Jenny of Oldstones

The song was on repeat…

How does it make any sense?! That a person who’s incapable of watching a movie twice, or reading a book they loved, more than once, can play a favourite song on repeat on and on and on?!!!!

She responded: why do we have to analyze everything?! Why couldn’t things…just be?!

Jenny of Oldstones, spoke to her. ‘The ghosts’ are her kings who are gone! She danced with those ghosts and danced…and…danced…

Some of them, she had missed…She blamed herself for losing them! And some, she felt she just found and was thrilled to find.

But then, there was more…there were those ghosts who loved her the most! She looked at them! They spun her around…Spun away her pain…her very deep pain…

And she never wanted…to leave

Never wanted to leave

—————-

Image by Mean Shadows/unsplash

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Raptors

Who is watching the game tonight??!! Omg I’m so excited but frightened too. I LOVE Golden State, but, it’s my home town’s beloved team they’re playing against!!!

Darn! I wish it was any other team but The Warriors.

Still: Let’s GO RAPTORS

Note: Not a Drake fan.

Rewrote The Iliad

She looked me. Her lifeless face looked feeble, reminding me of a weeping branch, thrashing in the fall wind.

I asked her: Where is your soul?!

She pointed at a departing ship.

I tried running to the edge of the port waving my arms and yelling, but no one noticed me.

I remember this woman! I remember her smile! I remember…the tenderness when she quietly cupped my face on that warm spring day, then magically pulled a bluish butterfly from behind my ear, gently ushering me to hold it! Was that last year?! Was that 5 years ago?!

I screamed ‘Don’t take away her soul! She’s going to die!!’ But my screams, were lost among the screeching noise of so many seagulls…feasting on her weathered soul..laying bare on the exposed deck.

So I called on Hector with my burning eyes, and my angry fist raised then opened up, and I heard Menelaus’ footsteps behind me. And the three of us, rewrote..the Iliad.

  • inspired by a mythology book series I designed a million years ago. I stumbled upon it this evening and the memories of what feels like a past life, all came rushing back.
  • Is This The Real Life?!

    I finally had the chance to watch the movie ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’!!!

    Wow!

    It reminded me of all the movies I’ve watched over the years, of brilliant musicians who died way earlier than their time!

    I’m often deeply moved when watching such movies, and drifting between the brilliancy of the music, and the tragedy unfolding on the screen!

    Queen

    What a band!!!! What talent(s)!! ..and the diva who hid behind a pallium regale! Who at the end of the day, was so alone and incredibly sad!

    Yes we can all say, Freddy Mercury wrote his own ending! But did he really?! And ‘does it really matter?!’ I personally think ‘doesn’t really matter, to me’! Considering, I realize I’m no judge. Considering, why focus on the fact that ‘Mercury brought it upon himself! Look at the lifestyle he chose to lead…etc’ when, so many of us, can do worse, but with 1/16th of the musical brilliance!

    Personally, I loved him in the movie! Yes I realize it’s just a movie, which is perhaps, exaggeratedly produced to glorify the good, along, the painful and the ugly! However, isn’t that a sign of a ‘good’ movie nonetheless?!!

    Since then, I cannot stop playing Queen.

    Freddy Mercury, I miss you. I hope, you are finally happy and still making regale music, in heaven somewhere where you’re loved, and ‘your life is spared…from this monstrosity’.

    Another Chapter Closed

    So my father willed me a modest apartment abroad. Before he passed away a few years ago.

    I’ve been trying to write lately about the family dynamics where I grew up. And I’ve been feeling immediately exhausted after I start.

    I tried writing it as a fictitious story, to save face and all the embarrassment that yes this is/was my family! However, that didn’t work either! Chuckle. My cover was blown within seconds of my friends reading it 🙂

    It’s been hard.

    My relationship with my sister is strained again. This time around, is probably the end.

    Before you jump into conclusions about how I should have worked harder on ‘saving it’, let me assure you, I tried.

    The truth is, my sister was interested in me for her gain. She wanted my little apartment. Then, I learnt, others in my family wanted and still want the apartment. Yes it’s not something one can say ‘wow! I’m proud of my family! They really care and are very fair’! They’re not.

    My family does not need my little place that my father willed me. They have inherited 100 times more than I did. I left when I was 17. I was labeled the black sheep from the beginning. I never felt that I belonged there. I was never able to fit in. So after I left, I basically ceased to exist!

    Then why did they decide to take it?!

    I don’t know.

    I am no longer interested to know.

    How come?! Shouldn’t I ‘fight’ for what’s mine?!

    Yes. I should. And I tried. Until I discovered, all the excuses they’ve been making over the past two years of me saying clearly ‘I need the apartment to be transferred to my name or sold or whatever…’ All those excuses they kept making, are never going to stop.

  • My heart kept getting broken over and over. Not over losing a property! But rather over realizing the truth: I don’t matter to them. My little apartment means something, to them. But I don’t.
  • I also realized why I left from the first place. A family that only values possessions and status is what drove me to run and to never look back.
  • So, what now?!
  • I think, I’ll be ok with my decision to walk away from my little place. They can have it.
  • If I choose to fight, I will lose a big part of my soul. I will never forget ‘this is my family’ I am fighting with, over a piece of real estate! I will get deeply hurt. It will turn ugly. And if I win, which is highly unlikely, I will win ‘a thing’ but my peace will be shattered.
  • So on this quiet evening, I choose peace. I choose to walk away. My soul intact.
  • She -Part III

    ‘This is going to be hard to tell’

    She said in a lowered soft voice.

    ‘I’m going to try my best, to not rush the words so I can get it all over with. I need to let go of this pain…release it…like all those birds trapped in my ribcage, that I write about sometimes.’

    She added. And her story began:

    _________________

    The last time I saw my sister, was 22 years ago. I was 23.

    The time I saw her before that, was when I was 17.

    Even long before I ran away from our parents’ house, at the age of 17, my sister and I had this dynamic growing up: The giver and the taker.

    I was constantly hungry for her attention. For her love. She was always busy, with someone ‘older’, and more…important.

    She gave me attention when she needed to borrow something pretty I had. From a young age, I designed my own clothing, and our mother, used to take my designs to a seamstress, who would turn them into reality.

    My sister, lacked that kind of creativity. She used to look at the outfits, and would then ask to borrow them. I always agreed. I was the giver. This dynamic never stopped.

    My sister was the popular one among all the friends and relatives of our family.

    Every now and then, a new boyfriend would be joining us for dinner. My eyes admired that. She had her way of convincing our parents of anything.

    I was 6 years younger. The shy one. The sheltered one. The overly sensitive. The…aloof.

    Growing up, I used to wait for her to visit. She was studying abroad. And for all those 6 years from when I was 12, I missed her terribly.

    September was the month I dreaded the most. There I was, on our big veranda, standing there alone, among the yellowing leaves swirling all around me in that gutsy wind we used to experience in the fall.

    The house that used to be full of life and people. Is now empty. The only ones remaining…my parents…and I.

    Still Learning

    The heart…

    It gets broken into so many pieces. Then we kneel down, look for them through the fog, gather them one by one, grab our glue stick, wipe down the tears (if we can find any. I haven’t been able to) and patch them all up.

    We breath a little sigh of relief, when the heart, is whole again. We’re going to be ok. We whisper to it.

    We then, run our fingers faintly..on the joining lines…

    We stare at the lines! Wishing we could make them all disappear. If only we could just get our heart back the way it was!!! It’s way too deformed now! It doesn’t feel the same! But …we can’t.

    Does the pain make sense?! Big part of me screams ‘NO! NO! IT DOESN’T!’. I know better! I know not to give in to the lulling sweetness of pain! I’ve made my vow to always laugh! I’ve lost faith in pain, long time ago.

    Get up little heart.

    Get up little heart. I’ll fix you.

    I’ll kneel down. I’ll pick you up. I’ll talk to you…until you get…a little stronger.

    _________________

    Photo: unsplash