Nelson Mandela

“As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I'd still be in prison.”

“Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.”

 Nelson Mandela, you were one of the greatest people of our time

You will be sorely missed.

Might have been

Of all the words of mice and men,

The saddest are: "It might have been" 

                                   Kurt Vonnegut 

And it's true. We should strive to take every opportunity, because those we miss, we spend a lifetime wondering what could have-would have happened. 

Painting beautiful futures that can never be, because we didn't dare to try. What might have been is a world of infinite futures and possibilities, all of them lost. 

So take every chance, say hello to that stranger, agree to that trip, say yes, don't hesitate and let the moment be lost. And make as few of 'might have been' moments as you possibly can. 

The River of Time

The passage of time is a strange and winding river.

It has no set path, it only travels onward. You cannot control it, and can only hope to keep your head above water, to stay afloat and let the river take you where it will. At times it will lead you into the shallows, past gentle riverbanks where willows bow their heads. Sometimes it will pull you into the deep past jagged rocks where the current is strong and river-weed swirls in the eddies of the ever-changing tide.

And through it all you can hear it, sometimes far off, and sometimes all too close; the distant roar of the waterfall that lies at the end of the river. As all my life I struggle not to drown, to admire the starlight above me, to sink into the golden sunshine as it bathes me, and to enjoy every sight that I pass by, I know the waterfall is indomitable as it is inevitable.

I have never yet seen it, but when I do I imagine it will be as beautiful as it is terrifying.
It is coming, and I cannot stop it;

 As to what lies over the other side-

That is the last great mystery.

Feeling Just the Same

I always expect somehow to feel a little different when I change age, especially to the big 21.

But of course, I feel just the same. But you know what? I had a lovely party, there was no drama, no stress. In some ways I was disappointed, how can something you have been planning for the last 6 months live up to every expectation?

But at the same time, i'm really happy. I had a great time, I was surrounded by friends who love me and made me feel so very loved. Their words, speeches, gifts and gestures had me in tears, and made me feel so very special, and so worthwhile.

I am blessed.

The beautiful pre-party lunch we had

Secret Library

It's hidden deep you know

That secret space within my mind

That place where no one goes

And none can find.

It’s where thoughts spark

And ideas flow

The rhythms in the dark

Where secrets grow

I write stories in my head

And talk to made up names-

Of people long now dead

With strange and secret games

Shelves and shelves of dreams

Each waiting at my call

And I with infinite means

Control it all

Indeed at times myself I cannot find

This secret library within my mind

My Impossible Future

If I could imagine a future for myself that would make me the happiest, it would be living in Greece, by the beaches or on one of the islands, with a house overlooking the bay and a sailboat moored in sight.
 I would have a wonderful husband who would sail with me around the islands in the summer, and I would make gorgeous meals in my beautiful kitchen. I would be a writer with some success, I would go to the markets and have picnics on our boat, I would cure olives and have a wine cellar.
And I would have dinner parties all summer and mulled wine in the winter. We would be a close knit community and know our neighbors. I would have a moped and a cat named after one of the Greek gods. Castor or Pollux perhaps, or Hephaestus.

It's so idealistic, so romanticized, I don't even know if such a place could exist. But if it did, I think it would look something like this:
 A house on the hillsides of Greece, on one of the ancient islands which once housed Odysseus. This is where I would find my inspiration, where I could look out my window every day, and find true satisfaction.

Society tells me to be successful and have a career, that writing won't cut it, and I'll be destitute and desperate, living off my husband. Half of me wants to be ambitious, successful in my chosen field, the other half of me can think of nothing better than filling my days with hobbies and beach combing and cooking, a real old-fashioned house-wife (sans the children for now) and isn't it funny how I feel guilty and embarrassed to even admit that this could be my dream, because society dictates that those values are old-fashioned now, un-feminist, sexist even. Shouldn't fair values and an equal society simply mean that we have the freedom of choice, and whatever that choice may be, we should not be judged for it?

Sometimes I think we are all still just as stifled by society as ever, just in different ways.

On the nature of compliments

I have a funny thing about compliments. I cant accept them gracefully and it's not because I'm fishing, I just don't react well to them.
In all honesty, deep down its because I don't feel deserving of the comments. I think they are a lie to make me feel better while secretly they are judging me, thinking the opposite of their words, their eyes weighing me accusingly behind my back.
Sometimes they will make me smile and stand up taller, but the next moment I'm second guessing them, wondering what game they are playing, where it will come back to hurt me.
And isn't that just fucked up.

 I think a large part of this comes from the development of social media, and also society in general. We are told from the beginning, whether it is to our faces or subliminally -barbie dolls and ballet, makeup and the colour pink, supermodels and size four clothes - we are told how we should look, what a perfect girl should be like. And if we don't fit into that mold, woe on us.
High school is the hardest, made worse by social media. They smile and then behind your back, whisper things. School has its own society, and to be at the top requires ruthlessness, and the ability to claw your way there. One must stand on their 'lessers' to walk as giants.
And social media - that strange and abstract platform, where nothing feels real. Where one can be anyone, say anything, without real-world consequences. I cannot think of anything more dangerous, for without limits, we can become monsters.

Presents

I love giving people presents.

There's something to be said for imaging that person, every aspect of them, examining them in your mind, their likes, wants, interests, things they have said to you in conversations, and finally hitting upon the perfect object-the one they spoke about with longing, or something you know they will love.

Carefully wrapping it and then drawing a card with something quirky, something unique, something that is entirely them, even if they don't realize it.

And then the best part, when they rip through the wrappings and see the gift.

But the true gift, the one that makes it worth all the money and time I could spend, is their faces.

It's selfish almost, the amount of care and enjoyment that I put into gifts, it's not just because I want to make them happy; to show their friendship means so much to me that I try to translate it into the care of finding the perfect gift, it because it makes me feel good, I get a rush off knowing their happiness, seeing their disbelieving faces when I present them with this thing I have picked.

I probably sound pretentious, and it's not like I give the best presents in the world, but I do my very best. And to know that I have made them happy, that their eyes are shining and they are grinning and look on top of the world-that's because of me-that's something unique, something I love.

It makes me feel special, and worth something.

There's a hole in my story 

There's a hole in my heart 

And this storyteller is falling apart

                                  -The Passenger

Exit

The final exit in a play,

those last few words across a page,

penultimate speech the actors say,

upon that hallowed stage,

last act, the final scene,

swift and quick emotions rage,

as shattered is their dream

his face all harrowed flesh,

That final froth-corrupted scream, oh-

 Exit life, and enter Death 

A.A. Milne

I think I need to read Winnie-the-Pooh again I discovered the authors writings are beautiful.

'Some people care too much. I think it's called love'

'I used to believe in forever, but forever's too good to be true'.

Winter

Sometimes the hills look like fallen giants, their spines arched convulsively in death throes, now long grown over by the tall grass and trampled beneath some farmers feet.
The spine of the world, and suddenly the name makes sense, the angled mountains so sharp animals do not dare brave their slopes, the rivers wend an alternate path to avoid this geometric oddity and the sky sets itself at a crazed angle as the sun struggles to stay above the reaching hills.

Deciduous trees cling grimly to the mountainside, their roots arched in agony, the weight of the world bowing their bony fingers. They contrast sharply with the deep green hillsides and plush valleys that fall alongside these reaching giants; their pall like snow has freshly settled on their branches, all dead, all bare.

Their contorted limbs seem to whisper it with the dry rustle of their golden leaves now shed like robes and pooled between their roots.

Winter is coming.

The walls are painted red.

Why did they paint them red I wonder? They look like blood, or roses, or wine. That deep rich red that looks almost soft to touch. I feel like if I put my palm against the wall, my hands would come away crimson.

Did they do it to evoke warmth? Red is a warm color. Its also the color of passion and rage, jealousy and death.

It wraps around me, tinting my eyesight rose, in this universe of walls.

“The nuclear arms race is like two sworn enemies standing waist deep in gasoline, one with three matches, the other with five.”

                                    -Carl Sagan

Nightmare

I can find no silver lining to my cloud, only the tormented rain, beating out its own agonized misery upon the rooftops of the dead. And where lies the horizon from whence summer should rise, the tendrils of a blood red dusk creep higher, promising the destruction within, wrought from my own obscurity, I am a prisoner of my own soul.

 The lucid torturer who comes each night with brutal whispers of derision is none other then myself, in all my vicious candour, I persecute myself, for the wrongs I shall not commit. No life lies upon this plain of desolation, my sanctity is broken, my dreams shattered, disillusioned beyond repair.
My cold, cynical heart holds the grey desire of a thousand murderers, painting the delirious heavens a devilry of discrimination and maltreatment designed to beguile the most vindictive of spirits.

 If you enter into this bitter jurisdiction, you will find no sun to this shade, no hope to this despair, and no dawn will light these frigid skies. So upon your broken wings my friend, fly if you have the strength left to do so. Fly before this nightmare, before you too, find it your reality.

Red Wine

Sordid, it calls to the darkness within

Sickly, sinister as sin

Red gluttony spilling down my throat

Around my lips doth liquid choke,

More, more, my scrambled mind cries

As one more brain cell dies

Awakening sounds within my head

Voices I thought long dead

They whisper secret things

And to my mind an illness brings

Grotesque affliction of mine

That deadly, dark red wine

Chess

The board is set the game is played

No more moves to be delayed

The king in check the queen no more

I see the end of the chess-piece war

The bishop dead, my knight is slain

My castle sacrificed in pointless gain

The pawn creeps up, unaware

And has the impudence to declare

By some cruel twist of fate

Checkmate.

Look at me

I don't have anything to say really, but I feel like talking. Its funny how often I want to express this ball of emotions that I harbour inside me, but don't know how.
There's a darkness inside me, a heaviness to my chest like someone's foot is on my chest pressing down harder and harder. Sometimes I just want to scream at the world to look at me, just to make people stop and see me; really see me.
I want to talk and be heard, and people to ask me where I go when my eyes are so far away and I stop listening.
When someone asks if I'm ok, I wish they would actually hear the answer.

100 things that make me happy

Because its a challenge, and i'm sick of being sad.
 In no particular order, just as they come to me:

1.The rain
2. Hail
3. Typewriters
4. Music
5. Dancing in the Rain
6. Walking by moonlight
7. the moon
8. Balloons
9. The Zoo
10. A blank page
11. A handwritten page
12. receiving a handwritten letter
13. Birthday cards
14. Baking
15. Making surprise dinner for people
16. Buying people presents
17. Children
18. Kittens
19. My pillow fortresses
20. Reading a good book
21. Music Boxes
22. Travelling
23. Being a tourist
24. Swimming pools
25. Singing
26. Shyla
27. Age of Empires
28. LAN
29. Cake
30. Tea
31. Hot Chocolate
32. Happy dreams
33. Shopping
34. eyeliner
35. Champagne
36. Christmas
37. Birthdays (not just my own!)
38. Making other people happy
39. Random acts of kindness
40. Human decency
41. When chivalry isn't dead
42. Tv shows like Supernatural, Game of Thrones
43. Joy-especially when she smiles
44. Snorkeling
45. My Mum
46. Castles
47.Ice-cream in the sunshine
48. bubble-baths
49. Talking on the phone to good friends
50. Dressing up
51. Going out to Dinner
52. Feeling loved
53. Catching the rain on my tongue
54. Swimming in the middle of the night
55. Being Spontaneous
56. Doing something I've never done before
57. Doing something that makes me proud of myself
58. Feeling independent
59. 'Les Miserables' soundtrack
60.  The movie 'Tangled'
61. Sleepovers
62. Camping
63. Photographs
64. Taking Photos
65. Old Photo albums
66. Family
67. Snow
68. Blogging
69. Parties
70. Cheeseburgers
71. Fire
72. Candles
73. Perfume
74. The Cinema
75. Flowers
76. Lemons
77. Red Wine
78. Teddy Bears
79. Hugs
80. Being Kissed
81.The Sky
82. Flying
83. Lists
84. Butterfly
85. Old artifacts and ruins
86. holding hands
87. Someone saying 'I love you'
88. Laughing
89. Feeling safe and protected
90. Acting like a child
91. Acting like an adult
92. Sailing
93. Boats
94. Creating
95. Spinning until I'm dizzy
96. Driving into the unknown
97. Accents
98. Money
99. History
100. Being Free.

You are alone.

If only I had thought like this when I was younger!

The Cup of Tears

Drink not to deepen dreams,

 But rather wash away- 

Those drunken maddening screams

 Force my hands to obey, 

Oh wicked, wicked hands- 

They owner thou doth betray; 

In strange and twisted lands 

The sun stands on its head 

Alone, in desolate sands 

The world a blackened, bloody red 

Watching from some distant height 

As heaven halted in her fears 

Alas, I have drunk from the cup of tears

One Day

One day I will live in a house with a writers view.

 I will have a desk by the window, and out the window I will see the ocean breaking on a white sand beach. When the tide is low I will be able to see clear rock pools and my row-boat beached on the sand. 

When the tide is high I will see the waves breaking on the shore and the lonely footprints disappearing into the sea.

 I will hear the waves crashing in the night and the howl of the salty wind in a storm; I will see an angry sea illuminated by lightening across the pulsing sky, and when the night calms and I watch the sun rise over the water, I will see my inspiration.

 This is my writer’s dream, where I can breathe the salt air, listen to the waves and see the raw beauty of nature. Where my words will flow as naturally as the sun rises and my joy will be unmatched. Peace, tranquility and companionship. 

 One day, I will find that house on the edge of the sea.