Mortality

Parents last forever. They'll always hold your hand to help you cross the street. They don't shrivel up or become frail. They don't ever threaten to die.

They cannot.

Right?

Motherhood

It's the biggest secret society in the world.

Childhood memories

Fall is your season. There's something in the crispness of the air, the crispness of the leaves, the early sunsets - there's something the breeze carries to me gently, slowly... I know what it is. It's curiosity. And feebly, I put on my little spying eye and I go seeking for trouble. I knew what I would find - picture not updated for 5 years. I was wrong though - a close up I didn't expect. You were staring right at me. Those were your muddy eyes and your goofy grin, your bee-stung lip. Making a stupid face as someone correctly pointed out. Some eye bags, a vaguely asian haircut and wait, has life clouded those orange eyes a bit? Perhaps I thought they were sparkling because I was in love. 119 strangers got to like this picture. But not me. You probably don't even mean anything to half of those people. Then came the more familiar stuff - my internal organs defying gravity and all crowded around my throat.

Did I not know that the gentle whisper of a breeze will turn into (whoosh!) a gust of cold air? That it will make my hairs stand on their end? That no good has really ever come out of this splendid detective work.

But then how could we be human if there was no nostalgia.

The biggest small things

Little jigsaw pieces that fill up the room; they're all made from the same claydoh but they're not quite the same. Some are noodles and some they're taut wires. Some have double voices and some speak in whispers. Some eat cucumbers and some chocolate. Sometimes a grin and sometimes a wail. Some you cannot stand and some you cannot have enough of. Some a blank stare and some bookends for poems. But they fill up the whole room there's no time to arrange the pieces because they're moving, they're slipping, they're running and hopping.

But that's okay because I've memorized the scenery.

Honey I shrunk the kids

"When I said you should see a shrink, I didn't mean it in that way."

"Why is she so little? Did she go see a shrink?"

I am sure there have been some before, but obviously none significant enough to warrant an update. Let's raise a glass to this one.

I think we might need to fix the air

Broken records,

Stuck in a moment where everything seemed to be perfect.
Broken records cracked right through the album cover.
Broken, was cool & dry is warm & hot.
Broken, a hairline fracture in relationships.

Broken, a dot on the nose and a slash on the brow.
Broken, menthol on open wounds.
Broken sleep, now running at minus 42.
Broken a staccato uh-uh-uh-uh-oh.

Broken, where everyone sees it as priority # 7.

Us versus Them

In a much needed attempt to bring some perspective to my life, you asked me yesterday, "Some other people have it so much worse, don't they?". After a day long ordeal of being covered in all sorts of unmentionable substances, I don't really have an answer to that question.

Perhaps the toddler said it better than anyone else could:

"But this is my toy, this toy is mine."

The unbearable lightness of being

comfortable.

Ragamalika

Their relationship was a snow capped tree in the blinding winter. Raw and vulnerable; an uncovered wound. They stamped their feet at midnight and pulled their hairs. She blinked hard and rapidly, trying to build that dam but it wasn't ever fast enough for the salty seas were always in spate. He tried to lighten it up in so many ways but each time it would just make her a shade darker. They zoomed out. Dreamlike, they danced around each other like broken words. I will most liken the dynamic to a poem stripped of all rhyme and meter. Perhaps you could say that is essential to discovering the true meaning of poetry.

Fortunately for everyone, the poem shone.So they were able to piece it back together, delicately. Then they put it aside, they laughed it away and kissed in the closet. She started sentences and he completed them. They ate grapes with cheese. His face reflected in her eyes. Her head slid easily into the nook of his neck. His eyelashes fanned her face. A little nose was born. They had created something special together and it is an achievement to be proud of.

All that glitters is not gold.

I lost a friend in a yellow room.

What is memory but a distortion,  a perception,  a hallucination. The most unreliable form of book keeping. Evil thing, it schemed against me tonight. And on so many other nights. I want to reach and hold your hand but I don't let myself. I've been on for so long, I'd like to switch off for a little while.There is not a muscle in my body that ever relaxes and I am tired, so tired. And I am lonely. I am lonely in anticipation of sorrow. I have ignored my present to worry about the future. We seem to go from 0 to 100 in 5 seconds. I ponder and I rationalize and I tear and vocalize, and yet I have no real problems. And no real go-to's with the fake ones. 

(let, go, let, go, let, go: it says, for 20 minutes four times a day. it's about time.)

A five month old has no memories. Everyday is new and exciting and the same things are wonderful all over again. Colours and lights and shadows, rainbows and vessels, hairbrushes and keyboards all get the same special treatment. In time, she too will start playing favourites. I hope she builds some real happy memories.

Stars

When lights are sufficiently far away, they appear to twinkle. Don't be fooled, they will blind you a little when you get close.

Circus stories

For limited time only--

There are chariot races under the stretched canvas, there are lion tamers who can barely do their job. There are upside down elephants who dig their heads into the ground. Trapeze artists swing wildly, and catch their partners arms. As an occasional hiccup, they sometimes miss.

Who knows what else goes on beneath this great brown dome. A toothless monster wiggles. A metal ball rolls on the inside seam of the great ceiling. Sometimes, the fabric quivers in the great wind. It used to be quick and light but now it's growing slow, deliberate, like treacle on a lazy afternoon. 

It's the greatest show on earth.

Which one is it

how does she do it they all said and the admired her a bit and pitied her a little
she didn't want to be admired or pitied she just wanted to be held sometimes

Solitaire

Let's pass some time. Let's make it go slow.

Deal the cards myself, marvel at a lucky streak, maybe a self high five too?

Now the pack is missing the king of hearts and I can't complete the game.

Figs

Hang in there, my darling. We'll be coming for you real soon.

Let's fall in love

Morning is early, the sun is low, and the shadows are long.For about an hour a day, we're all transformed into giant shadows with stick feet, and what's not to love. Basking in the extra hour of sunlight that the daylight savings has earned me, I allow the usual four minute scurry to turn into a 7 minute walk instead. Humming, smelling the Blue Dog brew between 6th and 7th avenues and observing the caffeinated stick shadows shuffle about.

And around this time of year, I allow my brain to escape for a bit and chew on some momories from years ago. It's bittersweet and far away, and yet quite unescapable as Central Park becomes a colour factory of trees. It's a long shadow, a seven year old one. Its edges are getting frayed now and I no longer remember the shape, but it's always around when in the golden morning sunlight.

And I don't grudge it anymore.

Joyeux Anniversaire

It's a moment frozen in time. Me in my office attire, pushing through the revolving door. And there you are, OH MY GOD. I think you were trying to take a picture of me. Maybe that picture is lost forever now, lying on the floor of a bar where we left it at 4 AM. But that moment is ours. I'll be forever circling on that revolving door, and you'll always be standing there. To confuse and excite and surprise and delight me, like you have been known to do. It's quite representative of what we have.

We'll have to make do

There are lights everywhere.

Parking signs.
Blinking red hands.
Reflection of brake lights on the black roads.
A grid of little windows, reaching up to the sky.
Neon lights.

Happy Diwali.

A reddish kind of blue

My heart it is made of glass.

Please don't crush it, it will make your hands bleed.

Whosaidit

"Where would you like to live?"

"A place that has seasons."