Saturday, April 19, 2014

Here's to ridiculousness

             I can't possibly be the only person that gets a tad appalled when I see someone in their late twenties or early thirties with a skateboard. Just the other day while on the subway home. I saw a plump scruffy looking man with a skateboard. He had tattoos, his hair in all manner of directions, oversized clothes, dirty looking sneakers and possibly reeking of alcohol and body sweat. I eyed him while he happily got off the train.
            It was after he got off that I fell into deep thoughts again. I wondered what fascinated men from the western world with skateboards. I have been living here for five years and I still can't wrap my heads around why.

I always thought they'll grow out of this but each time the sun comes to pay respect to us in June, I am always proven wrong. Why?!!


No way out

It is four cornered
Tightly sealed and yet slightly loosed
Letting the air flush in
Bringing in with it unpleasant odour of struggle...
Held bound with chains
Running east and west
Rolling like stones without directions
Scattered around and kicked once more
By nonchalant passer-by
Watching with curiosity as their eyes bulge out
And it still trails
But all starring like a sight to see
Yet no one puts a foot forward
To halt as they glide happily
Down the hilly mountains
But they have their hungry legs kicking daily
Trapping the pebbles in its four corners
And they turn away cheerfully
Because that is where the joy lies
When they become trapped
And stationary
They become controlled
As when their legs come over it again
It forces movement and to whatsoever direction
They can conjure easily
Because to the pebbles,
They are words they hearken to
But really it was just a cycle


Friday, April 18, 2014

Here's to something absurd

       Some of my friends at school think I have gone nuts because I have tons of pictures on my phone and never seem to post any on social media. Anytime they snatch my phone away from my hands. I prepare myself for the puzzled look that will soon surface. I start by saying even without being asked. "I know. I just love documenting things. Its for memory sake" They become speechless for awhile and then say you should really get Instagram. I laugh dryly while responding "I already have one"

They do not try to press on further but their faces give away their thoughts. They have their eyebrows raised to denote a questioning look, mouth bent to the sides almost as if they are mumbling words from another planet. Geez! I can already tell what they are thinking. Not that I mind but it will be nice if they asked why I did so.
        So I pretend like I don't know what is happening as I engrossed myself in my phone. Well this are my thoughts, if you'll rather have your eyebrows raised without considering it necessary to inquire of the reason, I do not in anyway owe you an explanation.

                                                   Has anyone experienced the same thing?


Saturday, March 29, 2014

Wilting flowers

          She starred down at the cuts, wounds and the blood that was dripping from her battered body, looking as if her mouth would fly open to recite her last prayers and her head, to lie lifelessly on the cold floor. She remained on the floor crawling with the tip of her dress sticking out and leaving traces of blood behind. Her cloth was drained in her blood and had become lucid because of the sweat that came so profusely, gluing her strap to her dark chocolate skin. 
          She sat there paying no attention to her environment but plastered her shaky hands to her face, to wipe away tears that had no end to it. Her eyes were cherry red and had become swollen from the tears that filled her weary eyes. She could barely move, still staggering but managed to lift herself with the support she got from dainty furniture's that were evenly spread along the corners of the room. She made her way to the washroom, pushing the door forcefully and starring at the room strangely as if her eyes caught an usual sight all buried within the four corners of the room. 
          She let go of her already stained linen dress, letting it fall quietly to the cold floor, before sticking out her tiny toes that had been trapped in the dress. She gave out a sigh that ushered in tears from her eyes, running its way through her cheeks, where its effects became a little more apparent with the white marks it left behind. She placed her hands on her mouth forcing herself to hold back tears before allowing her misty eyes to fall on her naked self as she scrutinized her body with open gaze.


Saturday, February 8, 2014

Not all guys have had girlfriends

         Today I heard the most astounding news and for some reason, I could not get a hold of myself.

Benedict Cumberbatch bears close resemblance with Alex. Well except for those eyes. 
It all happened on a dreary Friday night at the library. My mind was filled with worries. I needed to come up with a concept for my radio ad campaign. I was running out of ideas because my professor had bored into my head that I needed to resist the usual if I wanted my ad campaign to standout from the clutter.

            I had my face buried in my work. I was doing absolutely fine until my friend came around. She wanted to converse while I on the other hand, craved for an idea to surface soon. I was not sure what to do so I listened while trying my best not to give my thoughts away. It was a bigger task than I realized. She could tell I was the least interested in what she was saying. I know. There is just something about my facial expression that always seem to betray me no matter how hard I try to conceal my thoughts. And so she decided to turn to her next victim. A young man, blonde hair, fairly muscular and with descent looks that made any girl turn for a minute. He was definitely good looking but the wow factor needed to capture any girl's attention for an endless amount time, was out of the equation.


Saturday, January 11, 2014

A different Look at Creativity

           When I think about creativity, I think of it in subjective terms because of the variations attributed to the term by a wide range of people. To prove this, I'd love to conduct an interview on the streets of North York Toronto. This way, I would have substantial evidence to justify my claim.
         But yeah I have been contemplating on this topic for over a year now, pulling my hair out, rocking my chair, possibly throwing tantrums because of the insatiable desire to gather a new approach on this topic. I used to think of creativity in the most simplistic form which if you ask me, is the ability to create something new from the scratch. This, I believed only to be creativity and any other thing that might take a similar course to this, is only a disguise of the original. I believed that an idea had to be born fresh, anew before presented boldly to people as a creative idea that exhibits authenticity. Hence when people deviated from this, I would usually point a finger at them and say they lacked creativity, insight and the ability to think.
          Its no wonder why I was not the least surprised when I came across the artwork below. As like many others, all I could see was a fish. I had totally ignored the richness of the materials used for the composition of such a great artwork.



Thursday, January 2, 2014

I Like (Love) You

          I like to think of love in a very quaint manner. This should not come to you as a surprise since I love historical fictions. Well I have never mentioned that before but it should be quite obvious since I tend to employ Old English in most stories I write. I find that in most historical fictions that I have read, a lengthy amount of time is devoted to the duke (or whoever the main character is) trying to woo his damsel. He spoils her with flowers which she sniffs on receiving it, a diamond ring and maybe a silk dress.
        Albeit, when I talk about being old fashioned, I am referring to something entirely different. A step away from the norm. Something that eliminates the use of "thou" and does not take into account the existence of letter writing between lovers. At least that's the picture painted to me when I am all curled up reading such books. I am in no way against this. I thought I should say that just in case I came across that way. Since I have no right to say to one use your money this way or to another, that's a stupid move.


Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Keeping up with Tradition

Is it only me that dreams of a workspace that will hold my laptop, a pad and pen to document any sudden thought, a cup of tea and my little pal called an iPhone?

Absolutely not but even when I have a workspace such as this, I always find myself opting for my bed. I squeeze the pillows on my bed till they can hardly breathe. I justify my action by saying I am only trying to get comfortable. I do not bother bringing a cup of tea because I fear that I cannot cope with spillage. I do not bring a pad too because it is way too uncomfortable to scribble while trying to get comfy. That's why I have word so I click on it when a thought surfaces. Now that that bit is taken care of, there is a slight tingle in the nape of my neck. I begin thinking of that workspace again - Filled with dust accumulated from over the years. You would think I have come to a decision to make use of the space. I merely stare at it with the side of my eyes, sometimes eyeing it before turning my eyes away to something more appealing than a desk pilled up with dust.
          I am reminded that I do the same when the semester comes into session. I label my books neatly, gather all the necessary items into my stationary purse and after a quick run through, I shove all into my bag. I keep up with this for two weeks and even commending myself for a job well done. In the third week, I find my sheets taking over my room, hardly a pen in my purse and in lectures, no book to write in so I use my planner.
          You'd ask where did all the passion go?
          I'd say there is just a thing about tradition that makes me go nuts.
So maybe I have identified my weakness and maybe this year that is slowly creeping in would be a year to revert to the old, vibrant me with a love for traditions.

                       Happy new year. Wish you all the best, much love and a glorious year ahead.


Friday, December 27, 2013

Its coming to an end too soon

December is coming to an end.
The once perpetual year is also gathering its sticks for a shut down of its stalls. Then what you remember is that you hardly had the time within those 365 days to reflect upon the days. So you get down to business. But  first you question with amusement how long, maybe days ago you said your happy cheer to usher in the new year.

You vividly recall those memories, more like times you treasure. He sat there. She sat there. They sat there all gathered around a round table. Their happy chatters could be heard from across the street. We were up to our family tradition.

Today, there has been a repeat and how glorious was it that a tear streaming down the sides of your cheeks was inevitable.

Another year is slowly creeping in. And you consider yourself braced up for it. Just like last year which would become two years in no time.

You begin your retrospection in a more profound manner. Plucking information and weighing it against previous years. You're gripped with fear. A tad weakened to go any further but you know if you don't, how else can you prove your love for dynamics and improvement?

So you give it a try. The results alarming. A surprising mix between negativity and positivity. You proved yourself on top of your game in this area, a little relaxed in the other but that does not deter you. Challenges are were you draw your greatest harvest from. So with a loud cry you say amendments shall be made. Not forgetting to dash right to it even though all you have left is four days. 


Thursday, December 19, 2013

Beyond the Veil

        As far as Tom could recall,
It was the day of the storm. The trees shook and Tom feared that the trees might get uprooted from its roots. He told Mr Mosley as he shivered from the cold. "I swear it scared the crap out of me. The lighting sent me tumbling down. Heaven knows I could have been struck dead"
      "Calm down son and give me a full sketch of the story" Mr Mosley said trying to get Tom settled so he could speak. He took the jacket laying idly on the desk to wipe off Tom's damp hair. "C'mon, go ahead son. I am all ears" He said while giving him a nudge with his hands.
       Mr Mosley was a retired police officer in Mainland. He had retired just five years ago with William, a fellow colleague and close friend of his. They both ran a repair store together to keep body and soul together after so many years in the police force.
      "It was sunny when I set out"
      "You know I didn't drag you all the way up here to get a detailed account of the weather. Do you mind getting to the chase?"
      "I apologize sire. I thought it might come in handy on the case"
      "I doubt it would ever be. What I seek from you now is a thorough description of the people you caught a glimpse of in the storm.


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