in need you’d encounter a bit further down your way.

There was a time when you wouldn’t think twice before entering a crowded bus, or a shopping store.

There was a time when hugs were abundant, and felt as warm and loving as a meeting with friends.

There was a time when our concern was to which part of the world to travel next.

Nothing seems normal anymore.

Perhaps because that past ‘normal’ was too often taken for granted.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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A painting abstraction

Painting, it is said, has the benefits of promoting stress relief, expanding creative growth, bolstering memory, enhancing problem-solving and motor skills, cultivating emotional growth, and stimulating an optimistic attitude. In short, it makes you a better person. And in opening up your mind, you may also open yourself up to other people around you.

She found love while painting.

Actually, love found her.

It was on a large rectangle board that her art class had brought in to be designed.

She chose a range of beautiful, soft colours.

But she didn’t choose her partner in this.

Fate probably did.

Their joint effort resulted in an abstraction of colours and lines that radiated passion and warmth.

Painting brought them closer, made them happier, and more loveable.

They fell in love among the colours, and were united by the lines.

Also part of Daily Word Prompt

Daily loop

In a world divided; people of varying race, colour, religion, belief, faction; the world has paused for all.

It appears nothing is happening.

As if we’re living in a loop; an unending Groundhog day.

But we’ll survive this too.

Also part of Weekend Writing Prompt #193

Anchors

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The first time she saw a person reading the news on television, she was dumbfounded. She was still young and naïve to believe that that anchor was all-knowledgeable; she didn’t know s/he was reading a script.

Nor did she know of the backstage scenes that took place in the studios. How behind the cameras there was an entirely different climate to the one on screen. The backstabbing, the blackmailing, the corruption, the power games, the extortions, the career-driven mongrels, the inhumanity that stemmed from greed and lust for publicity and ratings.

She discovered it all when she became an anchorwoman.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Cold but warm together

It was one of those winter days when you would throw (boiling) water up in the air and by the time it began its descent it had already turned into ice.

Yes, it was that cold.

But Miranda loved it. She loved the snow, the cold, and the warmth it led to indoors, wrapped up with a blanket in front of the fireplace with a hot drink in hand, and family and friends around telling stories.

The cold brought them closer together. That was what she remembered.

Sometimes all it takes is for something out of the ordinary to remind us of the most fundamental virtues in life.

We tend to forget the need to nurture our bonds with others when we simply go about our (normal) days.

Reason without justice

She still remembered the tenacious grip of his words that “justice has no reason”.

They were during her first day as a junior lawyer, assisting in a media-exposed case.

She was certain their client was innocent. But he was a lamb up against a pack of wolves. The other side would always find something believable to counter any claims.

“It’s not fair”, she complained to her mentor.

“Life’s not” was his defeated reply.

Also part of Weekend Writing Prompt #192

The lives we don’t see

©Dale Rogerson

No person has the same fingerprints or iris identifications. There is a reason for it. Each person is unique.

Consequently, each person is living a life that is often unbeknown to most; and is essentially very different to what appearances may suggest. Each is juggling their own life lemons, trying to get the most out of them.

Some medics, for example, work more hours than they even remember for a pay that is lower than a private parking meter.

Similarly, musicians are those starving artists keeping us company in the months-long lockdowns during a pandemic – one which medics are fighting.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Winter bunkum

Winter is coming. Finally, after having almost completed half of the three-month calender period of the winter season, meteorologists are predicting freezing temperatures, harsh storms and heavy snowfall.

Simon was happy about it, contrary to most people who were bracing for a disaster as presented by local media.

Simon loved the snow. He saw it as an opportunity for games, where he could ditch school and build snowmen and snow angels from the heavenly flakes that seem to levitate like feathers in the air.

But he was unaware of the trouble the snow caused. How it made life difficult for the poorer castes who lacked the infrastructure to face the adverse conditions. Or how it made access around cities almost impossible, with the snow becoming ice that was too difficult to break to clear the way.

To Simon, all the talk about challenges and difficulties, and the state’s targets and aims, and all such political talk were bunkum. He saw it as simply performative speech-making, insincere rhetoric that only served to spread unnecessary panic among the people. If only, listeners could actually think for themselves, read more, gain a pluralism of information and be critical of everything they hear.

If people could form a viewpoint of their own, perhaps, Simon thought, they could learn to enjoy the snow more.

Soothing voices

If you think about it, we become accustomed to the sound of voices even before we enter this world, from inside our mother’s uterus. We hear the voices of those preparing for our arrival, as we are safely tucked away inside our nurturer.

And when we are born, much before we are able to respond to them, we hear all sorts of voices from people greeting us, trying to strike up conversations with us, talking to us.

We associate certain voices with the feeling they evoke in us. Our mother’s voice is one that always generates safety and reassurance. Because you know it’s the source of unconditional love. Our father’s voice is one that offers courage when you’re in despair, but also the one that soothes you and calms you down when you can’t control your outbursts.

For some, the voice of your storyteller – whomever parent it may be – is the one that helps you pacify your agitated state and consequently puts you to sleep. That was the purpose, after all, when you were a child.

It’s remarkable how, as we grow older, the sound of these voices remain imprinted in our memories. And how we continue to yearn for them. Perhaps it comes with growing up, the need to feel as safe, loved and nurtured as you felt as a child. And in the most uncertain and ‘lifeless’ of times, that feeling of childlike innocence, bewilderment and pure joy is what is lacking most.

We should be grateful that the sounds we’ve registered in our minds are those of spontaneous laughter, fun and games, storytelling and amusement. Some are not so lucky, and instead recall the sound of war, bullets flying, soldiers yelling, explosions, ammunition burning and worse.

We should be grateful that we remember what it was like to live freely, without so much concern, stress and worry, without disinfecting every part of our body every couple of minutes; and without the awkwardness of not being able to be close to or hug a loved one.

Ultimately, it’s the voices we grew up with that inhabit our heads. You’re the one who chooses how much to listen to them.

Just Jump

©MCD

He was born on a roof. His mother was a fan of jumping up there and laying in the sunlight. Cats love that.

But when he began to walk, he was too scared to jump that high.

One day, when his mother was not in sight and the kind lady who supplied the food called him to lunch, he had to jump a small height off a wall his mother had left him on. He fell clumsily after much thought, but he was too scared to ever try climbing that high again.

He grew into a beautiful fluffy cat. And he watched as his mother continued to draw in sunlight on the roof.

One day, he bolstered up all his courage and decided to go for it. After all, cats are supposed to be known for their dexterous abilities and flexibility.

He considered all his options, all the ways he could climb up. And then, in a spur of a moment, he did it.

He was up there, gazing at the world from above. And as he lay in the warm sunlight, with his elegant white fur radiating on display, he wandered why he had not tried it sooner.

So here’s (another) lesson you can learn from a cat: take the risk; the world always looks more wonderful from above.