The Giant

I’m sitting on a balcony, separated from a motor way by a field of corn. Long enough that the swaash of Autos sound like binaural beats in my ears. Today is one when the sun is extra shy, so she’s hidden behind the clouds. The howling wind is substantive proof that a storm is brewing in the distance.

I do not fear the trickle of rain or the cold that has trapped my waning breath. Through the gaps between the trees, I’m stifled by a horrific giant. He is twice the height of an oak with skin so pale, it’s almost cyanotic. The veins on his forehead are visible, like a helmet made from the thickest part of a black widow’s web.

His eyes are buggy and bulgy, and they’re resting heavily on me.

I’ve never felt so weak like I do now, felt the need to plead for a chance of redemption. My breath is faint. My voice wont give up more than a fragile moan. My heart is beating slower by the day as the giant draws nearer.

I can’t keep on living this way. I am barely surviving. Something has to change, and fast. I wish I could snap my fingers and sentence this giant to the edge of the earth. His brawny body struggling to balance against the weigh of gravity, so that he is suspended in astral Limbo

What delight that would be. I’d dance again with rekindled passion. My lungs would be inspired to sing an old song in a new tune. And I’d walk out of the battle camp holding his decapitated head as a laurel.

I would like that very much I would. Even the thought of it warms my heart and causes my lips to curve upward.

Yet he draws closer everyday to me.

I do have another theory, one that terrifies me more. I do not know from where my giant came, perhaps he was formed between crevices in a mountainous region. But what if, he is harmless. Perhaps his hideous features are just for me to welcome and accept. And his mission is to help me align perspectives. It wouldn’t do much good to treat him like an unapproachable vermin.

He may well be an ally. I couldn’t know.

It’s the more reason to surrender, rather than dig a moat and build a buttress. I want to believe that the clouds are tired of absorbing the precipitation and will consequently release the blizzard that propagates the giant’s footstep to me.

The worse he could do would be to obscure my stance, challenging me to find refined vision in a paler shade of umbra. Maybe then he would vanish, taking with him the manacles weighing on my limbs and leaving behind an aura, that strips every façade and laces my tongue with a dose of truth.

image courtesy: Pixabay.com

Young

My mother’s thigh were my stepping stone to the world beyond when I was born.

Day in. Day out. I sat there listening, never understanding the sounds from her mouth.

I clung to her bosom, it was all that I had.

I remember my first movie, Elizabeth Taylor being swooped off her feet.

Maybe I could be a damsel in distress in a marble courtyard  someday, I mused.

It was such a  honor to be chosen as a damsel when I was young.

Some night, mom was my enemy, other nights, dad was my enemy.

Both nights I had someone I could confide in, an ally. My brother.

He stood up for me when  I was defenceless.

The hero I’ve never known until the day he became  mute.

The intimacy I had never appreciated until we became estranged.

Not by time, space, barrier, but by words.

I watched him detach, I watched him change.

Before my eyes I saw him become what I could never describe, what he may never be able to explain.

And that day came when I held his hand, I cried and bursted out in anger

He bowed his head for he didn’t want me to notice the creeping duress that was becoming too real.

His unflexible smirk revealed a cold war unfurling within him, he was no more than ten.

When I was born, I clung to my mother’s bosom, it was all I knew .

I knew my knight in shining armor all too well,  until he went missing, hidden inside a conch.

Now, I have even less than I did then, but I have chosen to be a knight to nobody, but him.

He is small and compact but  will always be my ally.

Then I met a man and when I told him this, he told me, “youth is wasted on the young”.

As we steadily approach the third decade of life, I have to admit that perhaps he was right.

 


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Image Courtesy:  Silas Onoja on Twitter

 

Perspectives

Believe it or not. We take life for granted.

Even a day old neonate is guilty of becoming too comfortable with the air  and food he is able to enjoy, and sometimes we pray thanking God for life, but when was the last time we actively paeaned him rather than just reciting words? When was the last we helped someone because of their fragile humanity, rather than sending a one liner; “Hey Josephine, if you need my help, let me know.”

We are truly  insouciant to the differing perspective around us, and it’ll takes an unexpected cul-de-sac to jolt us  to conscious awareness. Let me give an example, I have been living in Hungary for a while now,  I’ve ensconced myself here and I almost forgot I’m not from here. Then I get a letter from immigrations last week, It seems they were acknowledging the completion of  my studies as the completion of my residence and they gave me a period of time to finalize my affairs and mossy on out. My dreamscape came crashing down, hard. I definitely thought I had more time. I needed a resolution.

For an entire day, I reminisced on the events, people etc that I’d taken for granted. I have never considered the perspective of a refugee prior to this point in my life,  they have been people I see on the the streets of Rome, and maybe that one lady that lives down the street that I avoid because she may be in trouble with the law.  Ergo, my primary message is, It’s not your  concern, till it happens to you. Yes you.

Here’s where I can brag about my petit growth, an old me would have panicked indubitably,  ran to the immigration office ASAP with no plan, wailed, contacted a lawyer, fall into a depressed mood, basically dithered around every promising lead like a scatterbrain. However, I continued my day without letting myself become ensnared by the distractibility of that letter. I understood it’s purpose was to evoke attrition, but It was another typical day.

In the Untethered soul, Micheal Singer talks about how our mind internalizes ordinary life situations to become a block in our life. If we need a solution, we also look introspectively to release that block. How easy! not really tho.

At the end, to God be the Glory,  a resolution was attained. I have learnt to be more consciously available, grateful and  more so flexible enough to consider every perspective.  Let us all remain blessed. Arrivederci.

 

Peter Pan taught me

In a dimension of impossibles

It is possible to fly