Crafted by angels – Chapter 12

 

 

She looked at him and conjured up the most apologetic look she could muster. He looked at her inquiringly.

“What’s the matter?”

“I did something.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m sorry” she clasped her hands together and made herself as small as she could.

“but what did you do?” he got up.

 

Then he saw it.

 

“How did you do that? How is it possible?”

 

He was clearly upset. She tried the kitten look on him again. He wasn’t even looking at her.

 

“I’m sorry” she said in a small voice.

 

“No, I’m not angry at you, but tell me, how did you do this? It does not make sense”

 

“Well, I was wearing these slippers, and then I…”

“but I still don’t understand how this could happen”

“I don’t know how to explain it” she stepped out of his way.

“Well try. It has never happened to me. I don’t see how you could have done it”

 

“I’m sorry”

 

She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself in it.

 

 

 

He finally emerged, and she could see he was trying hard to make a pleasant face for her. She was still a bit wary. Something caught his eye.

 

“What is that on your arm?” he pointed to a spot.

She looked to where he was pointing. There was a deep bruise the size of a thumb. She didn’t notice that before.

“I don’t know”

He looked at her, but she avoided his gaze. He caught it anyway.

“Did somebody grab you?”

“No”

“Are you sure?”

She thought for a moment “Well none that I can think of”

“Ahah! So somebody grabbed you. Tell me. Tell me who it is”

“No! I mean, I don’t know. It’s a bruise. I bruise easily. It’ll heal”

“but who grabbed you?”

“I don’t know! Let it go. There are worse injuries that could have happened”

“Are you sure nobody grabbed you?”

 

She looked him in the eyes. They were really beautiful eyes. She took a deep breath, never leaving those beautiful eyes.

“Nobody grabbed me”

He seemed satisfied with that.

 

“I’m cold” she says, in a small voice.

“Let me see”

 

He walks across to check on a window.

“The window, she is open” he tells her.

 

Did I just hear him call the window a ‘she’? She wonders. She ponders upon it for a moment. When she was younger, she studied a language, and in that language even objects have genders. Perhaps that was it. She recalled her university days when she studied a different language. Yes, that one also referred to objects as having genders. She nodded her head. But she had to be sure.

 

“What did you say?”

“the window, she was open. That’s why it was cold.”

 

Yes, he definitely just called the window a ‘she’. She found it amusing, and smiled up at him in return.

 

She dug about for a bit.

“Wait! I have something for you!!”

 

He was bemused. What did she bring him? She turned to him with something hidden behind her. In his mind she looked like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a date, awkwardly trying to hide the bouquet of flowers behind him. He shook his head. This was not a teenage boy and he was certainly no teenage girl to be asked out on a date. But that was what she looked like; with hopeful eyes shining up at him, something hidden behind her back, something she was holding by the stem.

 

She had a big grin on her face. When she had seen it sold out on the streets, it made her think of him. She was looking forward to seeing his puzzled look at seeing it. She was sure he had never seen it before. It was hard to transport the egg-beater-like thing in her big pack, but it was worth it.

 

“Here” she hands it to him.

“Ah!” He takes it and immediately puts it to his head.

 

A look of disappointment crosses her face.

 

“You know what it is?”

“Yes, it is for massaging the head” as he placed it on his and started bouncing it away.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t”

 

He continued bouncing the thing on his head as he looked about for somewhere to place it.

Well, so much for that surprise.

Re: Forwarding or sharing pictures/links/texts/”info”

A short break from the Angel Crafts. It’s time to rant.

 

 

 

Let me try to break this down as best as I can in my current mental state. What mental state is that? Damn well irritated and pissed, that’s what.

Now, the sharing and forwarding as aforementioned shall be further broken down to two categories:

 

1.       Sharing to the masses (ie: Your own Facebook Timeline, Instagram, Twitter,…)

2.       Sharing with specific indivuduals (ie: Sharing onto a friend’s timeline, private message, …)

 

Now while I have certain irritations of (1), I understand that it is your own channel and therefore you should be afforded certain rights as to whatever it is you choose to post there; as I do in my blog here. If I should despise so much as to the content you are sharing then it is up to me to unfriend/block/filter you, rather than it is for you to think of why I should be irritated by what it is you post on your choice of media. Easy way to put it, if I don’t like the tv show on air, I should turn off the tv instead of picketing for the show to be cancelled. So let us leave (1) alone. For now.

 

Whatever written henceforth shall refer to (2) specifically in mind. It may or may not also be relevant to (1), however, the topic of discussion here is (2). Remember that.

 

Now, regarding (2). Let me clarify herewith that I am not entirely opposed to people sharing stuff with me, and I do not expect that each thing one shares with me must be handwritten or self-crafted. On the contrary, I do enjoy people sharing pre-made stuff they found on the internet or wherever with me in the following conditions:

1.       It is something we share in common, an interest, or something we talk about or joke about. No explanation necessary, because it is something that connects us, therefore just in sharing it with me I get at what it is you are trying to convey. An inside joke, or something like that.*

2.       Something that you think is specifically relevant to me, that you think I particularly should take note of. Now this might need some form of accompanying note (ie: hey, I just thought you might like to look at this because…)

 

I do not like this habit people have of sharing things “just because”. Why do I say “just because”? Well, for starters, they read that one thing, regard it as some God-sent epitome message, then send it out to all means within their capacity. It is one thing when it is on social media. The term “media” suggests a platform for one to disperse…Social media – a medium in which one disperses whatever amongst the people they socialize with.. However! IT HAS INVADED INSTANT MESSAGES.

 

Again, let me narrow down the scope of my irritation and place my disclaimer that henceforth I shall be referring to:

1.       People sharing random crap.

2.        People sharing random crap specifically with me. As in personally sending it to me. For my viewing. As in, just for me to see. To make sure I see it. Get the picture?

3.       I either am not made aware of the reason, or the person has no particular reason other than “just because”.

4.       The reason is not specific towards me, but rather an attempt at a blanket plea of attention, just sent out to individuals instead of out in “mass” media.

5.       It is sent through instant messaging apps.

 

Now, not that I am so happy to have “Buy now!! Magical tea maker only for a limited time!! Chance to earn 7k in three months!!!” pasted onto my timeline (MY timeline. As in, the one you get after clicking on MY name.) However, since I am no longer particularly active in that form of social media, and it happens rarely enough that I can just remove and block it without much irritation creeping up my capillaries, I shall leave it be. For now. Again, not because I am happy to accommodate those, but more because I have a more tailored matter to rant about.

 

So anyway, let me lay out my grievances over this habit of sharing stories/”info”/”news” to my IM apps:

1.       Whether I like it or not, there is a notification and because it is a message from you to me, I open it thinking you might have something to say to me. I’m hoping for something like “hey, haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanna grab a cup of coffee or something?” instead I get “TRUE INFO from Inspector Gadget of Beverly Hills. Two murder bla bla bla….” Do you see what you just did? You brought my hopes up, then you kicked it right in the nuts. Thank you. In case you didn’t get that, I was being sarcastic. Thank you soooooo much. There. I did it again.

2.       More often than not, I have seen the message from –

a.       Other Social Media where you know, they paste it for the “mass”es to see.

b.      Eons and eons ago, which somehow had circulated around the globe, then after some time it found its way back to you. How many times is this Inspector Gadget going to find those same bloody murderers?

c.       Other nut-kickers like you who also thought I would be delighted to receive this TRUE STORY that his TRUE STORY that YOU were excluded from in the initial cycle of nut-kicking.

3.       Sometimes it’s not even TRUE!!!!! You’re just an idiot for believing it. If you shared it with me because you thought it was bogus, then you should indicate it either in conversation or there should be a backstory I can refer to.

 

 

And with apps like WhatsApp enabling group messaging, this habit of circulating stuff on no other basis or further research is highly escalating. What society are we nurturing if even the elder generation who supposedly have gone through Tertiary Education, having done Research Methodology, Referencing, and written whole Thesis, still get caught up in sharing stuff “just because”? Seriously some of the stuff that circulates requires a special flavor of stupid for one to believe it. Just because someone took a picture and captioned something below it, quoted names and agencies and qualifications and statistics, does not award it the status of being true!

 

*Arguably, you might say, in reference to accepting only inside jokes and such, that it is I who have been ignorant of the connection the other person was trying to make with me. In other words, the person had a “because”, it’s just that I didn’t get it. Well to that, I would like to say:

 

Well then we’re not that connected then. It was your imagination. I don’t know what you’re getting at and you didn’t send in any further clarification on the matter.

 

It is one thing when they send it to the WhatsApp groups, and you have the option to mute those (only for a week!), but when you send it to me personally, it makes a sound!!!! And sometimes they send it at ungodly hours and it’s just a f-ing nutcracker!

 

Look, if you have something to say to me, say it to me. Send a picture, maybe, to convey what it is you want to say to me, if words are too awkward. That would be fine. But ask yourself, will I get the message, or will I just be like WTF are you sending me? BUT NEVER, EVER send me the special-flavor-of-stupid “true”stories and “info”s PLEASE. If you care for me, then tell me. If you’re worried for my safety, then tell me what I can do to keep myself safe. Or better yet, keep me safe. But don’t send me these blanket warnings and hope that one of them will strike a vein with me. You sent it to me personally. It should be applicable to me personally as well. Does that make sense?

 

There is a whole book to be written about why those circulating crap came to be. Attention wh*res, corporations trying to cripple other corporations, a joke that got sniffed up and thought to be actually true by the special-flavor-of-stupid people. I won’t be writing that book. For now.

 

*deep breath*

 

I worry that it becomes a societal norm where things are done “just because” and that it’s free, it can be done, so it is done. People question why I am ranting over a few unwanted shared messages, instead of questioning why they are circulating those things themselves without making any further effort to at least verify the stuff personally. Just because it came from someone you know also doesn’t mean it’s true. They could’ve just received it from some other person they know. And that’s how the circle goes.

 

Well, as you can see, most of my displeasure is at those “True story” – ish messages. Especially the ones that come with a lot of exclamation marks. As if it made it true-er by making it seem loud.

 

BREAKING NEWS!! This is from Prof. Xanadu Xadan from Oxford Institution of Cambridge. Contact him at the number 979732-97 for further verification IF YOU REFUSE THIS GROUND-BREAKING DISCOVERY!!!! It has been found that penguins have secretly been able to fly all along. They just hid it from us humans so we think they are cute and harmless since all they do is waddle about and give pebbles to their soulmates. According to a study done in ALBUQUERQUE LAB with 20 years of outstanding RESEARCH ACHIEVEMENTS, penguins have actually flown across the world at night when we thought they were huddling together for warmth. It was all an elaborate plan made by the ILLUMINATI to take over our clouds. SHARE THIS IF YOU CARE!!!! IGNORE THIS IF YOU DARE!!!!

 

 

See? Maybe in a couple of months this will make its way to my IM.

 

 

*eyes roll upwards, gagging actions ensue*

 

 

Oh,  and then there's this other special flavour. The ones that send you pictures. Again, if it means something to me, or to us, or it's something we connect with, then fine. Keep 'em coming. Sometimes you just want to say "hey" without the pressure of starting up a conversation. Ok. I accept that.

 

But, if you are my insurance agent, then please for the love of God, don't be sending me pictures of ANYTHING unless it is that of a cheque that you are banking in to my name. Seriously, stop reminding me of your existence every morning. It's disturbing! No, it is not a "good" morning when the first sound I hear is a notification from you with a random picture (Thank God not of you) of flowers and sunshine. Yes, I know you exist. Stop reminding me that! Yes, I know you're not flirting with me, but there are other levels of disturbance one can create just by sending random pictures with supposedly inspirational words on them to me. It does not make me want to buy any more insurance from you, it makes me want to call the police to issue a restraining order.

 

 

 

 

Similar, but with banana fritters.

Crafted by angels – Chapter 11

 

He recalled the great memories of yesterday’s rice meal he had made. It was delicious. His stomach rumbled just from the thought of it. Not because he was hungry and had just returned from work, but because it was that good. It was scrumptious. He closed his eyes and imagined just how amazing it was going to be. It was so good, he was going to make it again today. And it will be epic. Epicly delicious, that is.

 

He reached up for the pot. Oh, it was still soaking in the sink. He scrubbed it clean and wiped it dry. This was going to be delicious. So flavorful. So tasty. So much spice. He smiled at the pot. He liked that pot.

 

In went the rice, and the chicken. They danced together for a bit. The chicken and rice, not him. Then in went the water. Again, they swam together. Such harmony in a pot. He stirred them up a bit. Beautiful. He reached up for the spices. He wasn’t going to hold back on this one. The spices went in, greeting the pieces of chicken and enveloping the rice. The aroma warmed him up. Again, his stomach rumbled.

 

He looked into the little fridge down below. He grimaced at the petrified bananas. He will have to deal with that sooner or later. The problem with dealing with that was he would have to touch them. He did not like to touch such disgusting things. He should have eaten them before he went on his trip. But he didn’t. Now they were petrified, and he did not like them anymore. He closed the fridge and looked at the garbage bin. It was nearly full. He would have to deal with that also. He gave a little sigh. It was tiresome, but he had no one else to do it for him. Or at least with him. It would be nice to have company sometimes, he thought. Even if it was just to throw out garbage.

 

He looked next to the garbage bin, where the trashbags were. The clean ones. There were still plenty. You would think that if there were rules that you had to use a specific type of trashbag, then you should be provided with those trashbags, or they should at least be cheap. They were neither. The trash police would just love to come and arrest him for using the wrong bag. What pleasure did they gain from seeing uniform garbage bags in the big dumpster, he could never figure out. He closed the door.

She would like to hear that, about the trashbags. He thought to himself. He made a mental note to himself to tell her that when he saw her. She was easily amused, he found. And when she was amused, her eyes lit up, her ears perked up, her nose pointed towards the things that interested her. Even her cheeks would start to glow. There were so many stories he wanted to share with her, just so he could see her amusement at those stories; but he only had so much time..and sometimes, it was so hard to find the words.

 

He thought of the night they had met, she told him something about serpents that made their way into her home when she was young. He shivered a little. He wanted nothing to do with such creatures. She had shown him a book. Her scribble book, she called it. She said she had finally learned to draw a dog. He wondered for a while if he could draw a dog. Perhaps later he will try. He remembered she had pushed her inquisitive nose forward, and with bright shining eyes, asked if he wanted to add anything to her scribble book. He was at a loss then. She shoved at him a handful of colored pens and looked expectantly at him. He really didn’t know what to write, at the time. Something witty, something she will remember, something that will make her think of me, he had wanted. None of that came to mind. He was tired that night. Dead tired. But he remembered how hard it was to claw himself away from her. He closed his eyes, reminiscing that beautiful night.

 

 

Something was popping next to him. He opened one eye, and looked around. Ah! It was the rice. It was cooked. Dinner is ready.

Wishing for what you can't have

"If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs, The bark on the tree was just a little bit softer. While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, He cries to the moo-oo-oon, If only, if only."

Maybe. Always. Someday.

Crafted by angels – Chapter 10

It had been a rough couple of days; and she reeked. She dared not sniff herself. She knew she probably smelt like cabbage sauce. Whatever that smelt like. She gingerly stepped into the shower. Wait, I better turn on the water first. If the first blast is a cold one, I could kill myself. She nodded in agreement with herself; remembering what had happened a week ago. She was about to take a shower before bed, and turned on the tap as usual. Unfortunately, she didn’t check that there wasn’t any hot water. Not only that, but for some reason she continued the shower, and by the time she realized the hot water wasn’t going to come on, it was too late. She was convulsing and bent over, shivering. She tried bouncing, but that didn’t help. In fact, it made things somewhat worse. She was stiff and her muscles were locked. She fought hard to keep moving. It took forever, but finally she was dressed for bed.

 

She snapped out of her flashback and looked at the current situation. She looked around for some space to put her toiletries; not that she had much, but really, there was no space for her. She sat on the toilet for a while pondering about life. Ah! She can put her shower cream behind the small mirror, and her facial gel will fit there also. There was a large mirror concealing a medicine cabinet. Back home, she didn’t have a mirror in her toilet. Well, she did, but it was small, at an awkward height, and covered in grime, so it was pretty much useless.

 

Her toothbrush and toothpaste fit under the medicine cabinet, so that was fine, and the rest will go into the cabinet next to the shower. She wonders how it is that the cabinet wasn’t ruined by the moisture. There was even a book on the counter. Didn’t the moist air get to it? She stepped into the shower; then, remembering that near-death experience, stepped out again. She closed the curtain and peered at the shower. She carefully turned the knob. She looked at the water, eyed it carefully. Did it look cold? Not so much. She pushed one hand in. Yes, this was agreeable. She entered the shower.

 

She had never understood how people could shower for so long. The concept of enjoying a shower was foreign to her. Not that she had grown up in a full household where sibling constantly banged on the door for you to hurry up – no, far from that. But still, she just couldn’t stay long in a bathroom. Even when she chose to “pamper” herself with hair treatments, she still found she spent less than 5 minutes. Ponder life’s decisions, evaluate humanity, have enthusiastic imaginary conversations, and yet still, never to exceed 10 minutes. Unless it was time for her to clean the bathroom. That would take a whopping 20 minutes; plus the showering.

But now, here, she reeked. She knew she reeked. Of cabbage sauce. And suddenly the lukewarm water against the cold air felt so good. She had had warm baths before, but this time it was different. She could never just let the water run down her hair before, but this time she did. She just stood there, enjoying the water. For the longest time ever, she just let the water run down, and she thought she finally understood what the other mere mortals meant by taking a long, hot shower.

 

It was two minutes.

 

She let the water pour on, and reached out for her shampoo. It was a twin packet. She didn’t understand that. Why would they have two packets of shampoo stuck together? Who uses two packets of shampoo at once? If it were meant to be used on two separate occasions, then why not cut them into two? Why leave them attached? Or better yet, why not attach it to the conditioner? She could use some conditioner. Was there any in the bathroom? She scanned around. It wasn’t in English, so she couldn’t figure it out. She turned back to the shampoo packet.

The good thing about shampoo packets is that you could discard the packet after usage, and it reduced the weight of what she was lugging around. A bottle would always take up the same amount of space. However, when one is already in the shower, opening a shampoo packet could prove to be a challenge. She tried to tear it open, knowing that wouldn’t work. She tried anyway. It didn’t work. She bit into the packet, pulling it with her teeth. It tore, but not enough to let out any shampoo. She snarled at the packet.

It felt good to lather on the shampoo. She never understood that before. Previously it was always a chore for her. One that she wanted done and over with as soon as possible. But after the couple of days that she had had, she was more than grateful for it. She left the shampoo in a mound on her head and reached out for her shower cream. There was less than half a bottle left. Ordinarily, this would have been more than enough to last her two weeks. However, in her state of muck, she wanted more. She looked around to see if there was any other shower gel. Ah! There’s a bottle over there. She crinkled her nose. Are those cartoon characters?

It felt like an eternity, and she was enjoying every moment of it. It took a lot of willpower for her to turn off the tap and step out. The towel was far away, and she was dripping wet. She stood for a while, shivering in one spot; letting the water fall to the floor. She was suddenly attacked by the cold. She hugged the towel. She had to make haste in getting dressed. Otherwise, the cold would get to her again. She did not want that. She regretted wetting her hair for a moment. It would take ages to dry. But, she knew there was no way she could refrain herself from the heavenly lather of shampoo she had mounded on her head just now.

She looked at her knuckles, they were still raw. Her nose was healed. She checked her ankles. They were cracking. She should tend to that. She lifted a foot, shook off the water from the large puddle she had created, and slathered on some lotion. That should hold things together for a bit, she thought. She was about to put down her foot, then decided against it. She shifted her weight nearer to the door where the puddle wouldn’t get to her lotioned foot. There was nothing worse than lotioned skin coming into contact with water. It made things all slimy and yucky. She gave things one last once-over, and exited the bathroom.

Food for thought

Is it in the things I do
Or the things I could have done
Or the things I should have done
Or the things I didn't stop myself from doing

How about the things that I have
Their value
Or what they are worth
Or what they are priced
The reason why I have them
How I acquired them
Or why I still keep them

Are they in my thoughts
The things I am capable of thinking
The memories that crop up in my head
Or the memories that I keep locked away
Or the things that never cross my mind

Maybe it is the people that I have in my life
Or the people that I have filtered out
Or the people who have filtered me out
Or the people I choose to keep in
And the ones that are there beyond my choice

Perhaps it is the places that I frequent
How I get there
When I am there
Why I am there


And how about you?

Crafted by angels – Chapter 9

He checked his hair one last time in the mirror. Keys, wallet, phone. Sometimes he forgot one of them. That was troublesome. He had already lost his necklace last week. He clicked his tongue in annoyance at remembering that. He checked his shoes. They matched.

Groceries into cart, through the checkout, and into the boot. They will be a delicious dinner later. He checked his watch. He was making good time. He will be there when she steps off the train. Into the car, where is the black cable? He turns up the volume. Sometimes, he even sings along. But it is a short drive. He skips up the steps to the platform and waits.

Aha! The train is here.

He checks his phone. Yes, it should be the right train. People hurry off the train, and he closely filters the crowd.

She wasn’t there.

For a moment, he wonders if he misunderstood. Maybe she wasn’t going to come after all. Maybe something happened. Maybe it was too much to hope for. Maybe he had missed her.

Yes, he liked the last possibility the most. She was quite small, and maybe she had slipped past him in the crowd. But the crowd wasn’t that big. But maybe she did slip past him.

With that little tiny glimmer of hope, he made his way to the main entrance.

In the distance, he could see her small frame through the glass door. He knew it was her from the distance. She was twisting and bouncing in place. His pace quickened. He pushed opened the door, and she turned. Their eyes met.

 

It was weird. They hardly knew each other, but there was a familiarity about her. It felt natural to fall into step next to her, as she chatted away about snow-topped mountains and being cold. She did not like being cold. It was as if every day for the past years, he had picked her up at the station, and that they would then tell each other of the day they had had. He had never felt this way. To be so familiar, yet so foreign to another person. Why does she seem so familiar?

 

*******************************************************

 

She had arrived much earlier than she had said. And even then, she had stretched out the journey quite a bit. Where should I wait?

She had vision after vision of them chasing after each other and announcements being made through the speaker, like the lost children in supermarkets. This is why Eve stayed put while Adam was the one gallivanting around searching for her. She thought to herself. But where to stay put?

 

“If we don’t find each other immediately, go outside the main entrance. There is only one.”

 

She headed that way. It was too early, and he didn’t know she was there, but she headed that way. Opened the door,

 

Nope. Damn cold out here. Why on earth would you have me wait out in the cold?

 

She scanned the area. It occurs to her that he very might well look different from the one and only time she saw him. What if he had shaved? Would I recognize him? Oh God, is he standing behind me and I just don’t know it? She peered closely at the people around her. Nobody seemed to pay her any heed. Nobody seemed to be looking for anyone. Embarrassed and cold, she decided to go back indoors where it was a teensy bit warmer.

 

She found a triangle where she could squeeze in to sit down, and took out her journal. She loved her journal. She scribbled and scribbled with one eye on the entrance.

 

He’s probably waiting at the platform where the 7:55 is supposed to arrive. She thought to herself. Shall I go and find out where that is? Nope, Adam and Eve. Stay put.

 

She eyed the candy in the vending machine. She hadn’t had anything proper to eat the whole day, save for a sandwich and a box of chocolate milk. She patted her stomach and took out a cereal bar. *Munch munch munch*

 

She kept away her journal, threw away the cereal bar wrapper, and tried outside the main entrance again.

 

Damn it’s cold out here.

 

She looks around, no familiar face appears. Back in she goes to sit at her triangle. She kept sliding down, and the corner was full of chewing gum and fallen hair, so she made sure to steer clear of that. The last thing she wanted was to greet him with

 

“Hello”

“Hi”

“Err….what’s that?” *points to a thick wad of chewing gum decorated with curly white hair stuck to my thigh*

 

She shakes her head. She eyes the vending machine again. She gets up, picks up her bags, and makes her way outside.

 

Damn it’s cold. She shivers and tries to move around to generate heat. She cups her hand around her face. She turns.

 

 

And there he is, coming out of the door.

 

He looked different, somehow. But she knew it was him. It was weird for her. He was a stranger, but he wasn’t. Unknown, but not. Unrecognized, but familiar. She felt comfortable. She felt at home.

 

********************************************************

 

He carefully examined her face. She had been waiting, obviously. But for how long? Should he ask? That might invite unpleasantness. He did not want that. Especially after the day he had had at the hospital. However, he must know.

 

“What time did you get here?”

“About half an hour ago”

 

His heart drops. He was in trouble. He walks a few steps forward to see her face. It is quite far down below. He peers down at it anyway.

“But I didn’t know you had arrived”

 

She has a quizzical look on her face

“Because I didn’t tell you” she finishes his sentence.

 

“Exactly” he still looks at her questioningly

 

“Because I couldn’t.” she continues; her nose crinkled up. She likes to crinkle up her nose, he notes. For a small nose, it sure moves a lot.

 

“and that’s why I wasn’t here earlier. I was waiting for you to arrive on the other train”

 

“I guessed that”

 

She is frowning a bit, but he couldn’t guess why.

 

“So are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I was late”

“Because I didn’t tell you”

“Exactly”

“Because I couldn’t”

 

She pauses for a while,

“Are you mad?” she asks.

“No, I thought you were coming later, so I knew I had to wait.”

“and I knew you were coming later because that’s what I had told you”

“So you are not mad” he looks at her questioningly.

 

I’m confused, more like it. And why doesn’t he offer to take my bag? I do have two…

She shifts the weight and huffs a little. He doesn’t take notice.

 

“No, I’m not mad.”

“You know, because women sometimes….”

“Nope, not applicable here.”

 

The conversation was going in circles. She decided to talk about mountains instead.

 

******************************************************

 

 

They walked to the car and drove away. There was a chocolate rabbit in the car. She eyed it suspiciously. Its eyes were disturbingly uneven. He smiled at the rabbit.

“It is for Easter. It is a chocolate rabbit” he says.

 

She shifts her foot. There were things on the floor. Do I just step on these things? She wonders. She gingerly placed one foot on what appears to be a hat of some sort. She looks at him, then at her foot. He doesn’t appear to care.

 

Fine, then. Onwards, steed.

Crafted by angels – Chapter 8

She bit into the bread. An agonizing shot ripped through her teeth and down her spine. She looked angrily at the bread. Why are you so hard? But she was hungry, and she knew she had to eat. She had already missed breakfast, and her body was starving. She needed the food. She tried mushing the bread with water. Ughh this tastes disgusting. But she had to eat.

She reached up, and scrabble about for her chocolate chip cookies. They were absolutely full of chocolate chips. She licked her lips. She reached in for one, and resealed the bag. At least the cookie crumbled in her mouth, and if she maneuvered the crumbs well enough, they would stay away from the painful tooth. Her cheek felt swollen. She sighed. As good as the cookie was, she knew she needed a proper meal, good rest, and clean clothes.

She hopped down the stone pillar she was sitting on, and went on her way. She had stuffed the bread back into her bag. Maybe it’ll soften after a few hours. She knew it wouldn’t, but she wanted to hope just as well.

It was near midnight. She had eight hours more to wait. It was cold. It was always cold, but nights could become extra chilly. She tucked her arms closer to herself. She shivered a little and hugged herself tighter. You’re gonna be okay, kiddo. You’re tougher than this. She closed her eyes and for a second allowed her father’s comforting voice keep her company. He wasn’t there, but she could pretend he was. She shook her head. She hadn’t been eating right, and imagination and reality was starting to get hard to separate. She looked the clock. A whole three minutes had passed. It was going to be a long night.

 

She took out her color pens and scribbled for a while. But the alphabets kept swimming about. She was dead tired, cold, and hungry. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bowl of noodles. She hugged herself again and touched her cheek. She tried to figure out which tooth was giving her the troubles. Not that it would fix anything, but maybe if she just found out….

 

She looked around, at the others splayed out in various positions and spread out within the large space. If only they closed those big doors..then maybe it wouldn’t be so cold. She tried walking around for a bit. The ceiling was so high up, she felt a euphoria just from looking up at them. The gargoyle in the corner seemed to smile at her, inviting her to go up there and share his warmth. Are gargoyles mammals? Or is it cold blooded and just wants to steal my warmth? She shook her head again. This wouldn’t do. She laid out one of her only two scarves on the stone cold seat, and tried to sit. It made her thighs cold, but she was tired. She tried to close her eyes. She needed the rest.

 

Across from her, the lady was signalling to her that it was okay to sleep; that it was safe to rest. They didn’t speak any common languages, but at least the hand gestures made sense. She raised her hand as a sign of peace. Me mean no harm. Me come in peace, and harmony. Take me to your leader. She shook her head again. This was definitely going to be a long night.

The man next to her, was kicking at her bag. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. There were abundant other places for him to be, why does he choose the one next to her? And he was snoring, very loud, and his foot spasmed every four minutes. She knew. She had timed him. Now he was kicking at her bag again. She turned up her nose at him. Ah, there was the gargoyle again.

She took out her bread and gave it another bite. She was rapidly losing weight. When she started off, she rapidly gained, in an effort to fend off the cold, but now, each bite was agonizingly painful. Anything remotely soft was sweet. And sweet gave her even greater shooting pains. She closed her eyes and made a mental list of the wonderful things she missed:

1.       Hot meals

2.       Soft food

3.       Condensed milk

4.       A hot bowl of noodles

5.       Condiments showered onto…..

6.       Meat!!!

7.       Chilli sauce

8.       Thai chilli sauce

 

It was 4:30am. Somehow she had passed those thigh-clenching, toe-freezing hours by. She took another bite of the dry, tough bread. It was disgusting, but she munched away anyway. Every few chews, her jaw would accidentally bite down on her tender tooth, and she would wince in pain. She fought back the tears. They would only make her feel colder later.

A short, wild-curly-haired woman made her way across the hall. She didn’t look “well”. She was limping, looked as if she smelled, and was yelling at the top of her lungs. It was almost theatrical, the way she spoke; or perhaps it was just the language she was speaking. She tugged at the small handbag she had, and pulled out a cellphone. She had a cellphone! So she can’t possibly be homeless, could she? She was calling out to someone, and her voice echoed through the stone walls, up to the high ceiling where the gargoyle rested, against the tinted windows that ran from one wall to another, and bounced off the marble floors.

Everybody in the hall awoke, but everyone stole fearful glances at her. Nobody went near, and no one certainly offered help. She was looking for someone. But who? Who would she have to look for?

To everyone’s relief, she exited the hall and continued her screamings elsewhere. They echoed less from outside of the hall, and everyone was relieved. She was gone.

 

 

 

“Aaaaangeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllll”

Her voice echoed louder than ever. Everyone sat up; confused, and annoyed.

She had returned, this time with a man on her arms. He held on to her, and she looked up at him and lovingly touched his bearded face. His cap slid off his head and he put it back on. They made their way to a corner; away from others.

 

He lay down on her lap, and she continued her loud proclamations of love to him. It was like a play, with the gargoyle boiling its eyes down upon them. Was it because of the language that she spoke, that made it sound all so Shakesperean, so dramatic? Was she, in truth, reciting beautiful poetic lines to the love of her life? Only those who could understand her words would be able to answer that.

One thing for sure, they were anything but beautiful. And with limbs splayed out over the marble floor, with the soft down-lights shining upon them, they looked like a rip-off Broadway show on its way to being cut off. She allowed him to sleep in her lap for a while, while she recited verse after verse of nothingness to the air. She stretched up her hand, perhaps in vision of her Lord savior coming for her, then bent down over her Angel, and screamed in his face. He made no response.

Cry after outcry she made, making the others nearby watching curiously much uncomfortable. Did they not feel her pain? She bent down towards her Angel, kissed the top of his head, and continued her Sonnet in Agony.

After a while, she tried to make him lie on her handbag instead of in her lap. He did not respond. This seemed to anger her and she started to smack the floors next to her; but never her Angel. To him, she showered kiss after kiss and swept her hand gently across his face. Her Sonnet in Agony continued its Fifth Verse, and a gentleman sitting in the second row becomes increasingly irate at he antics

 

“Police! Police!” he mutters under his breath.

 

Her Poetry gets increasingly louder and louder, and as the sun comes up, more and more people pour in through the big doors; witnesses their Play. She cares nothing for them.

 

Angel is no longer moving.

 

No matter how she yells, how she pleads to the skies above to revive that one love that she has; even if it is just for one more moment. One last moment to hear him tell her he loves her. One last second to say goodbye. Nothing. Angel no longer moves. She shakes him, screams in his ears, stretches out her arms to the audience pleading for their aid.

 

Nothing.

 

Her Angel, her one and only Angel; she had to save him somehow. But he was weighing down heavy on her lap, and she couldn’t move. The onlookers click their tongues in annoyance.

 

She finally manages to free herself of Angel’s weight, and clambers away. She goes to the gentleman who had muttered for the police; she begs him for change, but he blatantly refuses her. She does not try others. She gives Angel one last look, and hurries off.

 

Paramedics arrive, the police arrive, the station guards arrive. Someone must have called them in. They approach Angel and try to wake him; but he doesn’t respond. What if they take him away without her knowing? Will they ever find each other again? The paramedics check for a pulse; apparently there is one. They lift him up and he gains some consciousness. He fights to lie down again. But there are far more of them than the only one of him. And they are stronger, sober. They carry him off, against his will.

 

“Amooooooooooooooooooooore!!!”

 

He cries out for her. His voice pierces the silence and rips through the stone floor. She is nowhere in sight. He begs them to stop. He pleads them that she will be back for him. He cannot leave without her. She was all he had. He was undeserving, but he had her. She was his, and he couldn’t leave her behind.

 

“Angel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

She ran towards him, swatting at the paramedics and police. Did they harm him? She placed the palms of her hands around his face and looked into his eyes.

 

He falls to the ground.

In a fairy-tale

 Once upon a time somebody ran
 away saying fast as I can
I've got to go, I've got to go!!!

Once upon a time we fell apart
You're holding in your hands the two halves of my heart

Once upon a time, we burned bright
Now all we ever seem to do is fight
On and on...
And on and on and on...

Once upon a time on the same side.
 in the same game
And why'd you have to go, have to go and throw water on my flame

 I could've been a princess, you'd be a king
Could've had a castle, and worn a ring
But no, you let me go


And stole my star

Cause you really hurt me
Oh you really hurt me... 

Princess of China

Crafted by angels – Chapter 7

As she left the tavern, she looked on to the magnificent view down below. That was the price she paid for having the chance to get that view. She looked on to the three companions that were hiking down with her. Going downhill shouldn’t be so bad.

 

***********************************************

 

He checked his phone several times. She had not replied. He sighed. Perhaps he had imagined it all. Perhaps it was how she treated all the people she had met along the way. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened it and looked out from the Tower into the vast land beyond what the eyes could see. Down below, he looked at the young couples picnicking on the fields. They were laughing, teasing each other. Some of them just lay down soaking in the beautiful weather.

 

**************************************************

 

“I would like to go and see the castles; could you tell me how I could get there?”

“At this hour?”

“Is it closed?”

“It closes at 5”

 

She checked her watch. It was 3:30.

 

“Are the castles far away?”

“It takes about 20 minutes by bus to the base of the mountain, then the hike depends on you.”

 

She groans internally. Another hike? What is this? Since when did she sign up for Bear Gryll’s Adventure Time? She was not drinking pee.

 

“Well, I’ll go tomorrow then.”

 

*****************************************

He looked up at the clock, waiting for the show to begin. There were scores of people crowding around; also waiting for the show. He grunted. He did not like to be stuck in one spot. His cousin was merrily snapping pictures of the square. He was thirsty. He looked around.

 

~Warm wine~

 

It’s hot outside and they are advertising warm wine? Why on earth would I want warm wine when the sun is eating at my neck? It does not make sense.

 

******************************************************

 

She panted and grunted as she clambered up the hill. It was steep. It was cold, and raining. There was horse manure everywhere. Oh look, there’s a slug having a meal. Wonderful. Just wonderful. At least this time she wasn’t lost; or at least she didn’t think she was, and she wasn’t alone in the forest, and the forest had proper roads this time; not just trails.

You see? If you hadn’t been so badly lost, alone, carrying a heavy load, on trails full of bugs and the hot sun beating down on you, you would be thinking that this was bad. But look, at least now you are not carrying such a heavy load, you have snacks and water should you need it, there’s plenty of people you could ask if you need to, and…

 

But I’m tired!

 

So? Sit down. What are you rushing for?

 

She stopped. With a grunt, she spotted a bench far off near a lake. It was wet, but her poncho was long enough that she could sit down on it and not have a wet butt.

 

As she sat down, she turned to look at the path she had just hiked up through. She held her breath. It was stunning. Did I just walk past that? She thought.

 

She thought back to all the terrible bumps and grumps that had brought her there. It was hard to hike up, yes, but if she hadn't, then how would she have had that view? Or if she had spent the whole hike grumbling and whining in self-pity; if her eyes were always transfixed onto the road ahead, then she wouldn’t have realized the beauty she had just walked past. Or if she had taken the horse carriage and been like the princess being brought up to the castle, then she wouldn’t have had the option to stop and look back at the scenes behind her – the canvas would have shielded her view.

 

If only the destination mattered, that it didn’t matter how you got there as long as you did, then those are the people who are convinced that they are equal to others merely by title. If I graduated from this Ivy League and you graduated from the same Ivy League then we are equal. Never mind that daddy made a huge donations so I could be there but you had to work three part-time jobs just to be able to barely make tuition; we are equal. Those are the people that think that their horse carriages make them better, that the fact that they did not have to trudge through the horse manure in order to reach the top makes them on a higher level than those who had hiked up.

 

Sometimes, when you are facing hardship, you have to take the time to look back to realize how beautiful the scenery you have passed really is. But if you look too often, then you won’t move forward, and the scene will always be the same. It loses its captivating powers. If you tell yourself from the beginning that the hike will be too hard, then you never know whether or not you were capable of completing it, or at what pace. And does the fastest pace really mean the best? Think back to the scenes you would have missed out on.

 

******************************************

 

Home. Home is where the wifi connects automatically, and one poops most comfortably. His stomach growls. He bends down to open his fridge. The petrified bananas inside sneered at him. He will tend to that someday. Not right now, but someday. He had many things to do. House needs to be cleaned, the tree has to be moved, groceries need to be bought, laundry has to be done.

 

He turned up the music, and started about his chores. He was happy, and had good reason to be.