thornsnpetals

procrastination. lists and lists of things to do. i just take one, look at it, do nothing and stuff it at the bottom of the pile. when will this ever get done? how can i even ask myself that question? 3 languages are floating around the office all at once. headache.i dont want to be alone. i just want to be left alone.

why hello there sunshine! after weeks and weeks of rain, sun's finally out! 

Today, I didn't see the diseased fleshy pink paint peeling off the garden doors, but I saw the glorious forest green shade beneath it.

I did not see the horrid news plastered on the morning headline, but I saw the graceful slope of each printed letter, signifying an exquisite uselessness.

Today, I did not see the cracks in the sidewalk…
…but I saw the flowers growing through them.

Eyes flutter open sluggishly, millimeter by heavy millimeter and I feel like I am in a silent film, rolling on at an agonizingly delayed pace. Each movement is bigger, dramatic.

The silence expands and emphasizes everything that would otherwise get drowned out in the rush of the morning.
Old floorboards yawning, pinewood walls creaking, the roof stretching out to feel the first rays of a new day…they sigh awake.

I take a moment to savor this unfolding, this dramatic, tender awakening before the world starts circling in its endless cycle of deafening sound, drowning these moments out.

Staring at that one particular dot on my ceiling, I don't know why I always pick the same dot…  I think of all the nothings that I have yet to mold into somethings that will eventually lead up to an everything. An everything which will probably lead to nothing at all in the long run.

Running through the oncoming day in my head, already gives me a migraine despite the cool silence I lay afloat in. And it hasn't even STARTED yet. The very thought of it makes me as restless as James Frey on that day he started rehab. But I exaggerate…. As I often do and lose all semblance of time in imagining situations, that of course, are not likely to occur in my lifetime.

Still it gives me pleasure to lose myself if only for a few minutes each day. When compared to other pleasures, it's really quite harmless isn't it?

A simple pleasure that costs you nothing at all.

Inky black lightens leisurely into a deep soft purple and takes on the texture of the most  luscious lavender suede. It is as if a clumsy tailor had tripped and dropped his bolt of cloth and it was now billowing out across the sky. Each second it get brighter, and I hop out of bed and take a long hard look at myself in the full length mirror. My one-dimensional twin stares right back at me and seems horrified to find out that she is not an original after all.

Walking out into the hazy half-light, I decide to take it slow today no matter how many things may push me, goad me, or rant at me. That is my days resolve.  Content enough, I hum a tune I had heard sometime last night, not remembering the lyrics and pad happily along the dew-covered carpet in my backyard. Wistful emotions blow over me and whistle in sync to my tune. Clad in my tattered grey tee, I shiver in the morning mist and curl my toes until it scratches the soil beneath the grass. I am surprised and ever so grateful for even a second of this temporary instance of nonsensical satisfaction.

I don't know WHY I felt it on this particular day-this particular day that really doesn't seem any different from yesterday, or the day before. Who knows what made this morning so perfectly sublime?

I see my father from outside through the big picture window sitting in our enormous Narra rocking chair. He has his favorite battered cup in his hand, and I can see the steam rising up. No matter how many new coffee cups I buy, he stubbornly insists on using the old one, even if it is chipped all around the edges. He simply says "I like my cup." Who can argue with the simplicity and finality of that statement?

Today, I did not see the cake of dust and careless fingerprints smudged eternally into the big picture window, but I saw my shivering reflection smiling back at myself. And today, I did not see a tired aging man, rocking slowly back and forth sipping his coffee… I saw a man wise in years standing straight and proud. Steaming scepter in hand, a king in his own land.

Today…

Today  I saw beauty where I had not seen it before. I failed to see it, not because it wasn't there… It had been there all along timidly presenting itself. Shy little beauties, afraid to be belittled by the urgencies of day to day living. My sight had been clouded by the unrelenting demands of the modern world. Lost in the rush of how a sun rises all too soon. Ignored and unseen, substituted with constant worried glances at my watch, and brushed aside, unaware, by the long pressing strides of daily responsibility.

I saw beauty today where I had not seen it before. And in that instant, I knew what was different today. It was me.
Standing there in my newfound realization, a nagging rasp of a voice poked and prodded at me.

"You'll be late for work."

My second realization followed. What I need in my life right now is time to not, and time to.

Time to not analyze in futility…
Time to not worry in a constant state of apprehension…
Time to not be theme I have to be.

Time to imagine and create and admire…
Time to dance, to savor, to fly…
Time to dream and be the me I want to be.

I purse my lips together in a decisive line. I had decided to take it slow today.

But that voice…
That voice had a certain ring to it. A ring that stubbornly refused to be ignored. The ring of reality.

"Yer gonna be in deep shit if you don't move yer scrawny ass right now."

Now.

NoW.

NOW!

And the word echoed with such reverberation that the sky flashed slate gray, the hard kind of grey that people smash their heads into when they leap to their deaths from 20-storey buildings. Buildings that are the very same shade of slate grey as that cursed pavement. And the giddy shiver that trembled through me turned into an epileptic state of harassed panic…

And all the shy little beauties vanished back into the shadows while the second hand ticking away on my watch became the single aching sound that only got louder and louder as each second passed until it filled my whole world.

T              I               M            E

The moment is gone. At a half run, I rush back to my room, racing against time.

Tearing off my shirt, I step into the cold water. GONE.

My sensible shoes, and sensible blouse, and sensible skirt are put on nice and sensibly. Sensible me nods approvingly from the other side of the mirror.

And sensible me walks quick and purposefully out the door and down the driveway.
Halfway down the driveway, a tuft of yellow sticks out of the gravel, and I stop.

"It's really quite harmless isn't it?"

I hum a tune I heard last night…not remembering the lyrics….

"Don't look at the cracks in the sidewalk….See the flowers growing through them."




I take off my watch and fling it into the sky.

It's one of those Sundays when I wake to hear the hustle and bustle of the house. The washing machine whirring along diligently, pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, faint voices talking about the sermon at mass.

Through a single half closed eye I spy a glimpse of a perfect blue summer through the slits of the blinds and I turn away with annoyance at those persistent lines of sunshine invading the dark sanctity of my bedroom.

A group of Mayas chirp incessantly under the eaves.

" The early bird catches the worm. "
" The early bird catches the worm. "
" The early bird catches the worm. "

Well I dont want your worms.
Who wants worms anyway?
People should seriously stop using this expression. If you were born a bird, by all means... make it your life's creed. But in the assumption that no birds are actually reading this, I can honestly ask, who in their right mind wants worms for breakfast?

I kick off my blanket, make a feeble attempt to get up. While using my remaining physical strength - looking like a puppet being maneuvered by a drooling idiot - or more accurately, looking like a drooling idiot myself - I fling my body into a semi-upright position, grab the blanket, and collapse lifelessly back into bed.

Heaving a sigh of content, I turn my back to the window. The birds continue, and they sound even closer now. Annoyance has now escalated to full blown hatred. The previous chirping now sounds almost deafening to me. How the hell did these birds get a hold of a megaphone?!?!

Well you can stuff it up your little feathered asses my friends. Because there is no way I'm getting up early on a Sunday to catch a gaddam worm.

Eyes closed and lips pursed, I reach for anything within arms length in the mess on the parquet floor and pray that I don't pick up anything that I will later regret breaking.

AHA! Got something.

I open my bloodshot eyes again. The invading sunshine has made it past the front lines. Brighter now. Yes. I now realize I am fighting a losing battle.

My probing fingers had picked up a book and i think "OH NO!" Not a book! For books are far too precious to be thrown carelessly at windows to ward off insanely noisy birds.
I force my dazed eyes to focus upon the title. It reads:

" Basic Korean Grammar "

Well in THAT case.

A crackle of the blinds.
Thud on the floor.
A rustle of tiny wings fleeing.

Take that you bastards.

A self-satisfied cackle escapes my lips as I ease back into the crevices of my bed. I perk my ears for a moment and listen. The laundry must be done... lunch must be over... everyone must have gone out...
I pull the covers over my head. What a waste of that glorious blue sky. I close my eyes again, take a deep breath, and concentrate on slowing my heartbeat to a sleep-induced pace.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in...

Just as I am about to enter the realm of never-never land, a blessed BLESSED land devoid of all winged screeching creatures, an earth-shattering pounding rains on my unarmed pinewood sentry.

I flinch violently into a sudden state of wakefulness.

Eyes shocked into enormous red circles, mascara gone helter skelter. Heart thrown into absolute mayhem. Dislodged from the left side of my chest, now bouncing frantically from my guts to my throat and back. A deformed bloodied pinball.

This must be the bonus round...

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The words "NEW HIGH SCORE" flash boldly on my forehead.

Apparently, not EVERYONE had gone out. It's my Dad.

" Wakie Wakie! " He now shouts at my door. Yelling from below, he offers me a candy bar, reminds me that the dog needs a bath, and at the top of his lungs, begins to narrate a story involving Pepe Smith and a bottle of Absinthe.

I can tell it's going to be a long one...

One more time Rosela!!!!!

Breathe in.... Breathe out..... Breathe in....... Breathe out......

With each deep breath, the enormous eyes begin shrinking into little red puffballs, now glazed over and droopy, and the heart begins to slow gradually, now connected fast to all the proper valves and arteries. A leashed dog.
After a few counts, a feeling of helpless acceptance settles upon me.

Yes. I truly AM fighting a losing battle.

Waving my imaginary flag of white lace underwear hastily fastened to a bamboo stick, I drag myself out of bed and trudge to my door in defeat. I give my door a compassionate pat. I knew that he had done all in his limited pinewood power to protect me.
As i lay my hand on the knob, I think for a moment in abject resignation:

" Well I guess I am eating worms for breakfast today. "

I glance at my watch.


3:21 PM


" Well... maybe not. "

I laugh out loud.
I open the door and walk into the light.

The Case of an Arabian Stallion Rearing in the Depths of a Far Away Heart


How do you rein in your jealousy? How do you tie it down and break it when it rears dark and wild at merest sign of an attempt to take it under control? How do you cool it down when even at the most careful footstep, it sends the dust around the edges of  your well- worn surefooted boot into swirling disarray... How do you placate the sudden rush of blood to the temple when even at the slightest change of wind when you raise your lasso with the most delicate hand and the gentlest turn of the wrist, its ears prick up anxiously and its eyes burn with panic and fear…a fear that is unfounded…a panic that is imagined…when the only true intention is to pat it tenderly and teach it how to carry a its partner  with care.



If there were a thousand lightbulbs illuminating my heart with feeling for you, the moment that I read that page, one of those lighbulbs died out…. And so it began, the beginning of the end. The lack of remorse, or the lack of any feeling at all, for the events that had just transpired had let one of those lights out. To turn the page and expect to find  a form of reciprocity for the regret that I myself felt, only to find that not only was he not even thinking about me, but to be met by words meant for another resembling the same words said to you in love. Oh no my dear…I fear that "I love yous", shall from now , be few and far between.


The jealousy may be under control, once you have exercised your own control over that stallion in the depths of your heart,  but just as the horse is tamed it loses a certain light of beauty… a certain glint in its eye that held some fiery sparks of inexplicable attraction is extinguished… a certain lightness in its step is reduced to a comfortable, yet ordinary gait…



True. It may have been tamed for the better.
But in the same exact moment that its wildness was broken, so was its spirit.
And in that same moment, one lightbulb amidst a thousand died out...


as a quiet mare stood complacently in the fading lights of a far away heart.