MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “postaday”

Bombarding thoughts

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There comes a moment in the day when you finally sit down for a few minutes. It’s that incident when you can feel all your thoughts rushing right back into your head. Everything you’ve been trying to avoid contact with by keeping yourself busy with other things. Until that very moment.

You take a deep breath. Close your eyes and try to block everything out. But you can’t. Because at some point or other, you will have to face them. Those thoughts you so dexterously try to avoid.

They bombard your head, asking questions about how you’ll fare through with your finances; about the uncertainties that surround your life; your job; your relationship; your career; your future. You feel a cloud settling over your head and a migraine imminent. Your pulse begins to race and a panic attack ensues.

All you wish for at that moment is a furry pal to come jump on your lap and purr soothingly.

Or at least someone to come over and wrap you up in a tight hug that will expel all the torturous thoughts from your head.

You need quiet. Calm. To think clearly, you need an orderly head, tidy surroundings and a positive attitude.

Because everything will be alright eventually. Despite the patience you don’t think you have right now. It won’t be the end unless things are OK. Just remember that.

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Like William Carlos Williams wrote, “the rose is obsolete” for “it is at the edge of the petal that love waits”.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

Fear of the unknown

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“Come on, let’s go!” His voice was anxious, masking the excitement and enthusiasm of a well-kept secret only he knew.

She was reserved, almost scared. Where were they going? Why? What would be there? How would they go? How long would it take? Her mind was a whirlwind of questions. She probably appeared dazed too, perhaps betraying her confusion to the outsider. So much, that it prompted him to reassure her. “It’ll be fine. Don’t be so afraid. It’s going to be fun!”

He took her hand and led her to the car. He smiled at her, his eyes glowing. She smiled back nervously. “Sometimes you don’t need to have all the answers,” he said.

When the car stopped, he turned towards her. She was gazing outside trying to figure out where they were. “Close your eyes”, he said. She was almost shocked. “Come on, close your eyes. You’ll ruin the surprise otherwise. Don’t you trust me?” It was a cheap card to play – the trust issue – but he knew she would cave to it. “No peeking either!”

She gripped his arm as he led her out of the car and up a grassy hill. The fresh air penetrated her nostrils and filled her lungs with oxygen. It helped her get her mind off the fact that her heart was pumping mad with anguish about this unknown event.

We’re here,” he said. She timidly opened her eyes.

In the middle of a picture-perfect scene – green valley, tall trees in bloom, colourful flowers, peace and quiet – there lay a picnic feast waiting for them.

She laughed wholeheartedly and jumped in his arms.

“Sometimes not knowing too much is the best way to keep calm,” he winked.

The making of a genius

He was born out of wedlock so had no right to education. He was considered an outcast and society looked down on him. Yet he managed to ignore them all – all those eyes who stared with loathing when he walked by, as if he had stolen something from them, as if they had become lesser people because of his existence.

He was curious of the world. Of how everything was structured to make things work so seamlessly. He was astonished by the way birds used their wings to fly or how water was present almost everywhere. He had a mind that was constantly alert. His thoughts would keep him awake at night and without food, for he was too busy thinking about how he could make improvements in an already magnificently built world. He wanted humans to go further. But they had to want that too.

He was a scientist, an inventor, a sculptor, an artist, a musician, a thinker. He was a genius. One who comprehended the need to go out and do things to achieve something. One the world acknowledged too late in time.

He was the one who proved the world was a better place because of him. But people couldn’t see it.

His name was Leonardo.

“There are three classes of people: those who see, those who see when they are shown, those who do not see”

“Learning is the only thing the mind never exhausts, never fears, and never regrets”

– Leonardo Da Vinci

Acts of Kindness

©Renee Heath

How can we turn that frown upside down?” Grandfather asked the young boy with his right hand extended before him. In it was a red candy-stick. The boy immediately smiled as he grabbed the sweet.

It was incidents like this that had remained imprinted in memory.

Like a hot beverage to soothe a bleeding soul. Or a tight hug from a person you loved to make the troubles go away.

It was even excursions for camping in the mountains to clear your head.

Eventually, he realised it was not the things themselves that mattered. It was the acts of kindness.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The mended glass door

©Dale Rogerson

There was only one room in the house that was forbidden. In fact, he had never seen anyone trespass it.

It was the first thing anyone who would stay there for a night or more would be “advised”. To “avoid the mended glass door”.

No explanations were given. They were considered superfluous.

Ben was the only boy who dared break the rules. He was considered a “problematic” child, one tormented by inner demons crated by the unhealthy environment in which he was raised.

His lifestyle was reckless because he had nothing to lose.

Not even when he opened the door.

Frozen paws

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There was no sign of it in the morning. Even before the sun was out, there was frost in the atmosphere and it was freezing. But it was expected to stay dry. It was in the midst of winter, however, and snow was always a possibility.

Not even a half hour had passed when the first snowflake hit the windshield.

The Chihuahua inside the warm vehicle got excited. As if it had understood the magic that was happening. It began to hop on the seat, stretching out its little tongue as if to lick the snowflakes that began to mount on the glass in front of it.

The driver next to the small dog was smiling. Not only because of the white scenery that began to spread rapidly now; but mainly due to the unexpected reaction from his four-legged friend.

When the road began to become more slippery, they slowed down. Caution was required.

That was when the little dog pinned its eyes outside a certain spot on the window and began to bark. Its tail was elongated like a needle.

The driver stopped and got outside.

The snow was even denser now. You could almost feel it falling on you. The Chihuahua managed to slip outside just before the car door closed.

There in front of them, near some snow-covered bushes was a furry bagel-like-circle. You could barely make out its pointy ears and fluffy tail. The snowflakes had almost engulfed it.

The dog’s owner approached cautiously and extended his hand. The fox opened its eyes. It didn’t move. Perhaps it was too scared. Or perhaps it was too numb from the cold. Its piercing blue-green eyes almost begged for help.

The driver picked it up without breaking the circle it had sat in. Inside the warmth of the car, the fox fluffed up its fur and almost appeared to smile.

The Chihuahua was happy. It didn’t want to be enjoying the luxury of a refuge when some other co-animal was freezing outside. Just because you’re safe, doesn’t mean everyone else is too.

Nature’s magic

©MCD

When Grandpa got up with the rising sun, he did not expect that the front door wouldn’t open. Neither the back. He knew it was going to be a difficult day. But for some, it would be exactly the opposite.

He tip-toed into Jenny’s room and gently shook her to waken her from dreamland. She half-opened her eyes and stretched every inch of her small body.

Good morning, Grandpa,” she whispered.

There’s a surprise outside your window,” he smiled.

She jumped out of bed and looked outside.

Everything was white. An impeccable white blanket had covered everything as far as she could see. It was snowing all night and it continued to do so now. They were snowed in.

Grandpa was concerned because they were somewhat isolated in the village and their resources were scarce. He was planning to go into town today, had the weather permitted it. But few things in life usually go according to plan.

Jenny was excited; she was jumping up and down and rushing to put on warm clothes in order to run outside. It was freezing, but enthusiasm always keeps you warm.

Come on Grandpa, let’s go build a snowman!” she called as she tried to open the door.

The old man used a shovel, back-aching and almost sweating in the sub-zero temperatures, striving to open the door.

When he succeeded the little girl ran outside and dived into the snow.

Grandpa smiled.

There wasn’t much he could do anyway. He just had to wait for assistance. So they might as well have some fun in the meantime.

Snow beautifies everything. It is nature’s magic that fills your soul with wonder.

The jar of colour

©Priya Bajpal

It was always on the table. Ever since it was set there in a ceremonial style by the two of them.

No matter what happened after that, the fights, the disagreements, the shouting, the heartbreaks, it was there. Left there as a constant reminder of the good times.

Because the bad tempers would pass. And the light would be restored.

The glass jar of coloured papers represented exactly that. The positivity of our lives. The need to realise that it is not all black and white. That there is colour. The one we create and we are responsible for maintaining.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Desire and action

©MCD
©MCD

It was snowing when he set foot outdoors. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have, but his mother forced him to go out in search of the required groceries for lunch. He was the sort of person who always found excuses not to do something. He would constantly say he wanted to but it was simply not possible because of a series of pretexts he would cough up at the moment.

Procrastinating was Tommy’s expertise. But as he matured, he found that there were things you could simply not postpone. And the less you did, the more reliable you would become and the better status you would obtain as a person and as a character.

But the most memorable lesson, he learnt in a cabin in the woods that day he went off-track.

It was a wooden cabin below the snowy mountains. Adjacent was a lake in which two magnificent swans were found. It seemed almost mythical. He approached in hope it would offer solace from the extreme cold.

Above the front door there was a sign that read “When there’s a will there’s a way, when there’s none there’s delay”.  He knocked on the door and waited. Then he knocked again. There was no response.

After a while, as his hands began to turn numb from the cold, he decided to search for a back door.

There was one with an “entry” sign above.

Inside was a carpenter. One of the type he had only read about in storybooks.

It took you long enough,” he told Tommy as he led him to a seat near the blaring fireplace and offered him a cup of steaming hot tea.

 Tommy looked perplexed.

Had you figured out the meaning of the sign sooner, your hands wouldn’t have turned so pale from the frostbite,” the carpenter explained.

Simply stating your desire or intention to do something does not make it real. It’s when you act upon it that it happens. And that is what matters. Because others can’t see your intentions, they can only judge you by your actions”.

Tommy was beginning to understand. This meeting was not by chance. In fact, he had never seen this cabin in this part of the valley before.

“Stop denying the fact that you’re delaying things. Or simply not doing them. The time to act is now, not later. You don’t know what will happen later on. If you can do something now, why are you waiting? What for? There is always time to do something important. To show others you care.  If you can act, and if you’re going to use your intention in your defence later on, why procrastinate? If it is significant, you do it. That is what others will see. And what matters most, is what you show”.

Tommy drank his last sip and was ready to leave.

There was nothing he could say. After all, this meeting was not for him to speak, but to listen.

“Character is built on the strength of your actions”, he heard the carpenter say as he waved him goodbye.

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