Trinkets from the past

So there I was, opening and excavenging some old boxes to set aside stuff for recycling or giving away.

Then I found the remains of your watch, carefully wrapped in a plastic bag.

Many moons ago, you gave it to me hoping I could fix it. Unfortunately, it didn't survive the intervention so I shopped around until I found exactly the same model and gave it to you with an apology.

When the theme resurfaced, you seemed quite upsed and annoyed:
"Why didn't you give it back to me after all these years?" - She asked, - "That watch was a gift from one of my best friends, the one who passed away long ago!"

I didn't know what to say at first, but the answer presented itself just as I began saying: "...Because... that watch was all I had left from you".

Cats and Boxes

Ever since they arrive to this world, cats form a strong bond with carton boxes.

It begins when their moms look for a secluded, dark and preferably warm place to give birth. Shortly after the newly-born kitties have opened their eyes, they start peeking at the world beyond the box but dare not leave it. However, as soon as they are strong enough, they venture into the unknown to satisfy their curiosity, but always returning to the well known safety of their box.

Even as adults, cats still enjoy playing and jumping into boxes whenever they can, even a humble paper bag will do.

This morning, as soon as I finished getting dressed up, I suddenly recalled I needed to bring an install CD to the office. Most of them are kept inside a small carton box placed on top of a cabinet.

Sassy and Mitzi, my beloved kitties, were taking a nap on my bed, comfortably rolled in my blanket. Their eyes closed, but their ears discreetly moving around to sense what else was going on.

As soon as I grabbed the box, Mitzi's ears became fixed on my position but she still didn't move. Gosh! Too many CD's to examine and I'm in a rush... ok, it will be faster if I just take them out and flip them like cards.

As soon as I placed the empty box on the bed, Mitzi opened her eyes, purred at me and stretched herself while placing her paws in it, claws fully deployed. Well, I didn't found what I was looking for, so it was time to put the CD's back into the box and... oh oh. Box is busy with kitty... or the other way around.

When I extended my hand to pick up the box, Mitzi purred again looking at me without any intention of letting go of it.

I smiled and gave her a quick scratch on her head. Very well Mitzi kitty, you can have the box even if you are too big for it.

Another gentle purr, and after she tried to fit as much of herself as she could into the box, she resumed her nap.

She seemed genuinely happy because I let her keep the box.

And my bloody camera wasn't charged or else I would have included a picture. Argh!!!

The so-called "Human nature"

If we were like any other species on the planet, we would be fully integrated to our environment. Instead of transforming it to better suit our tastes and preferences, we would adjust to it like all the others do without falling into the specialisation fallacy, mind you, which of course is reserved for insects.

However, when we compare our directives and general behavior to a logic template, results often contradict any hope of common sense:

We pursuit that which retreats from us.
We love those who cannot love us back.
We long for what we don't have.
We take things for granted and don't fully appreciate them until they are gone.

I was never good at playing "games", those counterintuitive unwritten "rules" that often seem to be decisive at achieving the object of desire in question. Everybody and his dog seems to be aware of them.

Everybody else but me.

Instead, I opted for a more open nature... a strategy that has bitten me back more times than I can keep count of. As a prime example of stubborness on my own self, I still keep using that policy regardless of the ever increasing frustration brought by its eventual, almost fatallistically certain outcome.

Either I completely lack what others dare to define as "emotional intelligence", or in spite of external appearance, I do not belong to the local human race.

For all accounts, I was born here. So... misanthropy suddenly seems so attractive again.

Just before falling asleep

Suddenly, the night sky felt empty.
None of its offerings were enough
to quiesce the presence of your absence.

I think of your name quite often,
but never dare to speak it
lest echo would be the sole answer
I receive.

Your essence remains in love
with the waves, the sand and the breeze:
A smile that flows forever.

Only your eyes could bring peace
and joy and fire and hope
to a forsaken old heart.

"Hello..." you said and smiled.
Then in silence I smiled back
wishing of being one with the sea.

Afternoon of solitude

Funny.

Some consider spending an afternoon alone by yourself, curled-up on the sofa and doing nothing but watching TV and drinking beer to cope with hot weather pretty pathetic; on the contrary, others believe it's pure bliss.

The difference resides in choosing:

A - You chose to do it, or managed to do it in spite of other activities.

B - You've got nothing else to do.

Since the dawn of civilisation, it is a well-known fact that alcohol is the best thanatologist ever. Synapses begin firing up at random, nonsense becomes funny and you begin to laugh at anything and everything, even your present condition. In extreme dosages, your personality transforms and lets some of its darkest aspects loose in the wild.

Finally, the sweet stupor of numbness arrives. Drowsiness gives in to sleepiness in such a smooth transition you often cannot pinpoint the exact moment when it happens.

But there is a price to pay. Pain. You don't ever want to feel it again ever in your life... except you probably will because either the need to temporarily "deal with" (read "suppress") your problems becomes overwhelming once more, or as surprising as it might seem, you eventually forget how bad it was.

Oblivion is bliss simply because you stop becoming aware of your burdens.

And pretty much like your past, not only they won't go away.
They will accumulate and pile up.

So there is no real option but to endure them.

Maybe Nietzche will prove right to your advantage and you'll emerge stronger than before.

That is, if you first survive :)

I like to watch the stars

At night, whenever possible...
just before going back to my apartment,
I like to watch the stars.

I watch in silence.

The cold breeze passes by, fast and indifferent as always.

They have been pretty much the same before I ever came here. Most of them will continue to be long after I'm gone.

A sense of Trascendence.

Ever since we became a sentient species and managed to overcome our natural fear for darkness and gaze at them with insatiable curiosity. Thousands of generations have come and gone... yet we keep doing it.

It's almost as if they were calling us.

Each time I look at them, I wonder about what kind of thoughts people before me have experienced... and why not, those who, perhaps by coincidence, have chosen to simultaneously do the same thing as I did.

I think of those whom I've met and still see.
Those whom I've met and will never see again.
Those whom I haven't met yet.
Those whom I'll never meet though we could become good friends.

I like to watch the stars
because they represent all the possibilities that were, all that were not or won't be... and all that might be and will be.

I like to watch the stars
because they make me think of you.

If only I had the means
I couldn't wait to go back to them.



Image credit: ESA / HST

Tired.

Actors might change, but roles remain the same.

It's just the same with days: the calendar states they keep changing, yet they feel pretty similar at dusk.

Ideas and thoughts pop at every moment into my mind. They even shout out to the world, yet none are ever heard.

Time keeps running out.