A couple of days ago, I decided that it was time for me to write again. A novel, something I haven’t written in years. I had a story and characters in my head. I had an outline that was partly based on true events and then, out of the blue, I got sidetracked by a different story. One that is a surprise even for me while I write it. Everything is new, even the narrative voice. It is unexpected but not unwelcome. This short story that demands to be written on the spot is not elaborated, it has no structure and the chapters are so short that the story can’t even be considered to be a short story, and yet, there is something appealing in it. At least I think so. It is posted on my Wattpad account. Life Between Clouds and Feathers But I am wondering if I should share it here too. What do you think? Should I post links to the entire chapters or crosspost the chapters here?
About the title:
Life between clouds and feather came to my mind when I was scrolling through my pictures on my phone. I had a couple of pictures of birds that flew in the sky. In one particular photo, the sky was grey and full of clouds. And somehow, in my mind, a connection between thoughts dark as clouds and thoughts light as feathers was made. My mind works in mysterious ways. That picture was used (and heavily edited) to be the cover of my book. I am quite excited about this. I am not sure if it shows 😉
Thank you for your attention… now I just need to hear your thoughts about the above question: share links or share chapters?
People from my daily life are beginning to understand that there is more to find under the surface of me.
…and I cry if I want to.
You would cry too if it happened to you.
I am just kidding. No crying here… But it’s my birthday and I am fishing for wishes and cake. And music. And a drink or two. And a couple of nice words to boost my ego.
Hey… At least I am honest.
So, yes. I am turning 35 today and I am having a lazy day at home. Interrupted by my mommy duties (aka taxi driver for the girls).
The mood is good.
I am blind. I am too blind to see the struggle of others. Well… Not entirely. I see their battles, but I don’t see the severity of them. If I was a little less self-centred, I would see more of the world around me. As it is, I realized a year too late how bad a friend was really doing. I was too focused on myself and on the way I expected him to pull me out of the dark. But he was in even deeper than me and I didn’t see it.
Out of the dark into the dark.
I didn’t realize how much he was struggling. I had just scratched the surface when he pulled away. He had shared the bare minimum. I knew he was addicted to at least two things. I knew he was really not well. But I didn’t fight to be in his life when he pushed me out with all his might. Maybe our relationship was caustic from the beginning.
Two fragile minds becoming even more fragile because of what we shared.
I wish it had been different. Instead of breaking him even more, I could have helped him heal. But our relationship was based on a toxic behaviour. A pattern that repeated itself again and again. A circle. Of course there is more than this wrong pattern. There is more to the person I am and there is more to the person he is. But, we didn’t stand a chance. Our minds and our mental illnesses ruined every chance of a friendship. Quite sad, actually. But not irrevocably.
Ones views change over time… Mine too.
She consciously listened to music and was washed away with a wave of emotions. She swam against the current and – bereft of her last bit of breathing air, she gave in and drowned. She drowned in an ocean of music.
My tiredness is amplified in the mirror. Swollen eyes… Overflowing emotions…
One day you will wake up and a wound that has always itched and that has always hurt – even if it was in a dull, almost imperceptible way, will have healed.
You will be surprised and it will be scary at first. You will try to get that feeling back – after all, it has been a part of you and your being for such a long time. But, let it go. You don’t need it anymore. And the hollow it left will be filled with something new. Something good.
This comes from a person who believed that wounds can be concealed but never healed. I woke up with a weight lifted off me. And I had the immediate desire to write it down. Because, if the hurt comes back (and it will be back full force), then I will have this to remind me that there are days when everything that weighs me down doesn’t seem to be as important anymore.
I’ll leave you on this rather content and serene note. I am going to make the beds now, then I’ll put my golden shoes on and spend my day at IKEA. (For me, IKEA is more stressful than working a double shift at the nursery).
I had a very vivid dream last night. It was about a person I haven’t talked to since last October. And I woke up with a happy feeling inside. It makes me wonder if this person thought about me too. If they did, I hope they had a happy feeling too.
Silver slivers of an other world
Golden echoes of a past long gone
It is as if the warming summer rain never ceased to coat our skins
It is as if the most important part of you lives inside my pulsing veins
Gray clouds repeating your whispered word
White lies, hidden in a new song
It is as if your home is in my mind
But my mind is lost and home is hard to find
Iridescent pictures of the end of an affair
I vividly remember the way you used to ask “Are you there?”
Silver slivers, fragments of our story
Golden echoes, mirror of a promise I intend to keep
Wrap your self around my soul
Consume me until
I will disintegrate in your smoldering embrace.
I feel your essence seeping in to my very core
Until I wrap my soul around your fragile mind.
This new year has not been a creative one so far. I have not been inspired, not by music, not by words, not by people.
I was, however, made aware that I suck as a friend. Two people noticed it, it must be true? Call me stubborn, but they don’t get it. I can’t think happy thoughts and all becomes good and well inside my head. I can’t embrace people who I subjectively feel are not needing me to live a good and happy life. And I just can’t be a better friend at present.
In a way, it all comes down to them not knowing me. And I can’t pour my heart out face to face. It happens in writing. My writing is not hidden, yet neither my family nor my friends read my words. My family claims it is because I write in English, but they know enough of the language to understand me. I mean, my words aren’t difficult words. If they wanted, they would get it. My friends are the same… They were rather condescending when I proudly told them that I published a novel. I remember feeling a mix of accomplishment and shame.
Unexpectedly, this thought crept into my mind today. Well… Not completely. I am more or less seriously taking the decision at this moment to write a new novel. I will take my time with it because I know how easily I am overwhelmed with work and family and the house and finding time for myself, but I miss writing and the only remedy I know is to pick it again. I know that I can do it. Heck, in 2015/2016 I wrote four short novels back to back. I will not claim that they are perfect and they are unedited and filled with mistakes but they are out there to read for free. (tablo.io/micqu)
So yes, I will write again. I will find inspiration and passion again. And I will not let anyone make me feel ashamed for this. Because writing is in my bones. It is a part of who I am.
People telling me what to do and how to feel…
I am a firm believer of “everything happens for a reason” and ” people walk parts of your journey with you for a reason”. Until now, I only applied it to me. This person entered my life for a reason and this person left for a reason. The reasons (phew… Lots of reason here), the reasons aren’t always understandable at first. Most often, we only understand the lesson we learned in hindsight. We are learning from the memories and experiences we made.
I recently understood that this works both ways.
I struggled with the fact that a person is not an active part of my life anymore. It was (and partly it still is) hurting my most sensitive feelings. And I miss him. But the truth is, I don’t miss him. I miss the idea of him. I miss the knowledge that he was just a swipe on the screen away. And while I tried to come to terms with it, using my mantra (everything happens for a reason), I failed to understand that I am not a part of his life anymore either. And as much as I have learned and gained (and lost) from this experience, he learned and gained (and lost) an equal amount of things. Sure, his lessons are certainly different, but they are there.
That thought, honestly, it blew my mind. Of course, I began pulling myself down and insulting myself as being egoistic and self-obsessed the moment I had some time to mull it over.
The fact remains that every coin has two sides. Everything we do has consequences. And sometimes, when we interact with someone, things happen for a reason. For us and for them too.
The lesson I am taking from this, is being even more considerate and kind. We all have our internal struggles. Most are hidden to the public eye.
I had an empty day.
Is that what is called normal? There was no rage, no overwhelming moments, no serenity… Nothing. Just emptiness. An emptiness that wasn’t challenging. I was without deep emotions.
Strange. Strange indeed. But not unwelcome.
The sun was shining. I did not make my beds. I read, listened to music, played with the kids, took a bath… Mundane. And that was okay.
Embers of memories are glowing in the dark. I want them to burn again. I want them to go out. I want to give up, and I want to keep going. If we only knew. Embers of memories are burning me from within. Sometimes, the heat is comforting; other times, it is destroying me from just underneath my skin. I miss who I didn’t have; dream of opportunities we never dared to take. I am strong enough to fight. I know that I am your missing light. And yet… To have you and to hold you. To let these embers of memories become blazing flames again…
Some days existing is hard. Breathing can become a struggle. Being is exhausting. Getting out of bed feels like an unachievable task.
Yesterday a good friend shared a thought with me, and it made total sense. It is about making ones bed in the morning. Here goes…
As I stated above, some days it is hard to find the strength to get out of bed. Making ones bed becomes an insurmountable task. I never bothered to make the beds. I never even considered it. Until we moved, 3 weeks ago. From the first day we lived in our new home, I made the beds. It felt like the right thing to do. Weird and out of character, and yet… The right thing to do. Now, the thought of my friend: if you make the beds, you have a first achievement of the day. Because it is a mundane task, but you did it. And if you had a bad day, you crawl into a made bed at night and you can fall asleep with the fact in mind that you got up that morning and did something. Making the bed was an achievement.
Now, for most people it doesn’t sound like a lot. If you are in a depression, the smallest things become your biggest achievements. A small task can be an insurmountable mountain. (I used the same words twice in two paragraphs, am I losing my mojo or am I just tired?)
It took me a while to admit to my situation. To address it. To ask for help. To speak about it. But it slowly dawns on me that there is no reason to hide the truth.
I am suffering from depression. And it is okay. I am going to be okay. (She said and hadn’t taken her medication in two weeks.)
I am going to undo my made bed, sleeping. Now… Remember, small things can have a huge meaning.
In your eyes lies poetry hidden, waiting to be written.
Crushed under the sunset’s rush
And the moon is new
And the stars are asleep.
Drawing patterns with my fingers
Tasting the last of you that lingers
And my mind calls for you
And my heart can’t recall you.
Crushed under the sunrise’s rush
The sun burns me
The light hurts my eyes
I fly into the dark
On a raven’s wings.
And just in case you are wondering what I’ve been listening to lately:
Luke Sital-Singh. And his album “Time is a Riddle”. I found it by sheer coincidence and was taken by it in no time.
This is Luke’s third release, and judging by what I am hearing here, I will like the other albums too, once I get around to listen to them. I am quite happy about this find. It’s been a while since I found a new (new to me) artist like this. If you like Ben Howard, this is for you too. And if you are into comparing artists you are likely to agree that Luke’s voice reminds of Kelly Jones. (Vocalist of the Stereophonics – my first live show of 2018)
And thank you.
Drive with me
Dive with me
Die with me?
Breathe with me
Be a thief with me
Open your eyes and see
We can be for never
I promise to keep waiting
The night is still
And so are we.
Listening to scared minds
Waiting on our windowsill.
Grieve with me
Leave with me
Be with me.
Lie with me
Shine with me
Find home in my arms
We can be for never
I promise to keep waiting
In the darkest hours
Floating on broken wings
Detached from body and mind
Hope stands tall
It rises after each fall.
Dancing in the rain with her arms spread wide
The cage had just allowed her more space
Inside the tight confines of our magic bubble,
Nothing can reach us.
Nothing can breach us.
Snow covers our traces
Rain hides our tears.
Into the sacred walls of my raging heart,
No on can enter.
Locked; back, front and centre.
Snow covers our traces
Rain hides our tears
Thunder drowns out our sobs
But the moon guides us home.
My fragile soul lies shattered and shy.
Hiding from your mighty eyes.
Cutting our last ties.
The weather is in my favour.
Dreadful, it makes me hide in the corners of myself
Until I forget who I am without you.
Relentless, you find your way through tiny cracks in me,
Saying you like me as I am
Refusing to leave me be.
Throwback Poem – this one was written in January 2016