The message was short so although dozy, I captured it with a single glance. It read:
“I wanted to send you at least something, so I send you this.”
It’s been over a decade since the sentence sneaked into my phone’s display one night in the wee hours, causing a perpetual smile.
Words alone may not once be enough to express our feelings. But the art of communication is about the courage to reveal that there are hidden meanings, waiting to be explored.
I got up and conducted daily routine: face, food, hair, clothes; mundane offered little comfort in the morning of anticipation. I chose jewellery to wear with hesitance, all of the world turning, for a moment, into a quivering hand.
As doubt swamped my insides, experience told me that fright was irrelevant. Behind their eerie theater masks, stakes and odds played a minor role in the movie of facing my fate.
That day, like any other, I did the only thing I could. I got ready and gave it my all.
Recent stormy winds have tossed us into the air, scattered us around, slowly revealing that nothing is as it seems. The past lingers around as the new rises and we again grasp, cramped between the two, that pain and mourning can’t be skipped, they are of the pattern.
Turning the stone and facing whatever comes up from underneath takes courage. Not everyone will do it.
Life hums its bitter-sweet symphonies.