The light in her eyes

I’ve sacrificed a lot to be where I am today. When I look back, I can actually reflect on the numerous footsteps I have covered to walk past the atrocities my family and I faced. I was the only son of my parents. Being financially crippled for so many years, I became accustomed to living a life full of hardships. Not that I was a victim of privation, but I had lost the urge of living luxuriously. As a child, I tried to be the best I could. But my soul was bruised by everyday afflictions.

Normally, miracles don’t happen. Well, sometimes they do. Thirteen years ago, my great grandfather died leaving a large fortune in my father’s name as he had no other heir. All those years of my father’s unstable business, financial woes and months full of torment were put to an end. Intelligently, my folks invested half of the sum in a money making scheme in Phoenix, Arizona. The business happened to flourish exponentially. No sooner, we moved from Gilbert, a small town in Arizona to Phoenix—the largest city and the capital of the state. 

In Phoenix, we resided opposite Lake Havasu. The balcony opened to a breathtaking view. Life was finally beginning to unveil its brighter side. After years of distress, the smile on my mother’s lips gave me relief that I had craved for, for so long.

I completed my university just two years later. Immediately, I was offered a job from Microsoft in Los Angeles, California. With full zest and unbelievable spirit, I made a shift to Los Angeles—the city that I associated to Hollywood movies. Why was it unbelievable? Concisely enough, I, Rubik Rollin was now a hero right out of the slums! That sense of felicity that ran through my blood was enormous. 

It’s been two years since I am based in Los Angeles. As much as my job consumes me, I revive my tiresome mind after work by resorting to a scrumptious meal, some drinks, clubbing and friends. Betty, my best friend from school lives close by. Sometimes, I hang out with her and her husband, Boss, over the weekend.

The last week was manic. And most tiring of all was my Friday. While I was at work, my phone buzzed with Betty’s call. By the time I pulled over the flip of my mobile, the call had disconnected. She left a voicemail saying, “Hey partner, Break n’ Bass tonight. Boss and his friend Andy are up for some drinks. See you”.

I was at Break n’ Bass right at 8 o clock. It was a Friday night. Everyone looked their best, and welcomed the weekend enthusiastically. Just when I entered, a head-turning, appealing woman walked towards the dance floor. I followed her but she became out of sight on a dime. Few seconds later, I saw her mingling with a group of people. Her ardent eyes electrocuted my senses and impassioned me to numerous sensations. She swiftly danced to the track that was playing, silhouetted against a candescent dance floor in a radiant black dress. All I could see was her. Every time her bangs caressed her skin, I was found engulfed in her beauty. Her skin was spotless, her dress unblemished. Her flawlessness drove me crazy and my fondness for her grew instantly. 

The next moment, I hurried my steps towards her and embraced her around her side. In reaction, she rested her hand on my belt on the left side of my waistline. To my surprise, she gorgeously spun herself to the dance steps while she clutched my fingers tightly. The ball curtailed to a soothing instrumental. She and I drifted to a secluded corner of the club. 

“Rubik Rollin.” I introduced myself to her and formally shook hands. “Ellen… Ellen Reuters”, she smiled. I walked to the bar and grabbed a bottle of beer for both of us. I had completely forgotten about Betty and Boss. Instead, Ellen and I walked out of the club and started tramping towards the Sunset Strip. While she briefed me about herself, I glared at her lips out of which words magnificently made their way. I looked down her abdomen and the wrinkles her black silken dress formed thrilled my deepest glands. Just when we were close to her house, I secretly made my way to her hand and held it tightly in mine. She incontinently looked at me and I looked at her up close for the first time. We exchanged an intense look. When we reached her door, I pulled her close to me and pinned her against the boundary wall under the chilly atmosphere. Then, I drew myself closer to her and inhaled her scent. While she delved in exploring the silence between us, I fished her cell phone out of her pocket and rang myself. 

In the next minute, she had gone inside and I made my way back home. While I walked, I sent her a text message saying, “Fancy meeting you, gorgeous.” She immediately responded, “Pleasure is all mine, young man.”

I thought of her constantly and her scent had mesmerized me. When I reached home, I fell in bed and slept holding the memory of that night close to my heart. The next morning, I woke up to a disturbing telephone call from a lady I had no recollection of. “You bloody goon! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I am so glad to not have gone out with you. People like you…” Just when I realized it was probably a wrong number, I hung up while that woman continually blabbered.

Throughout the day, I was here and there. Later in the evening, my heart burdened as I started to realize Ellen’s absence beside me. The memory from the previous night dawned upon me and I phoned her. “Are you free for a dinner tonight?”

“Water’s edge, 9 pm sharp”, she responded.

I was already surprised by her stunning appearance the day before. But tonight, Ellen left me speechless. She sat right before me in a stylish peacock blue linen maxi. The light in her eyes had only glorified, it nothing else. Her curly locks of hair enclasped her ear lobe and I just couldn’t get my eyes off her. We had a few deep conversations about ourselves, life, what we wanted and what we have. She told me about her job as the Head of Operations in one of Los Angeles’s leading magazines called Diva. I told her about my family’s excruciating hardships and how our lives took a u-turn. By now, she had become absorbed in me, my words and began to thoroughly enjoy my company. After the dinner, she sat beside me in my Audi and I dropped her home. Through the drive, we heard a soft instrumental and I told her about my lavish penthouse in Central LA where I normally like to spend my weekends. 

Before I dropped her off, I reclined towards her, wrapped both my arms around her and kissed her deeply invading her mouth. She stood still in shock for a few seconds before she hurried out of the car. Her prompt departure spooked me. But in no time, she reverted with a text message that said, “The food was lush. I had a great evening. Hope to see you again.”

As I read through her text, I was blinded by her anew. The thought alone of seeing her ‘again’ filled my heart with joy. The next morning, I knocked at her door and invaded inside the house just when she unlocked the hatch. While the door was ajar, I clenched her tightly and asked her to accompany me to my penthouse for the rest of the day and the following night. She nodded in agreement and we decided to meet two hours later.

At 11 o clock, I honked outside Ellen’s door. She stepped out in a hot pink silken skirt with a fury muffler that rounded her neck. She clutched the door open and sat in the car. I gave a subtle look. Her hair rested on the side of her chin and her high heels blazoned her lovely soft feet. Her lips shone with a glossy bronze lipstick. The sight was mouthwatering and seductive.

We drove past downtown towards the penthouse. As we spoke, I could tell that she developed an appetite to be with me. Even though she felt shy in expressing her feelings, the light in her eyes manifested her growing passion. In an hour, we reached the penthouse. I escorted her inside. It was a world of its own with a breathtaking view of the city from the 41^st floor. Ellen and I strolled around. I showed her the rooms, the kitchen and prodigal outdoor scenery. She grinned from ear to ear and the sound of her laughter awakened my exotic thirst. Ellen blissfully roamed around the penthouse. When the sky grew dark, she dived in the swimming pool under the starry expanse of the moon. The air had an increasing sense of serenity. Few minutes later, Ellen entwined her fingers in mine and jumped out of the water. She was drenched. Water droplets trickled down face to her neck and made their way to the most secretive places. Every move she made bound me more and more in her spell.

Before we sneaked out for dinner, I brought Ellen to the lounge. Outside, the sky was unlit and clear. As we stood against the glass wall, we enjoyed the idyllic view of Los Angeles from the penthouse. I grabbed her arm and moved towards the piano. Unbelievably, I played for her. She sat at a small distance but as I pressed the keyboard, she moved closer to me and I could smell her velvety hair. All those years of suffering and hopelessness were reflected in the tunes I produced that night. Ellen seemed to have had a detailed insight of my life and the scars that my tarnished soul bore till date.

She reclined on my shoulder in consolation. Those few breaths we exchanged made me fall madly in love with this lady. This wasn’t me. Perhaps, not the Rubik the world or I knew of. Later at night, we went out to devour a quick bite and walked back to the penthouse arms in arms. Ellen had now lost herself in the sensation of our love. The night progressed with a romantic aura that brought us closer. I was closest to her than I had ever been to a girl. The light in her eyes rose by leaps and bounds and I was insanely attracted to her. We immersed in the sweetest form of copulation until my phone rang and obstructed our union. To my utter detestation, it was the same dubious woman who had called the other day accusing me of something I couldn’t seem to recall. Again, I thought of it as a wrong number and hung up.

The next morning that I woke up, Ellen was asleep beside me with her palm tightly tucked in mine. While she emerged in slumber, I rushed to dress up and leave for work. I left a note by her side table that said, “The weekend was beautiful than I ever thought. I am headed to work and I shall see you after 5 o clock.” 

Before I descended to work, I spent few minutes of isolation just where Ellen was asleep. I stared at her and recalled the light in her eyes. The light in her eyes had become my direction. It paved grounds of prosperity for me.

I was back in the midst of work and tight pressurizing deadlines but something about everything that day felt extremely good. The day was no different—the usual, official stress. But a ray of hope was cultivating within me. When the clock struck 4, Ellen’s thoughts started overwhelming me and I lost myself to the recollection of the weekend. Something wasn’t right. I hastened my way back to the penthouse. I wasn’t sure if Ellen was still in the state I had left her—I hadn’t heard from her all day. 

As I drove by the overcrowded highways of the city, the light in Ellen’s eyes flashed before me. The first time I saw her to staying at the penthouse over the weekend—felt surreal and somewhat unbelievable. I was outside the penthouse and it was 5 pm sharp. “By now the shackles around Ellen's feet and hands would have imprinted permanent marks on her skin”, I thought to myself. My poor lady love had no aid to her rescue—I had disconnected all phone connections and wireless communication channels while she was strangled in bed and lay blindfolded. A pang of guilt ached through my bones but I braced myself to face Ellen and confidently made my way upstairs. 

As I stepped in, I looked around the penthouse. I couldn’t wait to see Ellen—my new victim. I unlocked her door, walked in and loaded my trigger. Ouch! Ellen still lay blindfolded, handcuffed and strangled. I couldn’t just let her go. How could I? The light in her eyes added so much meaning to my life. Before I shot the bullet down her skull, I removed the blindfold from her eyes. After all, I had to see the dazzling light in her eyes faded out. Didn’t I?

Love does miracles. Ellen stole my heart in the most alluring manner. But my love for her was subdued by the serial killer that was alive in me.

Some love stories are hale and hearty. While some have blood in them.

               

My cherry that I call Berry.

Polar and I have been married for eleven years now. We have a 4-yr-old daughter named Berry.

Scooting back to 1996, Polar proposed me under the rusty expanse of autumn in San Francisco, California. Before the proposal, we had been friends for two years. In those two years, Polar had become my best friend, my confidante and someone I could fully trust. I lost both my parents to a roadside accident when I was just 13. Since then, I was residing in Belmont, a suburb in California with my maternal grandmother. Polar filled attractive colors in my life like a rainbow does to the sky after rain.

Exactly eight months after Polar proposed me, we married. Our wedding bells rang in a rather simplistic manner. Clustered in the church were close friends and family members that included my maternal aunts and uncles. After marriage, I moved to Seattle with Polar; where we inaugurated our matrimonial bond in a delicious fashion. 

Right after my marriage, I began my job at Seattle Times as a Chief Editor. While Polar worked as a litigator in Pearson Thomas, a renowned law firm. We managed our work routine and married life diligently, achieving just the perfect balance that was required for our bond to grow. Both of us would be home by 6 o clock in the evening. Following that, we got evenings to each other. Life was more beautiful than I had ever thought it to be. Polar brought so much contentment in my life that my heart bloomed with joy. All those years of hardship, loneliness and lack of parental love was compensated by him. Albeit I had spent a good amount of time without Polar, the time that we spent together was so fulfilling that even all the years I spent in his absence were no longer empty of him. Sometimes, we went for a movie after work, theatre or an amusement park to unwind. On weekends, we cooked for each other, visited friends, invited them over, finished home chores, shopped for the week, paid our utility bills and played basketball. The first summer that followed our marriage, we went to Belize for honeymoon. Upon our return, we took ballet class together. While the entire team was free to chose a partner, my partner was my man who consolidated the true meaning of my existence. Every time we danced, I fell into his arms and he held on to me tighter than he did before. Every time we were face to face on the floor, just exchanging a look clenched the muscles south of my body. 

With each passing day, we fell deeper in love. I came to realize that love lies in all the practical things that one does with their partner and not just behind closed doors and drawn curtains. 

Six years in our marriage had lapsed when we decided to have a child. It was a well-thought decision and Polar and I began to accordingly mould our lives to welcome our child. Berry, when first laid eyes on us, changed our lives forever. It wasn’t only a birth of a child; but there was a mother who was born inside me. I gushed in tears of happiness. Immediately, I held her tight in my arms and I knew what I had lacked in life—love of a mother. Polar, on the other hand was delighted to have a daughter. Berry and I became his focus and road map. His elation knew no bounds. To be honest, every time that he smiled, I immersed into an increasing sense of gladness. That feeling was matchless. When I think of it today, it still gives me jitters.

In few months time, Berry turned from a pink just-born baby to a cute looking, innocent child. She had Polar’s eyes and my hair—her curly locks of hair beautifully rolled down her ears. With Berry, we held hopes. Her arrival had brought Polar and I much closer.

Life went on as Berry grew up. Rather slowly, but immense workload hit Polar. Pearson Thompson underwent some crucial stages of dismemberment. Clients were blistering at the company’s performance and withdrew all their deals. Some heavy-duty work schedules followed the turmoil and Polar had no choice but to succumb to his colleagues and clients. There were days when Polar returned home at 11 o clock in the night and other days when he didn’t show up at all.

One night as I muffled myself out of my blanket, half-asleep, I opened my eyes and looked around, Polar lay asleep next to me with his tie half-done and his laces undone. He was fast asleep. The excruciating migraine he went through at work the entire day reflected on his skin. He was clearly exhausted and consumed to his brim. Meanwhile, Berry was deprived of her father’s company and I tried to fill in for Polar as much as I could. But well, a child needs a mother the most, but she also needs a father. 

I turned my face and just when I was about to clamber in bed again, a scrap of paper was stuck on my side table that read, “Ice, please wake me up at 6 am.” The note was left by Polar. I waited for the clock to struck 6. 

Few months passed and life had now become stagnant. I was almost raising Berry like a single parent. Except when a month commenced, Polar credited a sum of money in my bank account. My husband was lost in the chronicles of being a litigator. Somehow, I knew, something wasn’t right. As much as I conformed to the commanding nature of his job, I knew he was drifting away from me. It felt like ages when he last looked me in my eyes, embraced me and Berry, took us out for a dinner or even had a meal at home. Every night I cooked something fancy hoping Polar would return at a decent time. But now, my hopes were distilling. 

Surprisingly, I wasn’t angry at him. But there was hurt, breakdown of sentiments and a pervasive heartache. I still hoped he would return to me one day with a bouquet full of fresh, romantic scented flowers and cuddle Berry in his arms.

“Dew has come into my life”, read Polar’s text message one day while I was at work. Yes, my husband had fallen for another woman. The feeling shook the ground beneath my feet. I stood rooted in disdain. I snapped my computer and left office instantly. I picked Berry from the day care centre and rushed home. In no time, I was home. To my surprise, Polar hadn’t gone to work that day. He glumly sat on the stairs and came running towards me to hold Berry just when I stepped in. I rigidly whisked upstairs to our bedroom. Berry was confused and her little mind put her entire energy to interpret what was going on. 

Few minutes later, I made my way downstairs to confront Polar. I was fierce and frazzled as I could be. But slowly, he approached me, held my hand and entwined my fingers. Just when I jerked my arm to set myself free, he curled down in between my shoulders and sobbed uncontrollably. I was shocked and clueless. I didn’t feel good. I had had a meltdown. I was devastated and despondent; not because my love was withering away, but because the one and only man of my life was in an ungovernable misery. I held Polar closely after a long gap. As much as I felt satiated, I was torn in between my soul. He apologetically uttered a few words and detailed me about himself and Dew.  I knew off the bat that he wanted to marry her. Howbeit, that didn’t necessarily mean he would leave Berry and I for good—did it? I wasn't sure.

As days progressed, I gathered the scattered pieces of my soul—that were once put together by Polar—myself. One evening when I stepped home, there was a bouquet in my name with a little side note to it. It read, “Ice, I understand the grounds womanhood rests upon. I know, for you, sharing your husband will be an impossible feat. As much as I am joyous over the decision to marry Polar, I stand convicted in your court and I shall remain here till you forgive me with a full heart. Regretfully, Dew.” 

I stood speechless. Once again, I was taken aback. Crushed to extreme, my energy pooled down at my feet and I paused in my tracks. Polar was finally marrying Dew. But that’s what I wanted, after all, didn’t I? I had been on the quest to guard my husband against social and societal cult and apparently, marriage deemed the most suitable weapon to fight it. 

All this while, Berry had gone ignored. The massive struggle my soul and mind went through to rejuvenate myself was colossal in terms of energy and spirit. Three weeks later, Polar and Dew married and moved to another apartment in downtown in the midst of the high-class, exotic life of Seattle. Berry and I continued to reside downhill in a relatively calmer neighborhood. Life really doesn’t give us too many options at times—does it? Under the dark and daunting roof, all on my own, all I had was Berry. Eventually, I negotiated with reality; however at my sweet pace. Dew’s intervention in my husband’s life now grew familiar so long as Polar maintained an intimate bond with Berry. By now, I had become the forth and unneeded vertex of the triangle.

Currently, I head a team of journalists at Seattle Times. My career is at the peak of excellence. I attend office thrice a week and spend the two remaining working days with Berry and our little circle of friends. Just last week, Berry started school. Polar, along with a present for Berry came to drop her off with me.

What killed me once has made me stronger. I can ascertain that I don’t need Polar to raise Berry now. But more than that, Berry needs a father. The bright side of what feels like a tragedy is that Polar has flourished an independent relationship with Berry.  Every Friday afternoon, Polar takes Berry out and they spend the evening together. He drops her back around 8 o clock. 

The last two years of my life have been most challenging and unrelenting. Every time that I planted a seed, it withered because the soil was unhealthy. But now, my efforts have borne fruit. Accepting Dew was solely my decision. No one ever extended an arm neither did I require one. I have a decent circle of friends I hang out with every fortnight. Most of my time is dedicated to my job and Berry—my only hope in life.

Once in every four to six months, I visit my grandmother in Belmont. She is growing weaker by the day as old age is overpowering her. Sometimes, she comes down to Seattle to visit us. Every time that I see her, she rages about what Polar did to me in fury. But how far does that impact my life? Trust me, not one bit. My feelings for Polar are rather stronger now. He is happy in his life he has catalyzed with Dew. Since I have wanted to see him happy, come whatever, I have set him free by every sense of the word.

Now, Polar and I barely interact. Usually, it is about Berry, whenever that is. Hopelessness takes me over infrequently. I still weep buckets when I miss Polar and that feeling of resting my head on his shoulder is still irreplaceable. Berry questions me as to why he is absent. But I find my answers in knowing that he’s content in what he has and he has what he wanted. As for me, I am yet to attain the best life has in store for me. 

Our love wasn’t all that a tragedy. It just had to go through the unusual obstacles that lovers face. 

Holding her brings me the solace that fills up my heart.

Vitiated

Relationships--they are what we make of them.

An assumption when 'relationships' are being talked of is a typical romantic tale of two hearts. For the love of God, these stereotypes need to fade out. 

Relationships can be any: parenthood, sisterhood, friendship. The parameter of a relationship is not restricted to a romantic husband-wife one, for that matter.

Now that we have finally come to terms with the fact that the canvas of relationships is broad, the question is:  what it's worth. I know, most of us will respond ferociously to this. Obviously, relationships ARE worth it, come whatever!

Seriously? I beg to differ. Unfortunately, very few are WORTH it. Somehow, one gets too tied to withdraw from this ballgame of relations, that amputation seems unattainable. Even though, I take pride in admitting that I don't give up on my relationships. Irrespective of how twisted the tale is, there is always a way. Where there is love, there is hope.

But what I have recently discovered is: relationships give up on me; even if I don't. I don't, I won't, ever. No matter how unrelenting circumstances are, they will not deserve to be sloughed. At least, this is what I would like to believe; to get better, to feel better.

Why do they give up on me--is the sixty four thousand dollar question. Perhaps, I am the one to feel so? Why would I feel so hopeless for no reason? 

I think the answer is simple: projection. As they say, making a mountain out of a mole. Why do people have this habit of projection one issue over the other and then hype about it? It's like expecting to land in Maldives and Turkey one after the other--the routes and flight connections differ a great deal. Kill your darlings!

I am flabbergasted. Even though I believe humans do not and should not be operated with a remote control--like switching the television on and off. But there is something called 'letting go'. Why should I be begging to 'let go' when the noncompliance isn't even worth the dissensus?

Although I am in NO way superior than the other; but I do know that I contain a sincere intent to resolve issues and nonissues (since they're made to look like bigger issues, unfortunately). Frankly, when eight out of ten times, you find yourself in a hot spot of perpetrating a noncompliance; the leftover two, rather sure-enough instances seem undeserving of the candle. 

Effective and proportionate efforts and time investment are essential to let a bond flourish. However, my truest call is: don't rave over the efforts if you can't appreciate them--if nothing greater.

If you can't change them, change the way you feel about them: seems apt, isn't it? It's not, I tell you. It is a plague of nasty mushrooms; you can't. This is what makes relationships so complex.

No relationship in life comes with unconditional aura; not even immediate family. There are times when you just want to give up instead of letting go. There are times when you want to let yourself be. 

Set me free - Casting crowns: www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRtN0MMJYzw

They say, things will change; but I believe, enough damage has been done.

I wrote this in the week that followed this incident. The delay in posting it DOES NOT mean that the damage has lessened. It hasn't, it never will. Nothing on the face of this planet can fill in for a loss of an innocent soul.

I was exhausted that night. I stepped in my room, consumed to the brim. It was a manic day. Long eight months had passed. Finally, a much awaited concern was brought to shore. It was an issue an almost every Pakistani today supports. A decision that bummed out more than the most. It sold like hot cakes; bulletins flashed on every channel. It was none other than the horrendous murder of Shahzaib Khan.

The heartrending story of Shahzaib Khan was a ray hope, despite tragedy, that every citizen of the country looked forward to. A catastrophe that would become a platform to enforce justice in this sorry state of affairs. An incident that replenishes humanity and value of human life. However, the outcome has left me furious.

Why can’t there be justice? Why can’t the assassin be hanged? Why isn’t there an inch of remorse or guilt? I look at it like a failure—Pakistan’s failure. A state where horrendous crimes are not condemned; where wrongdoers are encouraged because evil is no big deal. Thirty three crore and an Australian residency for a life? Really?

The aftermath eminently shows that a meagre amount of light was shed on this incident; one that deserved justice, time and expertise. How can we stop Hamzas, Zains and Shahzaibs from dying such painful deaths, flipping the entire world apart of families they leave behind? How can we stop the funeral of hearts of those left stray after losing their loved ones? What about those who are sinless yet die every day? Killing one innocent is like killing the whole mankind.

Leaders who stand responsible are focusing on their post President Ship tenure. If this is how dysfunctional this country is, we cannot help but let Hamzas, Zains and Shahzaibs die. All this while these calamities hit the people, our judiciary focused more on planning their moves against the Former President Musharraf.

In coming months, if more immaculate souls die due to such irreverence and intolerance, I wouldn’t be surprised. In addition, it wouldn’t be shocking to see bloodshed right outside my doorstep; however, it will only trigger an inexplicable sense of repentance and heartbreak.

They say, “Things will change.” Who will change them? Imran Khan? I think they are all the same—some just better looking than others.

It is traumatizing to be in a state where seeking justice can become a menace. There is no way that societal and life hazards can compensate against a life itself. That night, I felt my hopes distilling into a quicksand of despair; not just because of Shahzaib, but based on an anthology of similar events. The Government is for the people. But what in it is for the people? Nothing that I can see.

They say, things will change; but I believe, enough damage has been done. 

Not everything that money can buy--surely not forgiveness. We're sorry for that, Shahzaib. Rest in peace.

Rest in peace Shahzaib.

Justice for one is justice for all. 

Odds and ends

Tonight is a moment--one in a million.

Tonight, the bright and dark are moving in parallel. The bright is reflecting against the dark, forming a shadow--a shadow of your soul on mine. Tonight, I am looking for you in fumes that are emitted. Because you still exist in the heat of the flame, in beat of the music. Because you are still alive in the dark themes of the night. Because your laughter echoes in the swishing of the wands. Tonight, I am looking for you in numerous directions. Because you showed me the right path--be it through Platform 9 3/4 or another express train. Tonight, I am looking for you behind the masks--with a hope that you will unleash your privy existence. Tonight, I am looking for you in the reflection of the drinks--orange, yellow and green, in the phantom of the goblets. Because you live in different shades that are incorporated in the ambience. Tonight, I am looking for you in the scents spread across the room--they fill up my heart.

Tonight, I am looking for you to come alive; in everything that there is. Because you still live behind closed doors, because you still live  in the chemistry of our bond, because you are alive in every moment I live, because you have conquered my soul to the depth. 

Tonight I want to see your face because you live in my heart. Tonight, I want to hear you because your laughter instills life into me. 

Because tonight you are awaited. Tonight I want to fly to you on a Nimbus 2000. 

I would if I could preserve this moment. A moment where white and black are reflecting in the mirror. There is a shadow of glum. But that is the nature of life. Yet tonight there is so much brightness. 

Hogwarts will always show you the right path. 

Once I was dissatisfied, now I am contented.

Everything happens for a reason. Circumstances change. People come and go. Those who stay should be taken as blessings. Amidst all this, one can only chase so much. Upon counting, life has numerous loose ends, but tying them together always bridges the gap.

There was a time when I possessed a never-ending desire for more. Little imperfection made me outrageous. Small accidents tore me apart. Strangers could ruin my day. Every day was a battle, where I stood lonely and dejected by the world around me. With every sunrise, a packet of concerns and worries unchained itself to me. With every new step, I found instances from the past that could ruin my present. In the end, I had enough reasons to feel burdened, which in substance were destructive to my inner.

This marked the mid of my teenage.

Numerous stepping stones stirred the realization that inner peace is priceless. There is not everything that money can buy. Coming to terms with myself was a gradual process; however, once achieved, changed my life drastically. It brought an impeccable sense of enlightenment about life as a whole. A time came when I learned to live with my shortcoming as they belonged to me. I learned to juggle with failures because I used them to my advantage. I began to rely on destiny because I understood that humans lack mystical powers. There was a sense of courage and contentment. As I grew up, fear and dissatisfaction faded.

Sometimes, life showed closed doors. But every exit had an entry somewhere else. With every closure came a get-go. Every action had a reaction. Time fetched me peace. Once I felt excruciated about my detriments; now I have learned to accept my increments and detriments both. Once I was hopeless. Now I am hopeful. Formerly, I ran after things that were not mine. Now I am satisfied with those alone that fall within my ambit.

I learned to glint my dark soul in times of peril. Once I was dissatisfied, now I am contented.   

Look. Admire. Appreciate.

If at all...

“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” 

I've often found myself and others waywardly argue whether change is for the better or the worse. "I don't like changes. But some things ought to change, for the better" - a frequently used phrase by myself. Being someone who doesn't like settling into a new environment automatically labels me as unsupportive of change. However, circumstances, people, and most importantly, the binding force in this world: time - changes. Change is inevitable.

The argument whether change is for the better or worse has seemed inconclusive so far. Having said that, if you and/or I choose to change, it is often the need of the hour. It may be a circumstantial adaption. It may be a dire need, if nothing greater. Why would change occur at all if it wasn't to smoothen perceptual ease?

Ten years ago, I believed, people who make mistakes, forgive them anyway. Those who apologise, deserve a second or  in some cases, a third chance. Whereas, today, my thoughts are contrary to the foregoing. I have come down to believe that mistakes should be forgiven but not forgotten. Those who seek apology should be given no more than a second chance. Those who try to use you to their advantage need a lesson. Those who give you shit, return the favour with bullshit. Undoubtedly enough, this is a change. Most likely, for the better. 

In addition, ten years down the road, I might ponder, "why did I do, what I did? Why was I the way I was? What caused this to be this way? If I hadn't done this, this wouldn't have happened". All baseless. I, thereafter, make it a point to BELIEVE that what I did then was what the best suited course of action was. I accustomed to the moving times, the change, and all that was needed.

Our experiences: good and bad, relationships, circumstances, attitudes, treatments, judgements all eventually factor towards 'change'. If it wasn't for the better, it wouldn't just happen.

Let thoughts enter. Let them seep. Let change come. If you can't change it, change the way you think about it.

Time's ticking!