Control isn’t just a word to rhyme in poetry class. It’s the pattern that pragmates the cervixes of life. I knew how to breath, eat by listening to the voices that scream the loudest when my soul is reeling in unfathomable silence;
“Nya ébok rà this is what you should do”
I’m not used to the uncertainty that taints my own voice, or the scent of naivety that trails my skin. I’ve been told I’m too wayward, addicted to carelessness like it was heroine. Control is the word associated with power, they said,
Nya ébok rà, control will keep you strong, even if it’s just a bubble of illusion that distorts perception.
There are daddy issues interwoven in mummy issues interwoven in life issues. It’s not like me to leave things alone and freedom is like the stars I sleep under every fortnight so I could dream in bright white light. When the last piece of me broke away, I ran up the a mountain, pointed my forefinger to the air and screamed,
Breath in. 5…4…3…2…one I saw a nix sitting on a branch of a fig tree, dipping her toes into the stream of water below her. creating ripples that waned and faded. She looked sad on this beautiful Armenian night, perhaps it was the shadow she carried that whispered chaos in her mind.
Breath out. 1…2..3.4 five, every living creature has a mind, and is therefore equally important. The Owl on the spitz of the old fig was not more relevant than the Nix, and my life is worth the same as hers. I wondered if she could have been sad because the presence of the moon on this night was divine and she wished she could bottle up the milky way and the falling stars, or she wasn’t mindful enough to realise she was more than the feelings she allowed to overwhelm her thoughts;
the state if mind where she wanted the night to schatter into broken shards, prick her skin so she could feel her life force… or anything really. swallow her whole and drop her off the face of the earth.
She couldn’t speak stillness to the old fig, or reach out to touch the elusive moon. The lines between her reality and her reflection were blurred by a spurring internal conflict that could be solved by a drop of presence.
On this beautiful Armenian night I crouched next to her and told her to live in the moment, exactly how it was, listening to her heart beat, not wanting more or expecting less. Every day nature weaves a balance of subtle miracles before our ever dreaming eyes. If we’re lucky, our hearts can capture every butterfly smile our irises have yet to see.
Since moving to Germany. I’ve done everything except stop and smell the roses. At times, it even seems like i’m purposely distracting myself from everything except work. It was only a matter of time before I would be forced to stand in stillness. The opportunity to hang up my scrubs came last weekend when my man’s birthday aligned with Oktoberfest. Neither of us have visited the event before, so we neither knew what to expect nor what was in store for us.
I wore the appropriate Dirndl mit Schürze, courtesy of a german relative. She also pointed out sweetly, that women laced the schürze according to their marital status. Married or courted ladies always laced it to their right hip, and flirtatious unbethroted women tied behind. Apparently a long standing tradition in German culture.
Oktoberfest was grounded sometime in the 17th century in Bavaria. l didn’t really research the roots of the celebration, but my guess is that it has something to do with the Deutsche love of beer, wurst and parties. Eventually, this month long festivity, extended to welcome visitors around the globe
So I had my dirndl on, and was feeling really cute until I discovered that mine wasn’t the most modern in the swarm of festers. But that didn’t matter at all. What really got to me was wait periods outside the Biergarten. I couldn’t phantom why I had to wait so long, just to buy an overpriced beer. Oktoberfest wasn’t looking so festive for me right about then.
Eventually we made it into a tent, and if you think our troubles were over, you’d be wrong as we couldn’t even have space to breath, talkless of seating. We stood in a line. Stood to drink our beers and eat our equally overpriced Ofenkartoffeln. How delightful!
By the time we left the tent, I was cursing out loud. There were police everywhere, protecting drunk people laying on the floor from getting trampled. Other times, people got aggressive from too much drinking and had to be roughed up by security until the police arrived. We came across a group of men doing Cocaine right there, like it was a norm. I had to ask myself, if Jesus came right now, would I be be saved? would he be happy that I’m here, would he even find me in this crowd?
But we ran into luck in the second tent. The wait was about 10 minutes and as we were entering, a group was leaving so we got seated immediately and welcomed others to sit with us. We got a beer and food and got acquainted with an American couple as well as a group from France, the evening was beginning to light up and the music wasn’t bad either.
My final thoughts on Oktoberfest…. I really don’t know. It’s clearly not my scene but I towards the end of the night, I decided that maybe we could give it another try if, and only if we got tickets into the tents. On the way home, the police escorted the crowd to the trains, this was much needed as I believe as we witnessed many passed-out fellows even as we arrived our destination.
Watching as the rain carassed the windowsill with every trickling droplet
And it reminded me of all the times we’ve been here.
From our first date in this very booth to when we became official. I remembered how I devoured a steak burger on our second valentine together ( our first one, I will still shy and proper) . I kept a diary so i’d never forget what you wore when we were out. And when things went super good, like when you got your job, we’d cackle and clink our beer glasses here too. When we got hitched, The house got free drinks on us and I danced ontop of this table like my feet would never be able to move again.
I remember the things you taught me, like the glass being half full and never half empty. And as I try so hard to cling onto the strands of optimism you instilled in me, an even sharper pain disrupts my spirit, reminding me that since two weeks ago, I will never see you sit in our favourite booth, at our favourite shack, since the accident that stole life from you.
This downpour is much like the tears that keep my eyes swollen. And even as I look up, the man sitting at your place with a gregarious smile is but a councelor that askes me everyday how I feel.
Well I feel like the thunderous clouds heavy in the sky, tormenting the people unlucky to be unprotected against it’s wrath. I feel anger at my own feeble nature. I wish it was me and not you, for you would have coped much better than I ever could.
But even at my weakest, i know that you would be proud of half the woman I am without you.
“Na ja”, I started to tell him, “some loves unfurl like a delicate winter flower, coming into full bloom in obedience to the peak of spring, others begin like a ferrarri going full throttle in switch gears that never runs out of diesel and ours — well ours was like a blip on an electrocardiogram that spiked high and never wavered, until one of us started to bleed and fade like an unblotted ink on a page.