Beauty Seen is Never Lost

It was right in front of "borders", on that tilted sidewalk at the heart of Singapore. Orchard Road, thats what they called it,We stood there sipping our iced-coffee, tucking the books we bought underneath our arms. And we planned, and we planned, and we planned. You bought stacks of cooking books, foreign languages, a mixture of exotic cuisines, Its funny how permanent that image became now, i can almost see those colored spines you were holding, in their right order, orange, teal, brown.and that creased piece of paper in the middle.
“ you don’t cook” I had said.
“ I can imagine I do,”
Like you imagined piloting those planes in the airport instead of merely stamping passports; like you imagined painting that old house by the corner of the street on a room-wide canvas instead of doodling in a blue-lined notebook; like you imagined circling the Olympics stadium instead of trudging on that treadmill.
Yeah, you mastered that; the art of always being in two places at once, doing what you weren’t destined to do, and skillfully too. And you’d always say “ Just because”
I miss that, the just because.
And I miss you, terribly.

Posted by Diddlina at 10:48 AM 3 comments  

Story 1
It was about a boy. Green T-shirt. Yellow Shorts.
He had a dream. And it was the moon, nothing else, just the moon. Not astronomy, not outer space, not Pluto, or mars. Just that white glow up there. “Its mine” he’d always say, “ the moon is mine”. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken; everything, and everyone, was just so fragile. The boy. The moon. The dream.

Story 2
It was about a girl. She saw the future, behind her eyelids. The ghosts of upcoming days, resided with her thoughts. She captured her loved ones, before they fell through the cracks; she was one strong protagonist, that girl. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken, The girl. The sky. The future.

Story 3
It was about a beggar. Living under an abandoned bridge. He met a stranger, who showed him the wealth of wishing fountains. But the beggar was pained by the wishes dwelling underneath that water, and decided “ no wish should ever be abandoned”. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken. The beggar. The water. The wishes.

Story 4
It was about two fraternal twins. They waited for the night to come, and sneaked out of their mansion, looking for somewhere to call home. By the end of the night, they found themselves leaning on a lonesome willow, looking at that blanket of stars stretched upon them. And the willow embraced them, “ I’ve been looking too”. But as always in her stories, things ought to broken. The girls. The willow. The stars.

Story 5
It was about her. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken. The life. The heart. The memory.

Posted by Diddlina at 2:10 PM 0 comments  

Everyone wondered, why she stacked her walls with those jars. Everywhere, cramped in corners, one over the other; placed so neatly and carefully, as if their well-being was the ultimate priority. Bottom upon lid, and lid upon bottom. But they were empty, and that void inside sparkled as it reflected the billion other voids nearby. Why was she savoring that emptiness? Had she embraced that reality yet, and surrounded her self with it? or had she been consumed by that insanity everyone feared? Only she knew , the untold stories and moments, trapped inside those jars.

Posted by Diddlina at 1:42 PM 5 comments  

Never-ending distractions. Losing myself in lyrics, and being tucked away underneath; in fictional towns, in pages, in snippets of somebody else’s stories, virtual realities, daydreams, tasks, lullabies, games. Its somewhere outside, and not inside that labyrinth that is my head. I can’t bear reality anymore.“ My reality”. Delusional? I may be. But it hurts less when “I” no longer exist in the equation.
Because there’s no me in those virtual and fictional worlds of others; they’re not mine, and feelings die down. They might exist somewhere,someplace, in a tucked away corner, or another alternate universe perhaps. They might. But not here, not now. Not me.
Otherwise it just hurts. It hurts to think, it hurts to feel. It hurts. So.damn.much.

Posted by Diddlina at 10:18 AM 0 comments