Happy belated anniversary.

I gallivanted around the city, trying to regain my insight on life. Nearly busted both my feet, ran into an almost kidnapping, screamed at a school of fish.

but no matter how I tried to avoid it, my thoughts always circled back to you.

This is NOT Chapter 2.

You know how people try to act all artistic and post all these “artsy” photos to show their hidden “artsy” talent? Like taking a photo of only the corner of your food (as opposed to the upfront full round plate of spaghetti. Well, there’s the food version….then there’s the places version. Like only taking the leg of the Eiffel Tower as opposed to the whole thing.

Then there’s the body parts.

Half a face staring into space to show you’re so deep.

Top half of the face to show your glittering eyes (again, the trick is to look upwards for that extra “artsy” feel).

Bottom half of your face to show your dazzling smile.

Then there are the feet.

You know, to show the ground your walking on.

Or, if you’re with company, you join your feet together like heyy we got our feet mushed together in a pic here, aren’t we “artsy”?

Or, the photo is taken from the ground so that you can see about half a leg up (usually for showing the background location that contains some absurdly deep meaning).

But I do wonder.

Why feet? Why not elbows? Let’s all put our elbows together and snap a pic of that.

I mean, I’ve seen people do knuckles; sort of the bro-fist-powers-unite sort of thing.

How bout noses? Seven people come together, join noses, and I’ll snap a pic of that?

I’m pretty sure someone’s done knees..knees are pretty easy. Unless of course, you have those hidden knees that only come out and greet you during Christmas.

How about an ear?

Seriously…I can’t help but wonder what these people were doing (besides the obvious snapping of the picture, that is) when they take photos of themselves in those positions. Some of ‘em look like they were taking piss or something. Seriously??

Chapter 1: The stranger arrives.

The people in the kingdom worked three days and celebrated four. They had grand parties and served tea. A special tea, made of mushroom droplets and elephant blessings. They swirled around each other and talked about the ants and their antiquities, they talked about the other people they met, they talk about the various chores they were planning to do. Ah yes, they loved to plan. Not much was ever actually done, but one took pride in what he had planned, rather than what he had actually done.

One forlorn afternoon, when the mushrooms were about as shrivelled as a dehydrated raisin, a stranger pondered upon the kingdom. He brought with him a bag that was about as used up as a cow’s udder, a stick that looked like it came from an elderly panda, and he was dressed like a merchant straight out of a Venetian gondola. Nobody ever understood what that meant, for no one had actually been to Venice, but it didn’t matter. For they rarely had newcomers in the kingdom, and this one seemed to promise great stories to be told of.

The stranger shuffled his way into the square where the people were drinking tea and in particular everyone was discussing cleaning the windows in some near, far off future. You see, Windex was having a sale and it was much better than the generic window cleaners, they said. But never mind that, for the stranger was drawing nearer and neared.  With each step, a strange jingle echoed. It wasn’t so loud that one could be certain it was emanating from the stranger, but it was also not soft enough for one to dismiss as their pure imagination. The people looked at each other…something was up.

Nobody wanted to be the first person to greet the stranger; for it was customary that strangers begin the greetings. No particular reason for it, it was just how things worked. So this stranger sauntered up to a person whose feelers were about as bright as daffodils in an Irish park, and he said:

“Good Skies, hiju”

“err…fine ‘shroom.” Came the reply.

A hush fell upon the square. Did this stranger not have mushrooms from where he came? Why does he greet them by the skies? The skies are always blue, are they not? What good does it do for him to greet them by the skies? Judging stares befell the stranger. Whether or not the stranger felt those burning stares, we do not know, for he merely continued his speech:

“I am from the Valley of Deer, North of the Rabbits. I come in search of a lucky person who will join a most important voyage across the seas. A journey not fit for any meek persona; I may say. The tides are strong, and the waves even rougher.”

He raised his voice loud enough for a hundred people to hear

“I offer you the chance of a lifetime; to join me. I shall be in the tavern for anybody who is interested to join me. I shall reward you handsomely, have no worries.”

The hush turned to murmured whispers. Louder and louder they grew, and I suppose you could imagine what they were saying. If the stranger was uncomfortable, he displayed none of it. Until, a small voice from the crowd came forth:

“But we don’t have a tavern!”



The stranger turns a strange hue of red and covers his face for a while. He conjures up the most menacing look he could, and says mysteriously:

"That is the question"

I have no idea how long this will take

There was a kingdom in a far far away land. It had mushrooms as tall as trees, elephants smaller than cats, houses built of glass, and ants instead of cars. Things weren’t quite right in this land. The weirdest of all, was the people. They always wore something blue. It was like an unspoken law, that you should always be wearing something blue. These people, for unknown reasons, had feelers on the tops of their heads. Which twitched and swayed as the people wished. Some of them decorated these feelers; some of them covered them up, but mostly, people just let those feelers sway and twitch as the feelers wished.

It had been a good many years since the last Happening. The people thought it would never Happen again.  They had picked up the scraps, buried their loved ones, and rebuilt their beloved kingdom as they pleased. They had resumed their jobs and life was almost as normal as it was Before.

“Good Mush to you, furl”

“Fine Mush to you, too, furl”

They greeted each other.

You see, the mushrooms that were as tall as trees were rather temperamental in this kingdom. They would turn dark and grey for almost no reason, they would shrivel up and look like they were going to succumb to the earth on others. The people in the kingdom could never figure out why. So, in ode to these temperamental mushrooms that so many bloomed in the kingdom, the people greeted each other by saying good things about the mushrooms, in hopes that it would make the mushrooms bloom and sparkle.

The people also had a difficult time remembering each other’s name. And for some reason, it never mattered. So much so, that some parents didn’t even bother to name their children. You can imagine how difficult it would make for people to know to whom they are referring to; but no. Here, they always knew who each other was talking about. Even in this vast kingdom of more than three thousand people. Perhaps it was the feelers, perhaps it was just the way they spoke, either way, the people just knew.

 

Each of different people

I wonder how long it will take. But I guess, just like any good book, if you knew the ending beforehand then you wouldn’t enjoy the story as much. You wouldn’t bother about the details as much because you know what ending will come. I don’t think I want that. But I’m not going to lie – the wait is getting excruciating. I don’t know whether to turn right or left, I don’t know if I should ask for help or face it alone. This road gets lonely very easily. At times, I wish I could follow the roads of others; but I know I have to find my own purpose, otherwise I’ll always force those around me to live up to my great expectations. That’s not good for to them, either.

I wonder if it really is the numbers and responsibilities that is holding me back; or is it just a fear of the unknown. You can’t be great unless you are willing to do great things. I guess then, it really is just fear. So then, how do I overcome it? Should I? Or should I knock some sense into myself and continue building up my walls. So I will be safe and secure within these walls, no matter how cold and alone they may be.

 

I don’t want to be near her. She who puts me down at any chance, who questions my abilities and shuns and dismisses them. I don’t want to hear her speak, her mumblings and humming irritate me more than I care to admit. How I wish to say to her that here caste is not prevalent; we have no concerned of that. We value young and old, new and experienced, but only to the extent that it is valued in return. Who do you think you are? I ask her.

 

Did I do something wrong? You avoid me like the plague, and though you’ve been gentle (for your normal standards of harshness) I have noticed how irked you seem of my words and ideas. You seem to like her though. Well, you spoke to her, though. Which is, by your standards, a lot more than what you are willing to do to others. Fine then, I’ll pack my bags and go. I guess I have no more value here.

 

I am not made of ice. Stone, perhaps, but certainly not ice. I can be hot, warm, or even cold; and believe it or not, I can be of all those forms without giving up my true shape and form. Ice melts. I don’t melt. You see me as cold and unwelcoming because that is the air you project onto me. I can only return the favor for I am not like those flimsy crepe papers that sway and rustle according to the wind. I am heavier than that. I am stone. You may try to carve me into a sculpture that you please, but in doing so, you are chipping away parts of me that might be the most valuable.

Sleepless nights.

For some reason, I suddenly remembered I used to have two thumb drives. One was 1GB and another 2GB (do not mock me. This was from 2008-ish era). They looked exactly the same; the same size, the same brand, the same color. But something happened to one of them (I can’t remember which). So I had only one left. Then that one lost its tail and cap, so it was kinda just a stump; but usable nonetheless.

Now the problem is that I suddenly thought of it and for the life of me I can’t remember what happened to it. I remembered in the middle of the night two nights ago and couldn’t figure out since then what had happened to it. I turned my room upside down trying to figure out where it could be, but I couldn’t find it. I don’t think there’s anything deathly important stored in it, but for some reason there’s something that makes me think it’s important somehow.

What is it that I need to remember about it? What happened to it?

It doesn't make sense, I know.

I realized today that I may be deathly afraid of something that I thought I didn’t mind. Or at least, I though it was just one of those things that I would be okay with. Today wasn’t the first time I felt the sudden hyperventilating in my carcass when bombarded with one particular event; but today was the day two-and-two clicked. And now I realize it just plain scares me. In fact, it terrifies me. I don’t want it and I don’t want it because it makes me feel uneasy. I feel afraid of it. Oh God, please help me end this.