they say, they say

they say – you give some, you take some,
they say we can even make demands.
they say in life all comes and goes,
they say tears are also part of the fun.

can you tell that a soul is broken?
am I still within your sight? 
do you hear the words unspoken?
will these thoughts remain unwoven?

they say – memories don’t fade,
they say feelings won’t abate.
they say my fears are unfounded,
they say my thoughts have been mislaid.

can you still remember?
am I who you used to know?
do you sense my constrained behaviour?
will this memory last forever? 

yet I fear you will forget,
as you cross the bridge and take the step.
I watch as age soon catches up,
and all that grows is more regret.

can you tell that I still care?
were you ever angry?
do you see now life is bear?
will this pain some day repair? 

“willst du einen Schneeballen?”
the shopkeeper kindly questioned.
but festive as the dessert might be,
I knew again that tears had fallen.

can I take back what I’d said?
have i made you suffered?
did you know what laid ahead?
were you feeling once betrayed?

they say – life is over, it is too late,
they say you’ll be fine at heaven’s gate.
they say there’s nothing more to ponder,
I should’ve known – they could never relate.

they say – they say… but they never knew.

when words once meant something

There are people who speak a lot and sound like they care.
There are others who don’t speak too much and do what it means to care.
Yet people often like to hear it rather than sense it.

But talk is cheap. People say things they don’t mean, because they are seldom held accountable for empty promises and figurative expressions. For the sensitive, walking away becomes harder, because those words muttered meant something; erasing memories got tougher when words could lure the shadows of memory hidden in the corner of the mind.

Those spoken words once meant something to the listener. But that began to fade, and it came to light that all was merely glib talk.

Good things come to those who wait – Not.

They say, good things come to those who wait. I have never believed in that. I am impatient. I need work to be done days before deadlines. I see everything as a task with a process that can be expedited.

Today I re-confirmed against the statement. In personal and life issues, I am that procrastinator; that person who thinks thrice before taking action. That waiting did me no good.

People liked to ask others for advice on all kinds of things. Sometimes it helps us to see from a different perspective, but oftentimes the ultimate decision must come from within yourself. After all, who can and will be willing to take responsibility for an advice once shared and taken seriously, but resulted in a negative outcome?

Watch it slip through your fingers,
Watch it all come to an end.
Listen to the last note that lingers,
Listen to the voice that will speak no more.

We needn’t jump to make decisions, but don’t, don’t ever procrastinate…

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

What a very sweet surprise to receive this “Very Inspiring Blogger Award” from the very blogger that inspires me so much – Gray Poet! Drop by his site; he writes beautifully!

I wish I was more inspirational – I wish I could write better, draw better, film better … but that being said, I’m grateful for this beautiful award to display on my blog!

The Rules
1. Display the logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. State 7 things about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for the award.
5. Notify your nominees.

Nominating for this award is:

1. Scottseyephotos (http://scottseyephotos.wordpress.com/) for his beautiful photos of nature and life
2. The View Outside (http://the-view-outside.com/) for her ever-inspiring writing plans
3. Adrian Pym (http://adrianpymphotography.co.uk/) for his beautiful photographs that look so professional they even inspire my writing
4. Another Bag, More Travel (http://anotherbagmoretravel.wordpress.com/) because he shares his amazing tavels with us! How I long to write like him some day!
5. A French Frye in Paris (http://afrenchfryeinparis.wordpress.com/) because he left his home and settled right into France, thereby sharing his wonderful stories!
6. Bucket List Publications (http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com/) for doing everything I love and following her dreams!
7. WISIWIS (http://s3city.com/) for the awesome pictures of a country that inspires me endlessly
8. Sethsnap (http://sethsnap.com/) for the great photos that reminds me every day of the beautiful things in life
9. Cornwall – A photographic Journey (http://cornwallphotographic.com/) for presenting nature with such grandeur
10. Beyond the Brush (http://lynneayersbeyondthebrush.wordpress.com/) for someone who worked in a similar industry as I did but chose to pursue her dreams in what she loved, and where art comes alive in different forms
11. Doodlemum (http://doodlemum.com/2013/03/19/pasta-disaster/) because she made me think of picking up my sketchbook again… Only I can’t draw as well as she does!
12. Canoe Communications (http://canoecommunications.wordpress.com/) for travelling adventurously and sharing it with us.
13. The Byronic Man (http://thebyronicman.com) for being so funny
14. Waldotomosky (http://waldotomosky.wordpress.com/) because he never fails to think and write about the once-forgotten
15. A Grateful Man (http://russtowne.com/) because he lives with a good cause and writes from the bottom of his heart

Here’s trying to write seven things about myself which I have yet to mention in previous awards’ requirements!

1. Vodka addict.
2. Highly “negative”, according to societal standards.
3. Coffee is a necessity to start the engines every morning.
4. I long to visit Russia again, this time for a longer duration, in order learn more about it’s history.
5. I don’t eat when I work.
6. I can listen to one song over and over again for a week.
7. Nothing much to say, mostly.

that strange connection with a country

Did you ever feel an intense inclination towards a country that you were not born in or have lived in? I have; I often do. And it must have become prevalent in my posts all about Russia. It must be the obsession with its past that has brought me to try to pick up the language, read and feel for all its history.

I chanced upon this article about Alapayevsk and the end of the Romanov dynasty. I know of the dangers, hardships and restrictions of travelling to Russia. What is it about this vast empire that captivates me regardless of occasion – architecture, nature, culture or purely its mysterious past? And for those who believe in a previous life – maybe that strange connection?

The answer doesn’t matter, really. Idealistically, I would love to visit and explore all of the country that I have yet to see, once more. Take a few thousand photos; write a few million words, and some day document it in a film…

dousing the grief

When you cannot speak of your grief, douse it with a drink.

Hello, best friend of misery – the vodka sits beside the keyboard, worn of its face…
Hello, unspoken words – how did you become pictures that depicted the story of a past?

Just one more swipe of that …

out from one hole to the next pit

Some days I imagine myself climbing a hill and tumbling into an abyss, then making the way up again only to fall again. It’s like a never-ending cycle of ups and downs.

I am at a stage where all the downs hit me so hard I’m bruised, tired and unmotivated. But under normal circumstances, there’s still a long way to go before I settle into the soil; this probably means I’ll need to work on the “take things easy” mantra which I haven’t been able to all my life.

Today I found my old sketch-book and realised it has been more than 3 years since my last sketch in it. A collection of sketches of Russian-influenced architecture, sights and more. I began to realise after reading this, that my lifestyle has been designed – that I have lost my free time, which has become so scarce that I can only do the necessities on weekends.

A month has past in this new year. It looks like more needs to be done; February, change must occur.

are we missing the point? – Medical vs patient care

As society becomes more educated and technology advances, I think we’ve missed the original meaning of “patient care”.

This thought arose as I read “Shroud of a Nightingale” by P.D. James. The basis of patient care, was to make them feel better. While medical advancements have allowed more cures to be accessible, the element of “care” has been re-defined to what I perceive as incomprehensible. Coaxing isn’t a solution, but the desensitization towards pain today is a curious affair.

A patient is unwell. Let’s run ten over scans. It’ll include a bunch of blood tests, an MRI scan of the brain which you might not be able to do when you’re weak, CSF tests via a lumbar puncture and many others. Let’s go through everything that the textbook taught me to, because everyone that comes within the door is a “case” that can be encountered.

No, I am not medically-trained. Yes, I understand the importance of finding out the cause of a discomfort. Yet time and again, I see people close to me go through this routine only to receive an oddly sanguine response of “the tests are inconclusive”. But hey, doesn’t matter – more wouldn’t kill, so here’s a heap of antibiotics you can try to take to fix your undeterminable issue.

I wonder, sometimes, if it was all necessary. Could a better preliminary diagnosis have resulted in more accurate tests and hence a more effective treatment? That bunch of tests and medication – did it serve to build up or wear down the patient’s immunity? Does the patient’s mental health still matter? I’m not sure we realise that bland food, pain and agony doesn’t motivate anyone to get well. Gone are the days where nurses swallowed feeding tubes consciously, to learn what the patient would feel in the process. Everything is deemed “a simple procedure” and “minor discomfort” today. But – it is not JUST a procedure. Your equipment standards have increased; your emotional standards inversely proportionate.

Medical care is great; patient care isn’t. Here’s hoping that some day someone will look into it again.

the sunrise that never came III: of people and things

People come and go in our lives, way more often than we think.
Yet on those days when some people creep back into your mind, you’ll know they were never meant to leave your life. They wouldn’t stay in your life physically; they wouldn’t even speak with you again. But they’ll walk into your dreams; they’ll appear as faces in the dark; they’ll hold a corner of your heart. And that’s when you know, they matter.

In the wee hours of the day, I think of a poem “The Dream”, and realised that it has been 2 days past the birth of one of my preferred poets – Edgar Allan Poe (19 Jan 1809 – 7 Oct 1849).

They call it “unrealistic”, “escapism”, “impractical”. But sometimes, people hold on to dreams because it is the only source of light in a world of darkness that envelopes them. Where confusion and pain befalls reality, peace and hope is offered in dreams. The believer does not mistake a dream for reality; rather, he dreams of a more satisfying life that he never had, He holds on dearly to a strain of the past, bringing with him into present day, what was beautiful and which mattered. Dreams are a recollection of the past, but also stand as an alternate land where one visits, to relive more pleasant days. But like a double-edged sword, while we hold on to beliefs that society criticizes, in dreams we realise the pains of being awake.

The Dream
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth’s day-star?

Poe’s works never fail to emphasize on his dark wishes to return to days in history; his awareness of the world’s disdain towards his by behaviour, but which his acknowledgement for it’s necessity in sustaining his existence. I continue to stand in appreciation of the works of this mistaken talent. Edgar Allan Poe.

Story: Memories

He blinked to shake off the sleepiness, befuddled by his presence in a room that had given itself the eternal duty of depressing his spirits. He had said he wouldn’t leave; where was this? He had vowed to keep safe and return; when was this? What was the commitment, who had he given assurance to and why did he make such a promise? More critically, how can he retrieve the slightest strains of memories that had once resided in his mind, but which had insidiously abandoned him without an audience?

He walked towards the lone window that reluctantly admitted a stream of sunlight. An elusive silhouette pacing at the end the street caught his eye and struck a chord in what remained of his recollection. It had been five years. All images failed to register in his mind, and all the voices didn’t matter. Time could seep away, but this passion couldn’t. Maybe, just maybe, he would one day remember the name of this beautiful face that emerged and wrenched his heart each time he opened his eyes…
===========================================
A close friend has recently lost her memory due to unknown reasons. She had vague images and inklings of the past, but nothing concrete of the present, leaving a gap in time. I began to wonder what life would be when the building blocks of emotions degraded.

Without memories, what would emotions be?
What would happen when you forgot the very people whom you’d thought of every day, dreamt of every night, and loved so dearly?
We keep our deepest thoughts to ourselves, but when we lose our memories, what happens to these stories that was once the building blocks of our lives?