The simplicity of a complicated mind

I realize that as each day passes, I make mental notes of what I'd like to say here. It's like having a little computer in my head where reality takes it's own little twist. But the longer I wait...the harder it becomes.

I once said and I quote:

The human mind is most amazing considering the ease to which our own fundamental views and values can be twisted, blurred and downright manipulated to validate the decision of any passing action or thought, that upon reflection, gets swept away with yet another passing moment in time... never consciously noted but almost always that sort after instigator for future trials and burdens.

We often stop and wonder... regret. Yet we never indulge any form of machocism to face the truth ... and that is, we have been, still are and always will be the the most active player in any game we find ourselves in...rather, any game we design and build around us.

Little flower - you make me happy

Living in Trinidad, I'm sure we all must have seen the Ixora Flowers, if not in your own yard, then in the neighbor's down the street. Red, pink, yellow and white... yupp, those are the colors. From a distance, an Iroxa hedge can take the form of an entire walled passageway of vibrant Colour, with thick masses clustered together. And it is this site which we revere as the Ixora.

As a child growing up, I've always had the opportunity to 'hold a flower in your hand' while we said prayers etc. Being as bored as a child can get, I took it upon myself to make that simple little cluster of flowers as interesting and intriguing as can possibly be. That is when I first stumbled upon....

I plucked out one tiny little 4 petal flower from the bunch, and noticed that IN that flower, was something that looked identical to the flower itself, but even smaller. Steering through the flower from the bottom up, I saw what looked like the 'stem' of the other little flower. (stigma, filament, whatever it was called then, I didn't know) I got a hold of that between my fingers...and I pulled it out... very very slowly. The head of it gently scooped out the entire length of the inside of the flower, and from the base...there it was. Out popped a tiny, barely visible droplet of sweet nectar. The taste however, wow, the little piece of sensory pleasure I can't describe... But you can imagine the amount of those I 'ate' back then? I think however I felt guilty of stealing the flower's 'sweetness' and eventually stopped.

What does all this have to do with anything? In my next entry I'll have to explain. But until then, ask yourself, how honestly do you really and truly appreciate the little things. No cliché intended my friends. Physically and otherwise, I really mean the LITTLE supposedly insignificant things in life?

Sad Beauty

'Incomplete' drawing of a face by Tunks :)

This one's for you bro!

This the day... 22 years ago - I know my mother was in pain. She speaks about it still in fact, I mean, which mother can ever forget the labor of her first born? But the joy that day brought, not only to my parents but to myself is never-ending...

The memories

Being rolled into a mat and rolled down the stairs. Being tied to the chair and left to loose myself. Being placed inside a basket and then turned upside down. Being forever chased with some gross object or creature around the house. Being teased of my height and locked out the house when I couldn't REACH to get the keys!

But then again, I was the more mischievous of the two ;)

It was this day 22 yrs ago that gave me someone to beat up :) To jump on. To run around school and harass. To take half of whatever was being eaten or shared, even if I didn't really want it. To blame things on that mysteriously went missing or broken. To take out my frustrations on ...... But this day also gave me someone to look up to. Someone to show off to all my girlfriends :) Someone to look out for me. Someone to help me with my (till this day) mental block against all things mathematics. Someone to poke and pinch when in places of worship when I got bored and the folks were busy with their eyes closed. Someone to confide in. But most of all someone to love unconditionally as my one and only sibling for the rest of my life!

To my bigger brother ---> Who doesn't look like me anymore plz thank you and though we have lots in common, can be called the opposite to his sister...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

*** :) ***

Can you know nothing?

Last night I went to bed absolutely transformed from how I felt a few hours before.

I had pulled in my oars and sent up my sails and drifted quite nicely with my selective social interactions. I freed my mind to wittiness, $hit talk and the all round hyped feel good bacchanal of a carefree Trini. I did this however with my conscience as my own private invigilator which nonetheless brought me back to this point...Where I thought to myself, 'I'm tired again, It's time to stop'.

I won't call it volatility or even skitso, it's just me allowing myself to be me. And the 'me' I speak of, is nothing or no one you can encase in a box. I've moved and jumped and merged from aspect to aspect of my personality all within the realm of how far my conscience can take me. Yet I've come to realize, this is what I prefer - The stillness, silence, deep in thought with so many questions of a child or classic brainstormer yet having it all merge into a general peaceful acceptance of life as a learning and growing experience, marked by time.

It makes me wonder though. I have loved deeply before, cared deeply as well. Desired and hoped for so much...yet in the end I had to stand back to accept the reality that the extent of and sincerity of my feelings and points of view, has little impact in assuring that another person will ever know or recognize what seems so clear to me.

It all comes back down to the girl who sits with a pure heart burning with intention. She sighs deeply for all the love she received yet hadn't at the time really understood it's worth; for all the misunderstood good intentions of others and the bad; for those countless moments spent in self turmoil when a moment passed meant an intensity decreased and last but not least, for all those who felt like her, at the mercy of her doings.

And as quickly as I stop to express this, as quickly as this will seize to exist.

I walk alone

I can't take this anymore
and i'm almost pretty sure
i've been here before
i can't take this any longer
i won't heal until i'm stronger
strong enough to not be afraid
of what anybody thinks
of what anybody says
about the way
about the way i am
so i'll wait until the day
when those feelings fade away
then i'll make my break

I guess you had to step away
to make me want to be
a bigger man, a bigger man than that
i need you by my side
as i take it all in stride
I put away, i put away my pride

so i leave it up to you
i leave it in your hands
respect your wishes and your demands
but if it was up to me.....

everbody and everything i've known
never taught me how to stand up on my own
had to learn it from the one who let me go
now i walk alone

Selected lyrics from Olenader's I walk alone
..........

A dusted mind of books

I've been spending quite a lot of time reading 'The Rice Mother' by Rani Manicka. At this moment, the book is lying peacefully on my bed with a mere 8 pages to be devoured before I can call it a killing. Gosh...despite the circumstances, I'm really enjoying this read. So different. So real. So raw.

As I stopped to recognize my utilization of passing moments in drugged sleep and reading, my mind was lurched backward 10 years ago, to visions of me, so clear and crisp that I can almost smell it. Back to the days of a 9 year old, going on 10...

I was in Std. 5, a year ahead of the rest, having written Common Entrance early. I remember privately meeting with some teachers about the prospect of starting a school library. The idea was all well and honorable, except for the infamous problem of space. I don't know exactly how it happened, but before I knew it, in a whirlwind of passing days, there I was sitting on a ducted tapped box full of books, passing cloth over what seemed like inches of dust...steering at what became, the beginning of Grant School's first library.

It was nothing more than a corridor behind the school stage and the wall ...leading to the Principal's office. A mere 5 feet wide ...with one long shelf of books and myself sitting, there wasn't an inch left for another person to dare walk by. I was graced with a window which offered this eerie feel to the dusty hot place, as streaks of the midday sun shone into the shelves leaving behind it, a pathway through the air where the raising dust can clearly be seen.

I remember more boxes of books coming in... 2 in fact. My excitement beyond anything I could ctrl at that time. I sat for an entire day in that cramped space sorting them out and logging them. Days went by and I have a vivid vision of myself sitting on the floor reading this book about how 'brail' was first created...until one fine day I was finished.

By the time we opened our library, I had recruited 2 friends of mine to help with the lending and borrowing...and there I spent much of my last few days in school. It's amazing I never really entertained this memory until this moment. I didn’t remember even when I became a Librarian in SJC...neither when I spent countless hrs on Campus huddled in the Library.......Maybe I had forgotten…who knows. But its so real now. Such a fond memory that I now grasp unto it so tightly in an attempt to smother the pain ...of...now.

I don't want any

I've lost my apetite. It's about time. Amongst all the things I'm losing out on recently, losing the desire to eat seems the only thing I welcome.

Hmm... and of all the things that's been up lately, I chose to blog the most inconsequential piece of triviality I can muster HAHAHAHAHAHA. Some things haven't changed :)

Happy Birthday Lisa!