Soulful soft toys

©Lisa Fox

It didn’t matter that they were old. They still encompassed the warmth with which they were given and received.

The soft toys were a symbol of affection. To those who loved them for their fluffiness and cuteness, they were so much more. A company for those moments when you want to be alone and say nothing, a consoling familiar ‘thing’ to hug and make you feel better.

They held within them the essence of the person who gifted them. Because the bearer knew well what to choose and when to deliver it.

They were hung out to dry. Refreshed, revived.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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The quiet friend

©MCD_Bruno

He sat there quietly. Always on the same spot on the couch where she paused for a rest from her tiring and incessant schedule.

She lightened up every time she saw him. And when they hugged, she would inhale deeply letting out a faint sigh with that exhale.

He had a way of easing the tension she inexplicably carried on her shoulders. She burdened herself with too much stress for her own good. Even he could see it.

But it was enough for him that he made her smile. And that, even if just for a little while, she would let her troubles slip away from her mind. For those few seconds she could empty her head. She found comfort in him and was grateful for his presence.

Even if he didn’t say much. Or anything at all for that matter.

It would be a little strange if he did.

After all, he was just a fluffy teddy bear.

But the person who gifted it to her knew he was much more.

The tenant of the clock

©J Hardy Carroll

It was a present from the global travels of a great uncle. It was a gift passed down each generation. It was one that carried the history of its owners with it.

It was finely crafted and had an essence of another era. It stood out in every home it was placed. But that was its point after all: to remind you that you should stand out of the crowd.

One night in its new location, a faint scratching woke everyone up. It wasn’t the clock ticking.

It was something hiding inside the clock-tower: a tiny kitten seeking a home.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

What a heart sounds like from the inside

She is the one who knows you better than you (admit you) know yourself. She has learnt to do so ever since you arrived. To interpret what your every frown, tear, smile means. She is the one who stays awake so you can sleep. Who goes over and beyond her abilities at times, simply to please you. Who places you above all else, even herself. She is the one who carries you inside for three quarters of a year and then outside for a lifetime. Who holds you up and teaches you how to survive, although you can’t imagine doing it without her. Who watches you often prioritise your father who may love you equally as much but did not go through the same to bring you into the world. She is the one who will help you even when you don’t ask or when you think you can manage on your own. Who always knows what to say and is somehow always right even if you don’t realise it at the time and acknowledge it in retrospect. Who no matter how much you scream at, yell at or push away, always comes back because she doesn’t know how not to. Who shows you you are never alone because her love is unconditional and endless. Who hurts twice as much when she sees you suffering and is unable to do something to relieve your pain. Who can feel you just as you can feel her too. She is the one who personifies what Mother Theresa had once said, that “in this life we can not do great things; but we can do small things with great love”. Who makes sacrifices for you but speaks nothing of them. Who you hold as a model of strength, kindness, elegance and grace. Whose shoes you tried to fill ever since you learnt how to walk on your own. Who makes you feel (helpless) like a child again when you acknowledge how much you miss her, regardless of how independent and strong you (think you) are. Who, no matter how old you are, will always be the one you call to at any time for whatever reason and she will always respond. Whose hug and smile makes every problem disappear. Who you love to surprise and shower with gifts because you know she would do the same and more for you. She is the one who is not appreciated enough but never stops caring or trying any less.

A mother’s love is the most powerful cure in the world and the greatest gift we receive. It is priceless.

Tell her you love her. It is not said often enough. Remember you’re the only one who knows what her heart sounds like from the inside.

 

* Mummy, I love you.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Priceless

The perfect gift

What does anyone really want on Valentine’s day? What does anyone want on any day, really? Because 14 February, in essence, is just another day. But it happens to be one on which couples suddenly remember they’re in love, and singles feel the need to demonstrate why they’re better alone.

Susy and her husband had agreed that they were in love all year round, and they would show it to each other as often and as much as they could. For them, this was just another day on which they had an extra reason to go out and enjoy themselves.

Jonah was racking his brain for days trying to find the perfect gift for his wife. He wanted something special. Something different. Something memorable. Apart from the standard flowers and chocolates in a heart-shaped box, that is. So he decided to take her for dinner to a restaurant they had never been before, but one which was acclaimed and seemed to match her liking. She was the person who would get excited with the little things, so she was bound to be thrilled.

Susy, on the other hand, had difficulty in planning the perfect gift. Because what amounts to perfection? She thought of a framed photo of them, but couldn’t chose just one. And she didn’t want to fall into the commercial trap that took over this specific day.

So she did something different.

She took the day of work on the eve of V-day and stayed home to surprise him. She prepared his favourite dessert and planned a relaxing walk along the beach at sunset. The sparkle in his eyes and the smile that stretched across his face when he found her home, unexpectedly waiting for him, was all she needed as an acknowledgement that sometimes the perfect gifts aren’t things; they are moments, people and actions that show us we are loved and cared for.

An unexpected gift

© Björn Rudberg

For days, sorrow covered her heart like a dark cloud. She never expected it to break, snapping like a feeble twig. Her wooden cello was all she had left from her beloved grandfather. He was the one who had taught her to play and to allow music to soothe her soul. She felt closer to him whenever she plucked those strings.

But now it was gone and with it she feared his memory would also fade.

At church that night she longed for solace. But instead she found something more: a new cello, waiting for her to play a melody.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

 

The element of surprise

Aristotle had said that “the secret to humor is surprise”. And it is true. Because if you really consider it, “the moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us” (Ashley Montagu).

Surprises usually entail a positive connotation. The word itself springs to mind something pleasant, bright and joyful. Who wouldn’t want a surprise that means being granted a wish so unexpectedly? Being given flowers without reason? Receiving a gift just because the giver so feels like it? Or even getting an unexpected (but very welcome) visit when you are home feeling lonely?

“Surprise is the greatest gift which life can grant us” (Boris Pasternak).

Surprises enrich not only our psychology – usually lifting our spirits – but they also train our minds to acknowledge that not everything in life can be planned. And no matter how good a scout you are, you can’t always be prepared.

Life throws a lot your way. You just have to learn to accept and deal with it as best as possible.

And never stop hoping that a surprise might eventually come knocking on your door. Because wouldn’t it be lovely if just once things turned out as idyllically as they do in your head?

Snowy pearls

Somewhere around the globe, where the snow had already spread its unblemished tapestry, a young boy was still waiting for Santa Claus. He hoped he would bring him a New Year that would be radically different from the one that was just days from becoming history. This one had simply not lived up to his expectations.

Frederick was a strong young man. He had learned to survive the hardships and no matter what life struck him with, he would rise stronger. Until now. This year had broken him. He was forced to deal with loss, with pain, with anguish, with unemployment, with being broke, with disappointment, with having his expectations built-up only to have them crushed, with break-ups, with heartache, and it just seemed to be getting dimmer. There was no light at the end of the tunnel anymore and that was what hurt him the most.

It was snowing outside. The temperature had fallen to below zero already and you could feel the cold nipping at your nose the minute you stepped out of the door. Frederick decided to stay indoors, with the fireplace lit. He was sitting on the small couch by the window with a hot cocoa in hand, staring at the snow spreading like a white fluffy carpet outside.

He could feel the melancholy gripping onto him. It was this time of the year when he felt more alone, when he pondered on what he wished his life was like, and realized what it was not. He wanted so much more of life itself – a partner, a family, wonderful moments to share and people to experience them with. It all meant nothing if he was simply stuck in a dead-end. He wrapped the red fleece blanket around his legs; the cold was creeping in as the sun set.

Frederick wanted to believe that this New Year would be different. That it would finally be the year when his life would improve, when he would manage to realise his dreams and achieve his ambitions. He wanted to be happy and at least look back and be content with the life he led.

That is what he wanted Santa Claus to bring. A new year that would have things go his way, or at least in the same direction he would like them to. He knew it was a difficult thing to ask, but nonetheless he believed. He had to believe in something after all.

He fell asleep there, wrapped in the blanket, with the fire glazing inside, and the snow silently falling outside.

When he woke up the next day, the fire had already extinguished itself and the sun was trying to peek out from behind the clouds. There was a snowman staring at him outside his window – complete with two thin sticks for arms and a carrot for a nose. He even had pebbles formed in the shape of a smile. Frederick smiled. Maybe it was the kids in the neighbourhood who had created Mr Frosty. Either way, it was a very welcome and very pleasant surprise.

But that was not all.

Right in front of the fireplace there was a little blue box. Frederick could swear that was not there before. And he was certain all the doors were locked so no-one could have gotten in without being heard. He got up and picked up the box. It was feather-light. He opened it slowly – who knows what could jump out.

In the centre of the velvet interior was a white pearl. And at the back of the box cover there was writing. “A pearl of wisdom because every year that passes, no matter the pain, the heartache and the suffering, will always make you wiser, more mature and more knowledgeable. Life will hand you many such pearls, it is up to you what you will decide to do with them. Never give up.”

It was not signed.

Frederick’s pulse raced. Could this be the sign he was longing for? The optimism that he needed for a favourable new year?

To him it was. Because sometimes, all it takes is the smallest of things to remind you that what matters most cannot be seen.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Mystery Box

Freedom in a pen

Different people have different things they’re good at. Different talents or ‘gifts’. Some are good at sports, at computers, or at telling jokes. Others draw, sing or paint. I write. Why? Because having a pen in my hand, a notebook on my lap and scribbling away feels natural. Because staring at a blank page on a screen long enough is bound to be followed by a few endless minutes of furious typing. Because the ideas in my head, to me, seem to be rushing out effortlessly onto the page. Because writing is my “thing”. It’s what I think I do best and most importantly, it’s what I enjoy.

So when and how do you know when you’ve found the one thing you want to do? How did I know, for example, that I wanted to write? When (early on) I read an article and was so mesmerised by how simple yet eloquent it appeared. At how it was so beautifully written yet it seemed so humble and elegant at the same time. When something causes your awe you know it is definitely worth it. And because in reading that article I felt the magic that I would want my readers to experience through my writing.

I write because I have something to say. And just like some people speak (even if often too much and without saying anything), I write. There is a deep and overwhelming sense of satisfaction when you know that people are reading your work and talking about it. Gratification coming without the cold sweat running down your spine and those numerous wide-open eyes staring at you and your every move. Plus, it gives you a chance at a second glance – a re-read and an edit. To add and subtract phrases or words. It offers you an opportunity to be as close as possible to perfect. To the best you can be.

For me writing entails a freedom that can hardly be found anywhere else. It allows you to pour out your soul, your ideas and your thoughts. Shamelessly, unabashed and unafraid. Writing gives you a voice even if you think you don’t have one. And if done well, through your writing you can persuade even a stubborn disbeliever into admitting or accepting your point of view, even if they do not agree with it. After all, it’s all in the expression.

So sometimes, the pen is indeed mightier than the sword (or any weapon or tool for that matter!). For in the end, characters, personalities, places and dreams are created by the pen and sometimes even lived as a result of it.  Through writing there is so much more to gain than to lose. And as long as your heart is guiding your hand, you will never be short of ideas. Writing is after all a passion. One that you feel, you live, and, you can share.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Express Yourself!