The Garden

It’s the beginning of yet another week, I know

I know the dark calls to you sometimes

I know you walk down roads you know you shouldn’t

I know you observe your reflection through a jumble of shards

I know you’re worn out, tired of reliving patterns of painful choices

I sense you feel hollow at times

like life is teasing you, dancing in front of you,

but escaping you somehow

i know you live in the disconnect between where you are

and what’s happening outside of you

i know how much it hurts to live there, in the divide

between what you feel you are, and what you wish you could be

The sun has kissed your skin and you have inhaled it with complete trust

and you sometimes move without knowing what’s next

at times it feels paralysing to live with yourself.

I know you’ve worked so hard to control the outcome of your life

that you forget to meet yourself in the quiet and breath yourself full again

that you live in the shallow end and you forget to go deep,

breath deep ujjayi

you forget there is wealth of abundance and trust in you

i know there are places in yourself that you do not love

the parts you wrestle away

you visit them them from time to time, hoping they’re not there

i know you long to live in bliss

and when you arrive there you are so alive as if everything around you

is telling you yes, you’re home.

but i know shadows come while you’re asleep

and drag you down the familiar landscape of fear

I know you wonder if the light will ever return

because you’re tired of this upbeat dance between the two worlds.

you’re learning to taste heaven, grown wings

you’re accepting the difference

between sun soaked mornings and dark forests

you are human my dear and are allowed to be in both places

you are not damaged

you are not failing

you are allowed to be lost in dark rivers

be gentle when doubt comes, when fear chokes

when darkness debilitates you

spend special care to cultivate the garden of love when you come across these dark corridors.

know that you are offered the chance to tend your garden

the dark offers you a chance to love all the places you’d never dare

all the places you curse

where we deprive ourselves of love is where we need it most

when the dark comes , tell it what it what it wants so badly to hear,

You are loved.

A look through 2018

The hand of the clock ticks. tocks. ticks

At the beginning of the year, like a good number of us, there were nuggings of uncertainty pecking at every corner , but as days progressed into weeks and weeks into months, I began to ease into the year like a temptress breaking in a new pair of stilettos.

I wanted to start projects, without confining myself to the impossible standards of resolutions. I didn’t want to just scale through, enduring was an option, just not mine. Still, I had no prior prep courses, no handy machineries to be able to manoeuvre 2018 without skiddng through muddy ponds.

I however do have one thing, a video camera with which I was able to capture the galore of contagiously unforgettable moments.

One of such moments was in April when we got meine Süßigkeiten, Aka Gandalf. Boy, have I learnt a lot about persistence and patience from this vengeful, stubborn wabbit. Here’s a video when he was 5 months, frolicking in the garden. I’ve decided to name this, the Adventures of Gandalf the wise . Click the play button.

it’s everything but boring, right?

Then came a day, I with all my idealism thought it was time for all the residents of our cozy district to meet and greet. Well, things escalated farther than I hoped for when Rudolph, the dachshund set his weary eyes on the young blood.

But enough about the bunny, In the summer, we visited my Fiance’s relatives in Gyula, a small city In Hungary, close to the eastern Border of Romania. Reka their especially talented and diverse daughter invited me to her Zumba class, I did more than applaud her.

Reka is the little cutie to my left

Her brother, Levente whose mood is frequently unpredictable ( I can never tell if we’re on good terms) serenaded me with a traditional folk song, of a beautiful maiden. I guess we couldn’t be better.

Levente with his rock star dad.

And my extremely cut for time take on Childish Gambino’s “This is America,” Hungary version. Click play to watch.

As it seems, I didn’t merely duck and hide, like I thought I would, whether I was prepared for the segwaying uncertainties, Jesus showed me that I only needed to be certain of his love. I hopped on grace, and it brought me here today.

This is my best moment in 2019.

Alas the cold and my fear of water kicked in

And that fellow bloggers and loyal readers is the how I chose to end this year. Thank you for all the love to memoirsofalexander.com and I. Comment below if you had favourite moments in 2018 today.

It’s eight hours till jan. 1. 2019, but it’s still not too early to say Happy New Year! Frohes neues Jahr! With love from Budapest.

Let the fireworks begin.

The awakening

Most times I prefer that it become adaptable to the audience by letting you read meaning into it, but this one is personal.

We’ve had to deal with our fare share of insecurities in a way that’s unique to us. Ergo, no two war stories will ever be the same.

After a scheduled coffee date this week,  I was forced to stare at myself  in the  mirrored hall and I couldn’t help but Thank God, because I saw myself for how beautiful I truly was.

Before then I made futile attempts to not look at myself because all I saw was a grimy shadow of imperfections. I thank God for my journey thus far. I thank him for the courage to love myself the way he intended.

 

 

Don’t look at me

for I wear shame like a crown

worthy of thorns

worthy of scorn

worthy of everything, but mercy

 

The person I saw the other day

she looked back at me with vulnerability

so I mocked her for being weak

I mocked her for I knew she has much shame

exactly as much as I have

 

In the day time I yearn for worthiness

the worth of love and belonging

An impression I never fanthomed

the abyss that leaves me empty and dry

Drowning in a sardonic rash 

 

And I searched for it in her

for forthnights and moonsons

for decades and eras

for milleniums and eons

till I was emptier and drier

 

It drove me crazy

For in many men the courage  existed

I went astray connecting deeper with her psyche

and  she had no compassion for me

just like I had none for her

 

So I laid there pleading

I grew numb. My teeth  bleeding

I could tell she was scared of me

but her shame kept her locked  away

in iron clad glates

 

In her eyes a glimmer of compassion

Her voice chocked with hope

Hope was all I needed

to reveal her courage

and rid her fear.

 

I began to tell her

everything she is good at

I was beginning to see it

even if the world didn’t

Yes I see it!

 

Then did she rise and break the fetters

I thought she would smite me

I couldn’t blame her

yet her eyes gleamed with empathy

She rescued me, like Heracles did Theseus

 

 

She cleaned me up

she took my hand

we walked together

out of the seat of witness

I have never felt worth until now

 

This is what vulnerability feels like

I formed ground-breaking connections

These all happened while she sat cross-legged on a  mat

chanting in deep breaths;

I am enough!

 

 

 

Twenty-one Curses

It is Looming, like the sword of Damocles. After my post a few weeks ago regarding communications, I made some headways that shed light on my personal relationships. I had a Eureka moment, in fact, a large chunk of unprocessed memory didn’t only return, but they make sense now more than ever.

My inquisitive sister found my mum’s masters degree. The year was August 1998, which meant I was 2 years old. As a child, I recall a strong, but the unequivocal presence of my parents, ergo my mum practically raised us while my dad chased his dream, and professional success. Contrary to that, as a neonate, her presence in my life was feeble. I mostly recall my guardian, a meek tween of that era.

“What has this got to do with anything?” you may wonder. Well, last year during my internship programme, I made a friend. Anyone who knows me knows how foreign those four words are to me. We’ll call her Momo. I and Momo had a kind of bond, from the first meeting, that is uncommonly unique. Introverted as we were, with raging trust issues, we opened up about ourselves, just enough anyway. Her eyes radiated so much kindness and love, but it also unveiled grave pain. Moma is an only child, I figured she was only lonely.

She is a biologist and we both had a similar internship duration. As our programme drew to an end, Momo suffered an identity crisis. The crisis was triggered by a cascade of events that began with hallucinogen use and ended with some unresolved, suppressed memories taking center stage. Ironically, the same memories I recall now, a weak parental onus in the neonatal period.

Those few days were critical for her, as the meds needed at least a week to be potent, I dug tirelessly at my open wounds, so I could find something, anything that could retain her sanity, and perhaps my attempts were futile, but certainly, they contributed in steering her away from becoming an inpatient at the psych ward. Momo is doing much better now, and so am I.

We stumped the obstacles and moved beyond them, I’ve reflected on my life with much guidance and wisdom and reaped clarity. Unresolved matters have no hold on me anymore. I’ve dispersed all secrets and watched myself evolve from a resentful, self-doubting conch, and I owe it all to the support system I have. I have God, my loved ones, my readers, and bloggers to thank for the undefeated smile I wear on my face daily.

This post, however, is really not about me, it is for my beloved, Momo, and everyone out there who is in a constant battle with their ID. It is for those who do not want to get up from their bed in the morning and can’t sleep at night. For those who are plagued by the ghosts of what they cannot discern, and for those who, every minute they are alive is progress. I can never claim to comprehend what it feels like. This is for you. Hold steadfast, God loves you.

Like the forest before the starry night

Life pours carelessly at your feet

Yours is a gift that attracts twenty-one curses

Listen not to the echoing isolation

they shriek like maleficent lilts

An avalanche of colossal forlornness

Try as you may

Disenchantment brazes you like a whirlwind

Driving you farther from the ones that love you

Some days we’re one

The next you’re numb

A kaleidoscope of cacophony

Your willpower holds the key

It ends the cycle

To much of my pride.

Twenty-one curses are but a blessing in disguise

Between an Artist and His Art

You know me

Every coarse line and grit  on me

was borne from your mind

I evolved from squiggles, shades of you

Yet to explore dimensions of all that I am

 

But doubt  hauls into your mind

It trivializes me

Claiming that I, as a reflection of you,

We are not good enough

So you conjure these scowling faces

They befuddle  your judgment

Irrespective of your arduous attempts

We will never be good enough

My value in your heart fades

as you turn your back on me

 

 

 

My heart bleeds,

for I, as a reflection of you,

We are of  good opulence

Surely not for all,

Only for the few crazy enough to discern the mind of a creative.

 

Soon you realize these voices were a hoax

The inebriation of hypocrisy disseminates

Contrition arrests you, so you complete me

And I make you whole

I am attuned to you

For you love me undeniably

You flaunt me so all may see

An ethereal smile blooms each time

You look at me and say;

Behold the beauty I created

Judge not her imperfections

for there is no bond greater

than the one between an artist and his art.

 

This piece is originally about the struggles of an artist, but I was moved to a deeper meaning of it. We ourselves are creations of the omnipotent God, and if we could take so much pride in our poem, photographs, books or paintings, then surely we can acknowledge the depth of his steadfast love for us. God bless us!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alien

What would it feel like
if I stand on the edge
If I happen to be in close proximity to it,
then what?

what if I could walk
maybe I am lighter than oxygen
or maybe I’d get a concussion
either way, I have to know.

but baby girl, you don’t float.
beyond sea level,
everything must tumble

Gravity.

Round and round
it’s all fun and games
once, forgotten
twice, twirling

Stop.

My hands look strange,
like tentacles
attached to an alien being.

I wonder,
what is the single greatest distraction
from self-love.

 

End of The Tunnel

 

Above all, trust yourself.

 

Defeated. I sat on the cold ground in the dark, feeling nothing but the wisp of air blowing through the tunnel, it distinctly sounded like a fiddle playing. I wasn’t scared at all, just fatigued like I was throwing punches at something that wasn’t feasible. I must have folded my fists and coaxed myself with “just do it”  a thousand times, but each time I end up uniting my buttcheeks to the dirt beneath me. I even dozed off and at some point and created several hypothetical scenarios of the many ways this could go and when I woke up, I allowed myself to linger on the thought of fighting till my hands were in shackles and my eyes, gouged out.

 

Slowly, I rose to my quivering feet and each step became a little easier. A winged buddy sidled next to me and split into a handful, and then some. Honestly, I was glad to have any manner of companionship and from intuition, I knew they were happy to see me too.

This time,  I wasn’t looking at the walls, my focus was straight ahead as I marched on. After a while,  I noticed that my butterflies weren’t flying ahead as they usually were. Perhaps something was blocking me but I had no way of confirming this, I couldn’t see that far. The winged creatures stayed close to my peripheral vision.

I was perplexed, something was out there as sure as I could instantly feel the doubt overwhelming me and soon I could make out a silhouette, not a tall one. I got nearer. It was in black overalls, it’s back towards me, it assumed a bent posture as if the world was weighing down on it—– or kyphoscoliosis. I stopped behind it.

uhmm” I muttered, quite unsure, “can I pass? what are you doing here?”

I hear a soft moan, I knew then that it was female.

“do you want to pass?

I nodded

“So why don’t you?”

“Because… ” I quickly retracted my reply. Something told me she already why. She turned, her chest towards me now.

“Because you fear being followed in the dark”.

“Who are you?”, Her face was like a shadow. I couldn’t make out anything but her brows and eyes.

“We used to be best friends,”  she sighed ” but you abandoned me, like you do with everyone”

“I still keep in touch”.

“right, keep telling yourself that,” she chided, “you’re here because you unlocked a memory, you let your mind wander too far.. and now you can’t get back.”

Her tone became aggressive, her eyes glowered.

“You think life is just gonna give you stuff because you say pretty please? you’re nothing.”

“that’s not true”

“You think that by completing this grandiose quest of yours, you’re worth something,” her voice waned to a whisper, “well I’m telling you, you’re always going to be the empty person on those walls”.

No no no no, my mind was shattering.

She let out a derisive laugh, “you know most people whose mind wander off like yours have two things to ground them. An inflated self-esteem and a support system. You have neither, Idara, you’re pathetic”. Her laugh grew more hysterical.

“NO!,”  I finally heard my enraged-self say, “I know exactly who you are and while I may not have friends, I trust myself no matter what you or anyone thinks”.

Those words seem to act like twenty upper-cuts to her torso because I could immediately see her weaken and fall. I, on the other hand, have never been more assured of my senses.

“You hear me? I trust myself”.

She let out a deafening shrill and exploded into several pieces before my eyes, leaving behind ashy feathers. I allowed myself a moment to process what just transpired before hobbling on, careful not to step on the “evil” feathers. I started wondering if there would be more tests as I could only deal with so much but right about then, I saw it. Light. Real actual light, not the illumination from the butterflies, I was ecstatic.

I  ran the last few meters. I felt great, like a detox after a bad hangover, like purity and golden sunshine rolled into one. The butterflies were disappearing and this time, for good reason. The air felt great compared to the muffling metallic scent, although, I don’t know how long I was in there……”Hey,”

It was him.

I’ve been searching all night for you, where have you been?”

I glared behind to find everything but a tunnel.

“Needed a walk to clear my head”.

“I was worried, found your phone and house keys. Some folks say it fell out your pocket and they were trying to return it to you but you were…… nevermind, how are you?

“A bit tired”.

“C’mon, I’ll take you home, catch some snooze before day-break”.

I took his extended arm and he cradled me like a toddler but I wiggled my way to his back because piggy-backs are better. We walked off into the distance, out of the park, speaking audibly.

“You know I didn’t mean to upset you when I said I trusted you”

“I know Viktor.”

 

 

image source: darkbeautymag.tumblr.com

 

 

 

 

 

The tunnel

 

We thought we could escape our troubles. We thought if we climbed the ladder fast enough, no one would stop us.

 

Across the bed from him, I sat.

“I like you, I really do.”

He blushed, licked his lips and placed a palm on my thigh. I liked that. I shut my eyes and allowed myself to dwell on this simple pleasure. His hands lingered from my thighs up to my waist before grazing my cheeks. I opened my eyes to meet his pearly hazel ones. It was the first time I permitted myself to look so closely into someone’s eyes. It was intriguing to see them dilate. He parted his lips and I listened to the words that fumbled out….

A Volcano erupted in my heart. My being was shaking; like an earthquake, like an explosion went off in my head. My ears could bleed, my voice was gone, My lips were quivering from the horror when he said, “I trust you”.

I jumped up, and for a second or five, I was patting myself as if searching for something. His face grew worrisome and he constantly asked me what was wrong.

“I have to get out of here”

“Where to? this is your house”.

“Nowhere,” I replied, “Just need a walk.”

I sprinted out the room into the night. My legs were moving, one after the next. The people I walked past were staring at me, as if in shock or sheer curiosity. Maybe I have something on my face but I’m acting as normal as I possibly can. My mind is a war zone, the more I try to focus, the more nothing seems to make sense. All I see is a tunnel of darkness that I’ve never been brave enough to walk through to the other side. But now, it beckons me and right there in the park, I could make something out of the rusty air. A tunnel.

“Idara,” I heard a voice call from within the tunnel. It sounded like a child with a thick accent, Western African perhaps, “come”.

“Why” I muttered hesitantly

“Because you will never be able to face your truth if you don’t”.

I heard the fluttering of wings, and seconds later a butterfly was in front of me, so close it could perch on my nose. In a blink of an eye, it’s wings would change from violet polka dot to black with white streaks then to brown and white with blue streaks then again, and again, each time, a unique blend of colors. I was too mesmerized that I almost didn’t notice that now there were two of them, and in a millisecond five, then twelve and they just kept multiplying. They formed a line before me and begun flying into the tunnel. I pushed some air down my lungs, took a step and then another and I was inside the tunnel.

My mind was simmering with thoughts and they were chaotic but with the light from the butterflies illuminating my path, I felt less anxious. I noticed the walls had phrases and sentences inscribed on it and there was a sense of familiarity I had when I read them, I remember them because I lived them.

At the tunnel entrance, I read:   “you were always there for me.’ I recall smiling when I wrote that. I recall feeling lonely afterward.

“when I count my friends, I count 1 person 10 times”.  I know who that was for, it came from a sincere place.

the next one read; “you’re the bitchiest bitch out there, but you’re also the only person that piggybacks me home when I’m drunk”. Actually now I just think she’s a bitch.

The farther I got into the tunnel, the more cynical the phrases were. “This may probably be the last time you see me, I’m not going anywhere but I can’t promise I won’t wander off.”

The other read: “I can’t stand the pain, it makes me cry. I want people to care, I want things to work out”.

At this point, I noticed that the butterflies were reducing, disappearing. I was feeling unsure again, anxious. In an attempt to forge on, I staggered through the never-ending corridor with my resilient companions.

The next I saw went thus; “it’s not in my nature to express myself so wouldn’t it be weird, stupid to people if I started expressing myself? wouldn’t it seem like I was impersonating someone I’m not?” 

I sidled on like a lummox drunk in a grave-yard, I refused to look at the walls any further. I tried focusing on making it to the end, but my mind wouldn’t stop buzzing and I kept on wishing I was out of there, I’ve never been more restless.

My gaze settled on one final inscription on the wall and I couldn’t help but read it through; “so once again I was alone staring at the walls as it were empty like my soul.”

I stopped. Thrusting my back against the wall, I read the phrase again as I slowly sank to the ground. The lights fluttered around me urging me to rise to my feet. I couldn’t move, I’d lost all my strength.

“I was alone…the walls…empty like my soul, alone…walls..empty, empty….

The butterflies wouldn’t stop but I ignored them whilst they continued to vanish.

“Get up,” the voice was back. “Come Idara”

“I can’t,” I yelled, my voice resounded through the walls. I watched the butterflies fade until the last resilient wings were flapping right before my nose. Its light began to flicker and went dim until it was gone. Everything went silent and cold. No insects. No buzzing. No light. Just me alone in the dark tunnel.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t”

 

Empty

I am so regular, I sleep at 7.30 pm every evening and not a minute later. I never miss my pre-scheduled siestas.

I text all my friends in the morning to ask how they slept, and every night to remind them to rest easy. In fact, a week hardly ever passes by without me seeing them. I call home every other day.

I never forget to treat myself to delicious snacks all through the day.

I wear this dress that accentuates my curves and ends 2/3rd of my ankles and a burgundy on my lips to match. I flip my voluminous hair back every half an hour because I’m going out on a date today, can’t wait, he’s perfect in everywhere.

“Nice dress,” he says

I look down at my clammy hands and manage a vague smile

“I only wear red when I’m indifferent”

“You always wear red,” he points out

My quivering lips broadened into a grin.

“It  must desaturate you to always wear a mask that reflects only what every other person wants to see”

I looked down to my glazed glass, watching my merlot swivel back and forth due to the wind drifting towards us

“You know,” I managed, “Just living”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fire and Blood

The moon is forming. Arising from the east, “if you stare hard enough”, brother says, “you’ll blossom into a princess”. He says, into anything I desire.

Tears trickle unrestrained, down down down to the angle of her lips. She wipes it away, so he inquires, “why are you so sad?” and she replies “I don’t know, why does God exist?”

A nice saunter into town she thought, and I will back to my old self. This isn’t a lie. It’s a confabulation. We can only believe what we tell ourselves; even when seeing is believing.

If the clouds turn bloody, pasted against the dark skies, one glance at it will ignite a fire in her ego, one that cannot be extinguished until the subsequent days.

 

If you didn’t know yet, you wouldn’t know later. “What is wrong with me?”, the question that constantly nags her so, why would I chose violet when peers dance in shades of blue? Why would I trace my lips in green even after she said, and I know, it made me look like an ogre.

Broken.

Unable to soar high, she destroyed her wings so that no one else would, so that she would have a reason to look to the skies and watch eagles soar, so that she would have a reason to make a wish.

But enough if this tomfoolery, enough of these mind games, enough of these flimsy excuses, enough!.

The clouds she sees are crimson, they blend into each other projecting their effect on top of themselves. Like two koi fishes engaging in a deadly war, each fighting to conceal the other.

You can tell her a million and one times that what she’d done is beneath her, but she may never seize to emulsify fire & blood.