MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “expression”

The corner of notes

music-room

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

It was a corner in the house that belonged to him alone. One in which all worries and concerns would evaporate, converted into notes and music. It was a corner that hosted all of his instruments, his closest friends, those that accompanied him since he was a child. It was to them that he would seek refuge, where he would turn when something went wrong, but also when he wanted to celebrate. They knew best how to express it all: every emotion, every heartbeat.

This was the corner where life gained a meaning. Where he would feel, above all, understood.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

A raging bull with a lamb’s heart

https://www.google.gr/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=imgres&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjqlJzzqtPZAhVMKuwKHZyrA2YQjRx6BAgAEAY&url=https%3A%2F%2Ftoonclips.com%2Fdesign%2F10925&psig=AOvVaw1unLJm8h1WnBu1XCQwzaXn&ust=1520275790003619He entered the room like a raging bull, which was easy to do because he had the appearance of a bull. When he got angry though, he huffed and puffed and stomped his feet. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him. He was fearsome at sight.

But like many things, appearances deceive.

He had the ability to make a room messy in no time. To throw things around and even break a few objects as he passed. It was not his fault he was vast and space-consuming. Deep inside though he had the heart of a lamb. He was easily hurt, which was mostly caused because he trusted people too much. He mistakenly believed that others would do for him what he would do for them. He couldn’t understand that not everyone had the kind heart he had or even cared as much. When he felt broken or worse, enraged, he would turn into something not even he himself could recognise. And it took thrice as long for him to calm down afterwards.

He hated how messy he could become and how out-of-self. But he took a little pleasure in the fact that, according to various researches published at times, messy people are thought to be more intelligent than the average person. He believed it reflected the messiness of his brain – how so many things were clamped into such a small space. He acknowledged the literal bull character wasn’t good for anyone, but all he needed was some comforting words and the acknowledgement that he was not alone. Like every creature in this world, his heart too would soften when it received some tender, love and care. Maybe that too would somewhat organise his messy mind.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Messy

Teaching how to disassemble the chaos

http://www.newyorker.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/O-Neill-X-Games-on-Ice-1200.jpgShe screamed something incomprehensible, slammed her hands on the table, sturdily got up and left the room. If there were a door, she would have slammed it in anger.

He remained staring at the empty seat. Motionless. Unreactive. He had become accustomed to such bursts of anxiety, as he called them. He knew that she would soon blow off steam and come to realise that he was right all along. But that was something she should do on her own. She needed the space to calm down and process it all. He knew she could do more. She just had to believe it too.

She soon returned embarrassed but full of thirst for more. He had succeeded in awakening her desire to improve. To reach the potential he had seen in her from the very first day.

She loved ice-skating. It was the perfect combination of dance, expression and imagination. And on the ice, she felt more liberated than ever. It brought some tranquility to her otherwise chaotic life. Because no matter what went on at home, during her busy schedule, or in the world in general, on that ice rink she forgot it all, and got lost in the music, allowing it to drift her away, into a parallel universe, a utopia.

She was a smart girl, craving knowledge, demonstrating a general interest in everything that surrounds us, and with a fantasy as large and open as her heart.  She generally respected her teachers, especially those who inspired her and taught her to love learning. Those who showed her where to look, but left her to see things for herself. The ones who taught her to be critical of everything she heard, and, no matter what, to always try and improve; to compete, not with others, but with herself.

But the one who she loved the most was her ice-skating teacher. He was the once who acted as a mentor, a guide, a psychotherapist, a friend, a family member. He was so much more than a teacher and that is why she could so freely unleash every emotion in front of him. Because she knew he would understand. And he would support her either way.

Like Albert Einstein had said, “it is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge”. Because it is a fact that the (right) teachers are the ones who create all other professions, the ones who inspire you to be the best you can be, and to find some order in the chaos that is our world.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Chaos

Curvy Dancer

http://images.clipartpanda.com/dance-clipart-Clipart.gifOnce the music began, she could feel the notes diffuse into her veins and flow into her system. Her entire body was taken over by the rhythm and all she could do was surrender to the melody. Her curves began to sway and she was soon prancing about like a thick elastic band. Melissa did not care she was curvy and did not fit into the stereotypes. She loved to dance and that was all.

Melissa was introduced to dancing like most little girls, through a tutu and pointes. She was a chubby little ballerina, but was the best in her class, something most people did not anticipate. Not even her own mother who had registered Melissa for dancing classes in the first place as a form of exercise and in the hope that the curves that had taken form early on would ‘straighten’.

The curves did not disappear. But Melissa’s love for dance grew.

After ballet, she underwent a period of revolution and reaction – she entered the world of hip-hop and breakdance and stunned onlookers with the elasticity of her body.

As she matured, and felt young men’s gaze on her, Melissa turned to contemporary dance, as a way of expressing what she could not utter. She got lost in the unscripted, abstract movements that took her mind off the challenges of adulthood and for that brief time made her carefree and wispy.

As she gathered experiences and passed through heartbreaks and the trials of relationships, Melissa moved onto other forms of dance – ballroom granted her grace and elegance, while Latin gave her room for expression, sassiness and vivacity.

But it was when she got acquainted with the tango that Melissa felt complete. When she met a dancing partner, who later became one for life; when she moved her feet to the rhythm with her eyes closed, succumbing to the passion and emotions the dance awakened within her. It was then that she felt most alive. When she danced, blocking out everyone and everything else. When she took off her dancing shoes with a revived sense of optimism that everything would be OK. All she had to do was believe it and dance to the rhythm in her heart.

 

N.B. April 29 is International Dance Day – a relevant article on the benefits of dance can be found here.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Curve

Talk, speak, utter, shout

http://cliparts.co/cliparts/pTo/jr6/pTojr6pTE.jpgEvery person, when given the chance, wants to take the time to express themselves. Aaron knew that well. An introvert by nature, all he really longed for was someone who would understand him by the few words he said.

Like everyone from time to time, he too felt the need to speak, to shout, even scream at times. But it was rarely that he found the chance to actually truly talk.

Once made to feel comfortable, however, he would speak more often, open up a bit more and begin to share all those thoughts that so frequently hovered inside his mind.

It is always easy to talk about others, down to them, or simply to them. But it is more difficult to actually talk with them. That is where communication comes in. And that is the reason Aaron never really liked talking. It just seemed too hard.

But when he met Denise everything suddenly changed.

He found himself waiting anxiously for the time they would sit down for a chat. One that would forcefully end three hours later because either of them remembered they had an appointment, or work, or something they (hesitantly) had to do. They would talk about anything and everything at the same time. Expressing their deepest feelings, their reflections, their regrets, and their dreams. They didn’t need to ask each other questions; it just happened naturally. And they felt comfortable doing it because they trusted each other completely and knew that criticism had no room among them.

You can tell a lot about a person by the things they’re willing to express about themselves, and what they desire to know about you. But most of all you can understand that person even more by the depth of the words they are willing to fire your way.

The said, the unsaid and the afterthoughts

unsaid thoughts

Those things that were said swivel in your head,

Mixing with the things that were left unsaid.

And now the afterthoughts keep you awake,

Wondering what should have, could have, would have been.

And as you lay there thinking, tossing and turning,

Haunted by all those things,

All you can do is replay in your mind the things that were said,

Those that were not,

And the afterthoughts that lie in between.

Twice upon a Whisper

2nd-birthdayA lot can happen in a year, let alone two. You keep yourself busy, trying not to be overwhelmed by all that is happening around you, and suddenly you find yourself remembering this – it’s been two years since I started this blog!

I honestly can’t remember how I was surviving without it. To me, it is more than just another blog. It is my refuge, my creative freedom, my memories, my travel log, my friend. It is the place where you can go to and be yourself. To say exactly what you want to say, the way you want. And just maybe the message will get through. At least it is off your chest and out of your mind.

A blog when done right offers a myriad of opportunities. And that is what I strive for. It’s not simply about finding a good read; it’s about identifying with it and seeing a piece of yourself in it too.

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. I am grateful that you are reading my posts, commenting, sharing, and feeling it all with me.

If I have learnt anything in these two years, it is that life is not at all what you dream it up to be. It’s hard, cruel at times, and with many ups and downs. But you have to keep fighting. Simply for the moment that will come and make it all worth it.

Thank you for being here. Just remember, even a whisper is sometimes louder than a scream.

A Journalist by any other name…

twitter-journalismThe other day, as I was blissfully walking across one of the city’s busiest shopping streets (no, I had not bought anything, strangely enough, and yes that does happen), I had an interesting encounter.

A young man was trying to promote a beauty salon and caught my attention with a joke. He asked me what I do. When I responded that (among others) I am a journalist, he frowned and said “well, I can understand the rest, but that, I am not so thrilled about”.

It got me thinking. Why do journalists have such a bad name? And since when? I grew up believing it was so cool to be a journalist, a reporter roaming the streets, cities and countries in search of news, and always being the first to find out exciting information.  It was an ideal job.

But now? Now, journalists are one of the most underpaid and overworked professions there are, with citizen journalists trying to steal the show, and all these social media attempting to take over traditional forms of information.

Journalists have gained a bad name. Why? Because there are so many bad ‘journalists’ out there, that it makes the rest (of us) look bad too.

Everyone suddenly thinks they can be a writer, a journalist, a reporter. Because it is easy to just sit and write whatever comes to mind. But not everyone can express this adequately. And this is something few realize. A journalist is more than a writer and a storyteller. It is a person who searches after news, who can sense what is newsworthy, worthy of reporting; who can understand what the public is concerned about, and who can express it in such a way that every citizen/reader can understand what it is s/he is saying. It is about being concise, comprehensive and to the point. It is about being able to challenge the status quo when necessary, prompt change, and above all make the reader think.

In today’s digital and socially interconnected world, real journalism has lost its meaning. Instead it has become what Frank Zappa called “rock journalism” and most of it “is people who can’t write, interviewing people who can’t talk, for people who can’t read”. And media today have become associated with this bad journalism.

Trying to stand out of the crowd in this storm isn’t easy. But they say that s/he who perseveres wins, and what is more, there is always the faith that a good journalist will never get lost. At least in a world where people still strive for perfection, quality journalism will remain a necessity always searched for…

Also part of NaBloPoMo (November 2013)

Also part of Daily Prompt: Teach Your (Bloggers) Well

One year of Whispers

anniversary1Exactly one year ago, I started blogging. Right here. And a lot has changed since then.

For starters, I love to blog, mainly because I love to write. And this blog has offered me the opportunity to do just that. Write. Express myself in whatever way inspires me, and on whatever subject springs to mind. Be it politics, social issues, behaviours, short stories, poems, or any type of fiction or non-fiction piece, writing on my blog has become an integral part of my life.

I have even discovered writing competitions and challenges that provoke the writers-bloggers, and more significantly serve to showcase your abilities to other participants, aside from the fact that they are tremendous fun!

It is fantastic to have an outlet to express yourself. And having a readership to encourage you is all the more important. So I would also like to say thank you. To all you who read what I write. Who come back for more, and who listen, engage and participate in these thoughts. Thank you, because you make me feel like my writing has a purpose and that it is somewhat being fulfilled.

I will continue writing of course. And I do hope you will continue reading. And hey, please do whisper it out to your friends, maybe they too would find something they would agree with here!

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