Life skids...

Emotions tied to disasters wane and fade, and the picture on the screen reverts to everything else that is wrong with the world. The daily headlines can seem mundane some days, especially on the day after.

I dread birthdays. It is often so pregnant with expectations, and that is, to my dear heart, a crisis waiting to happen. What happened to the innocent enjoyment of birthday cakes and presents? God knows. The fear of being disappointed maybe.

But I had a good birthday. And I could have gotten caught up in the revelry of me. My ego fed, and I am at my high. The countless birthday wishes, and after all these years I still wonder, what is the point? After that day, I would need to go back to being whatever age I was, doing whatever I was doing, and life goes on.

When I say life goes on, I mean you realise you are not the centre of the earth, and that you are really not all that special, in fact, you are like, everybody else.

Then it hit me. It was not the birthday I dreaded. It was the anti-climatic day after, when all things stop revolving around me and I need to face the reality that life goes on, and its not about me. And I have to rely upon my own confidence to carry me through instead of relying on others to remind me I am loved. Carrying myself on upon the well wishes and sweet remarks of others. Letting them dictate and tell me that I matter.

After all, isn’t that what everyone wants - To matter?

We are often so addicted to feeling. Feeling good, feeling bad, feeling sad, feeling blue. And in the million things going on in the world feeling makes you feel like a part of it. Does it not?

And the emotions tied to the disaster wanes across the world, and at the end it was only those that have lost in it that it will remain, strong. And he or she might feel alone once again, to pick up the mess. A strong sense of self-centredness stirs the anger that the whole world has to keep on turning. Why can’t they suffer with me, they ask.

But they did, the whole world stopped for a while and felt the pain.

And then life goes on.

Just like today, like any other day. It goes on and I must be glad that it stopped, that one day, just to celebrate my existence. And they that stopped to spend some time, however little, out of their busy lives to make me feel I matter, I should be grateful for.

I shall be. I shall be grateful.

holes in my soul

The waves crash beyond their usual shorelines ravaging the proud stately cliffside homes that we once so seek after. We stared as the surpassing waves swallowed all in its way, merciless, and without prejudice. All was quiet. No one made a sound, no one spoke, no one screamed. If they were screaming it was on the inside, because shock has consumed all ability to move or make a sound. The sound of the waves crashing faded into the background as the deafening silence of breaking hearts rang in the ears of all like white noise. Unending white noise. And the inevitable sickness came next, the sickness caused by the helplessness and hopelessness that caused knees to weaken and finally when the hopelessness struck the deepest chord wounding the souls of the many that stood, the child cries in fear breaking the silence and forcing the reality to pierce open the grieve that was hiding behind shock. And the world cried, tears streamed as it broke into pieces.

The ones who have gone before them looked down from the heavens and held back their tears so it does not rain, but lightning bolts across the skies, and thunder shouted its loudest in years. The heavens are hurting, and must hold back for the world, as it breaks, will have to stand up again, for if it does not, its wounds will remain, gaping wide open. It is just the way it is.

The old lady stops crying and picks up the child. She turns around as the angry waves receded. She walked out and whispered to the child, its over now stop crying. She knew exactly what needed to be done, as if she heard the heavens whisper. Her aching heart braces itself for it has been broken many time before, it can hold this one last grief. She turns back to the people and said, let us pick up our rubbish. And the people stopped crying.

I know I am miles away, but some things wound so deep that it resonates, and I feel the pain. But did they not know, that their constant drilling has finally caused the earth to break? Did they not know that as the earth is sucked hollow, it will never be whole enough to hold us all. Did they not know, did they not know?

Our broken earth chokes. She means well, but how much more can she take before she breaks into a million pieces and leaves us all, homeless. When will they ever stop so that I will have the time to ease the pain and mend the holes in my soul?