Stardust

Every time she was invited into people’s homes, her gaze unconsciously went to their library. She fervently believed that a home without books was like a body without a soul. And she loved to discover where and how people had placed a library in their homes. But that wasn’t all.

It wasn’t enough to simply have a piece of furniture stacked with books.

It also depended on the quality and nature of those books; not only their content, but also their appearance. How a reader treats their books also says a lot about them as a person. Someone who appreciates their books and takes care of them, keeping them in pristine condition, is a much different character to one who breaks their spines and folds their pages.

A fun part of discovering new libraries, she found, was scanning the titles and discovering books she too read, or that were on her list to do so.

But the best memory she had of a home library was when the young man she had recently met gave her a tour of his favourite books. Rarely would someone share their virtual journeys with another like that. And the most reminiscent of all was when he took out a hardback book from the top right-hand corner of the tall living-room bookshelf, presenting it to her and saying, “You must have certainly read this one. I’m sure you know it”.

She took it in her hands as if receiving an invaluable treasure.

She read the title and gulped. The cover was filled with stars.

“Oh so you’re the star!”, the young man mimicked.

It was a line that you would recognise only if you had read the book or saw the film. But you would only appreciate the worth of the book if you – a true bookworm – had read it too.

That’s how stardust is formed. Magically. From the smallest and seemingly most insignificant things.

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The meaning we give

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

It was on the dining table. A constant remind of the feelings that characterised that house. Passion, love, caring, sensitivity.

Inundated with colour, the crystal vase featured seven gold-tipped roses. Perfectly stemmed, with petals opened just enough to demonstrate their purity and elegance; the roses were a gift from the heart.

They enclosed a memory of a day overwhelmed with emotions, happiness and optimism. Of a day that brimmed of hope for what was to come. For a future full of colour and love.

They were an everyday cue that love is just a word until someone gives it meaning.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Enclosed in rose petals

©MCD

They are the ones that give colour to the flower itself. The ones you anxiously wait to grow, to bloom, to open up and reveal the others hidden inside. In a rose, it’s the petals that give it its essence.

The petals, just like the rose itself, are full of symbolisms. They represent the destination at the end of a long journey. They are what makes the climb up from the thorny stem worth the pain of it. They are what constitute the beauty of an otherwise ‘aggressive’ flower. For if you can’t grasp the thorns, you are not worthy of the flower. The petals are what accentuate the value.

Like William Carlos Williams wrote, “the rose is obsolete” for “it is at the edge of the petal that love waits”.

Flowers are symbols of love, of adoration, of caring. But they are soon doomed to wither, their petals opening up and eventually falling off. But even loose petals are symbols of love, of passion, of romance. They are the ones that hold the memories of the initial rose. Of the moment in which it was delivered. Of the emotions that overwhelmed the giver and the receiver, and of the instants that ensued.

It is not accidental that the best decoration potpourri usually include flower petals. Because they enclose everything the flower once was and everything it still remains. It reminds us that no matter how closed up we are, we can always bloom, let others past our thorns, and persist, maintaining our beauty unaffected by time.

Hidden thoughts

We all have hidden interpretations of things others don’t see. And it is usually the ones that cause a conflict. Because people find it hard to see with others’ eyes. We can’t put ourselves in others’ shoes, nor interpret things their way.

There are symbolic meanings to everyday behaviours. Meanings that are affected by our own perceptions of the world, by our prejudices, by our mentality, by the way we were raised, by the things we read, by our own experiences and thoughts.

It is these very perceptions that give rise to our hidden thoughts. They may be misinterpretations of certain incidents. But they become so rooted in our minds that to us they are established as the reality we see.

We refuse to see a different perspective, an alternative view, because it seems illogical, irrational, in total conflict to our own. And in essence, we are too stubborn, head-strong and selfish to do something that requires empathy on our part. It requires setting aside our own beliefs to comprehend what makes others react or act in certain ways.

Such absolute perceptions and hidden thoughts make our relationships dysfunctional. They cause us to become defensive even hostile. But worse of all, they lead to disappointment when we realise that our expectations are not met.

The mind is like a parachute: it only works when it is open.

Gordie, the fat cat

There was once a fat cat named Gordie,

who thought he was royal King Louis,

He would never eat out of cans,

or drink water from taps,

and would never be thought of as sloppy.

He was a picky fat cat,

and was teased by the rest of the pack,

but he cared not at all,

for he felt mighty and tall,

and believed he would rule them all shortly.

He would never look into the trash,

that was for those of a lower class,

but he would expect his plate out of brass,

to always be filled with big, fresh, sea bass.

He run around other fat cats,

to please his own rank,

for that made him more jolly and bossy.

There were days he felt he owned a bank,

and others were he simply drew a blank,

but he remained as sturdy as a tank,

as he often stated he “didn’t give a franc”.

Gordie was fat and proud of it;

He would never deny,

what was obvious to the eye,

but corruption was in oversupply,

and only proven by the private-eye.

And for this he still reigned,

as honest he so feigned,

and was considered the chief of the posse.

And as he lived a life in splendor

yapping at every slight offender,

he kept asking for more,

vowing power to never surrender.

But this potency vested greed,

and to him it was a deed,

to gain evermore,

no matter who he appalled,

for that is the very core

of why a fat cat is thus so-called!