5 years

When you become a substance abuser, your only love is for the feeling it gives you. Coffee, is my substance. A high you get from a simple sip, from the bitter taste, to the head rush you get afterwards. The perfect companion for life. The perfect partner.

Don’t believe the hype. Coffee doesn’t kill you.*winks*

Yet again though, this story isn’t about me. It never is. I am a voyeur, stuck in a world which believes its black and white. But everyone seems to be seeing a different shade everywhere.

No this story, is about a man. Someone who clawed his way out of lifes clutches. Someone, who at lifes consistent curve ball, picked himself up, and became more then anyone could’ve ever hoped he was.

*tugs your hand* walk with me down memory lane my friend.

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He looks himself in the mirror. 29 years. One year from thirty, one year from ending his 20’s. Looking back, he’d never had thought he would’ve made it this far. Who would’ve. A mere boy running from one destiny to another, all chosen for him by everyone else, now a man, building his own world. The way he wanted it to be.

Theres a distant hum. Like waves splashing on the shore. This is it. His dream home. His elysium. He found it, nestled on the most perfect spot nature could offer. Almost like his own hobbit hole. But more then that. It was his home. There’s a lake facing towards the west, a mere stage for the sunrays playing when the suns put to bed every night. he smiles, he never thought he’d have made it this far.

Sipping from his mug, he sits at his favourite spot. That chair by the window. Reflection. All great men do it, some in ways different from others. This was his time for reflection, his time to see change.

5 years ago, he’d have never imagined himself here. He closes his eyes, and lets his mind do the travelling.

…………………………………………………………………….

The worlds a stage and we’re all God’s fucked up players. That is if there is a God.

He should get the phrase tattooed on his forehead. Feeling like a practical joke, wasn’t the best feeling in the world. But it was him. He flips through his laptop. And smiles.

Stuck in a rut, where his one ray of sunshine would be the days where he’d get messages like this. Sometimes it was a poem. Sometimes it was a story. It was always a happily ever after. These quips they made him believe. Believe in ways he never could’ve imagine.

But he was stuck. Dead end job, dead end life. It hurt him, he felt like he was in a black hole, one he couldn’t climb out of. Life it seems, was suffocating him. Like the crushing ocean around a sinking ship. Life felt cruel. Yet it dealt him a fair card.

And all that started it was an “Are you single?” message.

It felt good. Being able to talk. An unhindered naivety. And it amazed him to see what she saw in him.

She saw, a man who had been through the most ludicrous of challenges. She saw a man who held the world on his shoulders, and felt weary from being the pillar. She saw a man who in her eyes, was a hero, even if all he saw in the mirror was a man who couldn’t be called a man. Everything about him excited her. From his childlike love for music videos, to attempting to dance to songs without a sense of rhythm. His love for the weird, the beautiful. His conscience. She saw him for exactly what he was. She saw him for the man he shouldn’t have been afraid of being.

He’d sing her songs. With the most off key voice. Eyes alight when he talked about things that mattered most to him, from books, to movies about killer alien robots. His puppy like fascination for everything made her smile. But don’t be fooled. The man wasn’t as soft as he seemed. Hardened by years of unneeded obstacles, he could be firm in his beliefs. But those beliefs made sense to her. Made her think. Made her faith a little faith that people could be human.

He listened to her. With her, every small thing mattered. Every smile, every letter, every word. It all made sense to her. He was still stuck in a rut, but he found himself wanting to get out. He found his her. He wanted to be different. He didn’t need to be prince charming on a white horse. He could be the pauper, but he could be himself. That’s all that mattered.

……………………………………………………………

If you looked to the corner of the room, there’s 4 wooden frames. Not of pictures, not of photos. But a story. A story called cliché’s. The story talks about a boy and a girl. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They fall in love. They live happily ever after. That story was written years ago. It was a story that described the during, the before, the after. The spaces between each word.

If you look at the other corner, there’s a huge collage of photographs. From 2 month of amazing memories. Every fight, every laugh, every smile. Encapsulated in a moment when the right person took the right photograph. It was a difficult time, but it was a time where much seemed to have changed. It felt the same, but that’s how winds move don’t they. You never know their coming till you feel them.

Isn’t that the concept of faith though. Simply believing what’s not there? Something we can feel, but never touch. Something that’s shines so bright, but we can never see. And faith, in its most unadultered form, comes when someone simply believes in you. Simply believes you can make a difference. That you can be a better man.

……………………………………………………..

He found himself fighting. 5 long years. He wouldn’t stay down. Yes, he was aware of his faults. Yes he was aware of what made him inhuman. He was aware of how much it hurt when he fell.

But his clarity, his determination drove him to not stay down. And he held her hand. It was always the little things that made a difference. That smile when the world was dark. That good morning message. It all made a difference. It all made it different. He made it through every obstacle. From finding his nook in this much messed up world, to building his dream home. His future, his life.

Somethings, take time, but when you reach the end of the tunnel, ur greeted by warm sunshine in cool November rain.

It was a tough fight. A lot of the times he felt like giving up. A lot of the time he felt it was easier to just stay out of the rabbit hole. To stay out of megatrons way. But he didn’t. He became prime. He fought. For whatever reason, whatever drive he fought. Some pumped up robotic shit maybe, but he fought.

And he made it.

“You may lose faith in us, but never in yourself.” Immortal, he lived.

……………………………………………….

Can you truly make it though? How would you know if you’ve truly made it? It doesn’t make sense to know that you have actually. More often then not, its more as if your taking a breather. Theres always another hill to climb. So what was so significant about this? What was so significant about this 5 years? Surely in the grand scheme of things 5 years would seem a mere nothing to what the rest of your life actually is.

Ah here she comes. The landmark in 5 years. The reason why this story’s even titled 5 years. She tip toes around the room, not wanting to wake him up. Not wanting to stir him from his dreams.

He looked so peaceful in his sleep. No one would’ve guessed the amount that mans been through in the last 5 years. And you’d be surprised where your biggest enemies come from. But at the end of the day, she knew she’d be by his side.

Softly, she kisses his cheek. And he smiles. He looks up at her. His wife. Probably the best achievement ever. Probably the reason why he’d always remember his 29^th birthday. He fell in love with his best friend. He found his happily ever after.

Happily ever after wouldn’t end there. It would go on. They’ll be dark clouds, but they both knew they could make it. Whatever life through at them, they’d both be ok.

Because it was them. The perfect two.

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*sips coffee* this story has no substance. Theres no mention of events, there is no mention of a proper guideline. No proper plot. An amazing hero though, a pretty stubborn heroine.

But that’s not the point of this tale. Simple really. It’s about believing. Believing that there is another tomorrow, believing that when push comes to shove, you’ll live. You’ll love. And there isn’t such a thing as the world being perfect.

We build the world we live in. we construct it with what meager tools we’re given. But at the end of the day, when we face that final sunset, we don’t remember that exact memory’s but we cherish the feelings we get. From fighting, from losing, from defeating, from being defeated. It all makes us so human.

*places mug on table* Did you enjoy this trip? I believe I have thus far. And I’m looking forward to the next chapter. Because there always is a new one, just around the corner. 5 years? Sometimes, it makes a lifetime.

Elysium

Dream of a world

With freedom

Freedom for life

Freedom for our eyes

To reach the heavens

To dream for not a world

But for infinite of worlds

To see us all live

With neither difference nor division

To see us all

Look up too the same sun

Too live a life

Unlike anyones

Freedom!!!

Not a fear in sight

That’s freedom

To think to breathe to understand

Hail those sacrifices

The one that bring us today

Hail the heavens

Who have heard our pleas

Hail the ability too speak

The unspoken have been heard

Hail life and the lives spent

Hail all that have given us the reason

The reason to live

We are free

As we can now always be

*just a little something to start up the momentum of this blog again. and due to certain pressures from different parties.:)*

The million dollar questions answer.

Whoever said time heals all wounds has got to be the biggest idiot on earth. *No offence mate*.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. 20 years into the future, a wound that you thought closed off could probably open up and sting again, as fresh as if it were made yesterday.

Time leaves wounds open with a dull ache. And sometimes, sudden memories add salt to the wound, making it feel like it just opened up all over again.

Once upon a time when someone passed away, I would give the public word or statement called “My condolences”.

How irritating I must’ve sounded.

When she passed away, people would come up to me and say “we’re very sorry about your Grandmum.” Even in my ragged state of mind then, I’d always wonder, “What the hell are you sorry about?”

I should be sorry. I SHOULD BE sorry. But in a way I’m not. Why? My grandmum raised three kids, one of which became the greatest father on earth, the other two became the best uncle and aunt that any girl could hope for. But to me, that’s not her most incredible feat. Her most incredible feat was so simple:

She learnt how to love.

She would love you, even if you were a criminal on death row. And once she loved you, you felt as if you’ve never ever been loved by anyone else on earth. She was so unconditional. Never once did you feel like you have to earn her loved. Her love was so pure it was heartbreaking, and its that love that leaves a dull ache today.

Here’s the crunch : She loved me.

She loved me for my craziness and almost cheeky nature. She loved me and she told me that every night we slept. She held me close when I had tears streaming down my face. She prayed for me. Every. Single. Day. I was her Rani, She was my grandmum.

And that’s why it hurts.

But this is not my memoir to my grandmum. That I’m still working on. For that memoir, I want every word to be perfect, just like she was to me. This is to answer that million dollar question , “ Are you ok?”

Here’s the long answer, the one I would give if I had the time. “I don’t know if I’m ok. I could feel “ok” in one minute, but in the next I could be crying my eyes out. I don’t think that qualifies me as ok, but I think it qualifies me as “I’m trying to be ok.” I miss her and every minute of the day I’m confronted with memories of her. Every step I take I’m reminded of how she once held my hand and guided me through. And because of that, every time I move, there’s a dull ache in my chest reminding me that my guide has passed on and now its time for me to light my own path. And I am scared shitless.”

Grief is a funny thing isn’t it? Just when you think you have it all figured out, it just turns around and cripples you to the ground. But boy does it toughen you up.

I once read a quote that reminded me of how humans move on with life. It said, “Fear not, for Death is liberation and grieve not for those who have found themselves in Deaths warm embrace. Rejoice for the moment they lived, and those moments that made them special to our hearts.” I don’t quite agree with the “don’t grieve” part but I sure as hell would like to rejoice for every minute my grandmum walked this earth.

I love and miss you Bibiji. And not a minute in my life will go by not remembering you and your love for me.

“ In my darkest hour you held my hand.
My candle that burnt both ends,
And as you came to the centre of your wax,
You burnt so brightly, that tears would lapse,
Now that candle has disappered,
Leaving me with warmth that slowly dissipates,
I’m reminded by the cold darkness,
That the absence of light is not without reason,
In the hour that’s darkest you always return,
Reminding me its my turn to burn,
I pray to the lord, “Look after my angel”
And weep and cry, for I’m worthless to ask,
Will I ever move on, I have no clue,
But one things for sure,
Bibiji, I love you.”
Date:23/8/2009


To: The greatest woman that ever walked this earth
Duration of living: Forever.

Hey people.....

In case you were wondering, the coffee drinker is a purely fictional post. The athelete in the story might sound familiar to a few of you but thats cause my dad told me his story when i was really disappointed on something(details will go no furthere from here people!!)

The coffee drinker however, well thats a character you will be seeing more of. Being a person who is completly bored out of my brains, i invented the coffee drinker as a way to pass time in hopes that i would not rot. But then it hit me, this coffee drinker, a pure figement of my imagination, could be the person who dwelves into memories and comes up with new stories, ideas and a paradigm thats shared with the world.

Who knows which memory and moment the coffee drinker will play up next. But untill the next post at least. I bid You all adieu.

without wax,
Meninder

Ps... for people who have been following the blog intently, my poetry took a more depressing turn at one point. That was mainly cos of the exams. So dont worry people, Im still completly(well. almost) sane. :)

The coffee drinker.

A coffee is an insomniac’s poison. Yet I still sip on one every two hours. And I think. Of incidences and memories. The kind that you never forget. A strong black coffee with little sugar and no cream is a sure way not to sleep. And when you got a bad case of insomnia, trust me it ain’t no cure.

It was on one of these more worse nights( if there’s ever is such a thing) that I sat back and thought about a memory. Not a fading one. But one that stayed etched in my mind forever. I remember that day as clear as anything. A cloudy day at the stadium. Dismal even. But was a place where a spirit of a man was not going to be diminished. Especially not by a trifle thing like the weather. This mans story goes something like this:

He was at the starting line. Of his life. He crouched down and remembered. He remembered every moment. Every breath. Every drop of sweat. Those months of preparation.

“On your marks”
He crouched down. Leg prepared to launch him to victory.

“Get set”
He was ready. No gun could scare him from his purpose. No pistol could hinder his path.

“GO!!”

He was off. He felt the wind whipping through his hair. He felt the ground, light under his feet. He felt the adrenaline, pumping through his veins. He was flying. Flying through those moments built up until today. Enjoying that feeling. “What was it?” he wondered. Satisfaction? Happiness? Euphoria? He couldn’t explain it. Not now, when he was flying without wings.

Life however has a funny way of throwing us a curveball when we least expect it. Even at the top of the world. He sensed something was wrong even before it happened. One moment he was flying. Next his entire world came crashing down.

All he felt was a searing pain. It went through his left leg. He couldn’t explain the tears that fell down his face. He had never once cried when he fell. But now, he couldn’t stop the coming. Bewilderment was etched in every corner of his face.

He could hear the paramedics van coming closer. He could hear the shouts of the spectators from the stadium. He could hear his mom. Pleading with him to get up. He opened his eyes and realize what had happened to him. His age old injury had returned. Striking him harder then ever. As if teasing him. Ridiculing him. At the last 400 meters of his race. He couldn’t believe it. Why now? Why at the most important race of his life?


He couldn’t say how he felt or why he felt it. He couldn’t even register the pain properly. He was in despair. The biggest loser on the planet. That’s all he could think of himself. In his ears he heard jeers. Of people who said that he wouldn’t make it. That his past demons will haunt him. Down and beaten, he did not move. Nothing did. All was still and silent.

What happened next was unexplainable. Something. A small in significant spark. It, with no waning, built up to a roaring fire that crashed through the very core of his being. An unexplainable sense of strength and determination. His mothers voice. Maybe it was so heavily ingrained in him that he was a champion. Maybe it was himself. The part of him. The little fighter that was not always there but when awoken was ferocious. The one who knew nothing would ever get the best of him.

He got up. Painfully but with resolve. Refusing assistance, he struggled to his feet. His left leg refused to cooperate. He didn’t care. He hadn’t done months of preparation for no reason. He was going to finish the race. Regardless. One step at a time to cross that finish line.

Taking the first step was the hardest. The stadium was silent. Even the paramedics stopped telling him to take a break. His mom had only tears to shed. He looked at the hope in her face and found strength. And he took that first step like a new born baby learning to walk. Stumbling a little, he managed to take another. He learnt to focus on the moments. Not the pain.

He remembered the hours in training. He took a step. He remembered the grueling hours in the gym. And took another step. He remembered standing in front of the mirror every morning and telling himself that he could do it. Behind him the medics were following. Not asking him to stop upon realizing he wanted to continue. Daring not to ask him to slow down and stop. He wouldn’t have anyway..

The crowd was silent. The stadium was echoing. The man that had come in first was no longer important. They watched this man fighting his battle. Alone. Silently, they cheered him on. Silently they shed their tears. The silence was unnerving. It was powerful. In that silence, so many dreams were seen. So much was found. On that mans battle, many found strength.

The man kept walking. The end was near. He did not slow down. He refused to stop for breath. With huge effort, he kept walking. With all the strength he could muster, he kept walking.

When he crossed the finishing line, the crowd went wild. They cheered the true champion of the race. The cheered the man who never let his demons get the better of him. The crowd was wild, their thirst for a true champion quenched.

As for our runner? He collapsed in relief. He was satisfied. He had completed the race, regardless of what would happen next. He felt that every single thing was worth it. He had tears in his eyes. From pain, exhaustion, happiness, sadness, relief, acceptance but most of thankfulness. Thankful that he did complete the race. His heart was filled with pride because he beat his demons. Taunting him no more, they dared not touch him. He won the true battle.

He may have gotten last place, but he emerged from the race victorious that day and etched himself as a hero in everyone’s hearts. His defeat of the battle against himself gave every person in that stadium hope. He is a stranger that I saw that morning. The stranger that taught me its ok to move on. Its ok to be afraid sometimes. But never let the fear of losing out, keep you from doing all you can and being all you can be. I was one of the spectators of his race and to that man, I raise my coffee and say thank you. For that one lesson in life I will never forget.

I sip my coffee before paying another visit to my memories. I had all night and day to do this. Sleep never came over me. It was time for yet another visit……..

hey one and all!!

Happy 2009!!

Ok im not gonna bore everyone out of their brains by talking about bnew beginnings and all that.... i already do tht on a yearly basis.... im jus gonna start of the year with my favourite saying by far... an expert from the kung fu panda(now hows that for a place of inspiration:))

"Yesterdays history, Tomorrows a mystery. But today is a gift.
Thats why its called the PRESENT."
See as human beings. we tend to always worry about the furture and about whts gonna happen next. We always say that we've gotta plan for our future and we become so obssessed with our future their we forget our current present is our future.

God works in mysterious ways. He's made an object called time. and object which never stops functioning. which continues moving. and which bever looks back.

A good friend of mine once said "live your life to the max" and he did. He died earlier in the year of 2008. He was only 16.

I'm not gonna start this year of with a grim note. Nor am i gonna start this year of with the notion of deaths in the midst. But we have to realise its there. Every breath we take is one step closer to it.

So while we still have air in our lungs. And while we still have the ability to live. Lets make every moment count. Every moment should be our new year. Every second should be a second we cherish. Every day should be a day of resolutions.

and every night before we sleep, we should sleep with contentment and with the thankfulness that gods given us another day to live it.

so me being virtuous and advisory is all about up. Now its back to the crazy person we all know and love.

special thanks to my insane half jiwan for kicking my arse into writing a new post. CONGRATUALTIONS to you, pevin, sharan and all my other PMR friends on the wonderful results!!

Happy New year to u all!! i will be posting new stuff as soon as i get my chance to. Which should be really soon seeing as that i'll probably have nothing to do.

hugs and kisses

without wax,
meninder:)

Just another window view :)

I am alive
But not living
A shadow in depths
I breath
But I’m not breathing
The air is just another thing
That goes by
Sigh…
Even that’s just a sound.
No meaning
Not a sentence or a word
Empty

I feel nothing,
I’ve loss the sense of sight and sound,
I’m just alive, passing
Not grabbing on the moments that fly by
Is this life?
How dull and uninteresting…

I could die right now
(Evacuating soul in 3,2,1….)
But I don’t
I’m still alive but not living…
Its dark and suffocating,
Like a blanket that can’t be removed
And when removed its jus the same,
No change,
Nothing.
Sigh.

I’m bored but can’t do anything,
I’m scared but can’t scream,
I’m happy but can’t smile,
I’m alive but not living.
Help me please?

Help me stranger
Help me move again
Help regain my senses,
My emotions my thoughts
Let me feel sorrow
Let me feel fear
Let me look my maker in the eye
And tell him I’m here

I’m ready stranger
I’m ready to move on
To make a difference
To grab at the mommets not let them move at all
I want to fly! I want to glide!
Push me off the edge of that cliff
Like a baby eagle
Give me my wings!
Let me fly!
Let me in to those gates
Let me scream and shout
Let me laugh and cry
Give me a tune, a simple tune,
Let me live, at last
No more monotone, or emptiness,
Let life crash through me
Like a waterfall
Crasing down to the rocks
In musical syncrohny
Sigh that is life
That is life.

Meninder Kaur
11.08 am
4/9/2008