30 stories

30 stories, I have written.

With my own minds and my thoughts.

Some blabbering, some truth.

Some inspirations, some rants.

More to come.

In this imperfect life of ours :)

Happy 30th post.

Destiny

The rain is residing now, and the sound of the rain drops is disappearing. I'm listening to a music, and the sound of a character from the TV. Today I realised some things in which one can't decipher so easily. Including me. It's amazing when we realise something out of pure blankness and pure sudden.

Well this afternoon I asked myself. Why am I doing this right now? Why am I doing that? Why will I be doing that in the future? One answer, my destiny. Well isn't it true? Like whatever happens, that's your destiny. And destiny is different from luck. It happens and that's your destiny.

So I came up with a line.

The moment we're born, is the moment in which we know that we are no longer truly free in this world. Because the moment we're born, we hop onto the ride we know as destiny.

It's quite true to most of us. If you come and think of it, when we are still inside our mother's womb, when we're still that tiny clump of cells that hang inside the uterus wall, when we are still a zygote, we never, and we did not know anything about the world. We did not know anything about what's gonna happen to us.

But when we're born, somehow everything changes. Because we, will gradually know about the world and our life. The imperfectness, the suffering and everything.

That's why we are no longer free.

Isn't it?

Desolation

She sat down quietly as the wind chimes rang a peaceful melody. The wind, blew like soft silk brushing against her cheek. Her face, wrinkled and old. Her body, small and weak. Then came her dog. She patted him and a smile appeared on her face. A smile she always gave to her only companion for the past three years.

Her house was small and cramped with many goods laying around the floor. Her wall was covered with pictures of her children, her youths and most prominently, her wedding. It had been three long and lonely years after her husband left her forever due to a heart attack. She could remember how painful she felt during his funeral. It was as if losing her own most valuable jewelery in which she endeared the most.

The wind chimes rang again. She stood up and walked towards the kitchen and began preparing her lunch. A simple and noble dish of sliced carrots and cabbage stir-fried. She sat alone on her table, waiting for a company that she knew will never come to her. She began munching her food little by little. Picking up the bits and pieces of food that dropped on her table. She did not realise, that she had been trying to stabilise her hands, which were shaking.

As she finished her last bite, she walked towards her house' door and sat down, enjoying the afternoon breeze. Her dog beside her, sitting down, as if accompanying her. She gave a heave of sigh.

And the wind chimes rang again.

The Perfect Day

Today, the sky was blue.
There was no cloud in the sky,
Only birds were flying up high,
Cheerfully, freely, without worries.
The sky was picturesque
Like a painting that tells a thousand stories.
But something was missing, something was amiss
But I couldn’t find that missing piece.

Today, the wind blew freely.
Brushing against my cheek softly.
It rings the wind chimes, creating a sense of peace.
Is this the reality? Or is this a dream?
It feels like I’m in paradise, in a bliss.
Transporting me into another place, another realm.
But again, something was not here, not present.
And I wonder what is the reason of this occurrence?

Today, the sun was shining brightly.
As it rose, the sky was golden yellow.
It shone bravely as if saying a loud hello.
As it set, the sky was a beautiful orange and purple.
It is something simple but yet the view is indescribable.
The day moves, like the changing of seasons.
But why is that something still missing?
Even though the day had come to a close?

Today seemed like a perfect day.
The sun, the sky and the wind.
But I am still finding that missing something.
And alas, I have finally found it.
It is the imperfectness of the world that is missing.
To make today such a perfect day.
Even though there may not be a perfect day in life.
I’m still waiting for that perfect day to arrive.

The War - Chapter 5

My mum sat on the opposite of me. In front of us laid a cup of coffee each, served with a couple of biscuits prepared by aunt Lucy. There was an awkward silence, and an ominous feeling that I was going to discover a grotesque truth. And indeed I was.

So my mum began to speak.

"So how was your life in the village?"
"It was fun. But I missed you so much,"

There was a minute of silence.

"Well dear, seems like my feet is useless now eh?"

I did not dare to reply.

"Honestly speaking, I was tortured"
"What do you mean?"

My mum paused, then continued.

"You see dear, while you were away in the village, I was working, helping the military. I, or rather, we were forced there. Tortured, abused, or anything of some sorts you cay say"

"We were given only two meals per day. There was no lunch. Only breakfast and dinner. Life was horrible, it was dirty and unimaginable"

"Then one day, I was supposed to carry bombs into a plane. The commander was unhappy with my speed so he pushed me. I fell down and the bomb hit my knee."

"Can you imagine? A 30 kilo bomb, landing on my knee?"

"And he even said 'You work too slow! Hurry!' and he kicked me"

"The pain was unbearable and I could not work anymore, so they sent me to the hospital."

"And that was when I know the truth. I could no longer walk anymore"

My mum stopped talking. And I was shocked. My heart filled with despair and anger. Hatred burning inside me. My fists were clenched, and I wanted to kill those commanders. But then my mum continued again.

"But dear, let it go. I have forgotten about everything. All I wanted to do is for the war to stop and for all of us to return home safely again. As long as I can serve the country and..."

I interrupted.

"No mum, you are wrong. How could you say such words when they even tortu.."

My mum put her finger on my lips.

"No more. It's over dear. The war is over, everything is over."

I sat down and kept quiet. My eyes were drenched with tears of hatred and sadness. I sobbed softly and my mum came over by my side to hug me. I continued to cry, somehow it was unstoppable.

Then I realised. My mum was not a victim of the war. She was a victim of a human's pride and selfishness. A victim of a human's wish to take over the world. Yet, she did not relinquish. She never give up and she never points a finger at anyone.

Now I wonder. If my mum is wiser than the commanders. If the commanders have ever thought of who pays the price of war. If they even know how many people suffered from it.

And all these victims can do. Is to wept in silence.

-THE END-

The War - Chapter 4

I hugged my mother. Her flimsy white hair brushing against my right ear. Her face feels cold despite of the summer's heat. Perhaps it was her age, or maybe the breeze. Then, she softly whispered onto my ear.

"Welcome home, dear"

Her voice. I had not heard her voice for five, long years. Hearing her voice welled my eyes with tears. I softly sobbed and I hugged her even tighter. She was tapping my back, signaling to me that I hugged her too hard. I wiped my tears off and began pushing her wheelchair home.

The way home was both a touching and eerie moment. It was touching in a sense that it reminisced me of my town, after I left it for five years. The buildings, the sights and sounds, the people and the sceneries. I thought to myself, reminding myself that I had left this village for five years. And yet not much had changed.

It was however, also, eerie in a sense that much of the buildings were then destroyed. Some of the buildings were even gone, flat on on the ground. One of them was my friend's house, Errick. What's left on the spot were rubble and debris. It was horrifying. It was also eerie in a sense that I could still feel the fear and worries of the people living here during the war. The atmosphere was different. There was an ominous feeling there, as we walked.

And another thing as well. The silence of my mother. She did not speak a word at all on our wat back home. Aunt Lucy told me she was most probably tired. Tired from what? I wondered to myself. With her wheelchair, I was shrouded with fear that she was not the usual her five years ago. I was wondering if something was wrong with her throat, thus her silence.

As we reached home. I was happy. I was happy to see my house, still in one piece, not even damaged by a scratch - except for its colour's change. I thank God for everything. My mother, my house, and my life.

I opened the door of my house and pushed my mother's wheelchair slowly beside out dining table. Aunt Lucy was preparing tea and I offered to help her. But my mother called me up and asked me to sit beside her.

"Talk with me, I have lots of things to tell you" she said.

And that was when I had the biggest shock of my life.

The War - Chapter 3

The bus was filled with noise. But this time, it was filled with the noise of excitement. The noise of happiness and joy. The noise of pride for the country. We were all happy that we were returning back to our village.

Coincidentally I was sitting with the same two boys that I sat with five years ago. Now they were both eleven and ten. They looked more matured and built-up as compared to how they look five years ago. And so I asked them.

"So are you happy to return to our village again?"

"More than happy, we are ecstatic and overjoyed!" they replied with a cheery voice.

I gave them a smile and a nod.

The bus began to move with a jerk. Everyone clapped and cheered. Somehow everyone turned into children again. It reminded me of our first bus trip in my elementary school into a nearby farmstead. Everyone cheered the same way when our bus moved.

During my way back home, I was wondering how the village looked like after five years of farewell. How was my mother? Is she alright? I thought to myself. Five years seemed like an eternity with the war going on. A part of my heart is excited to return home while another part of my heart is reluctant to see the village.

Fear is imminent I thought.

The bus reached the village and stopped in the same spot in which we left the village five years ago. The mothers, looking slightly older, waited happily for the bus to come to a halt and for its passengers to appear from the bus. As the bus' doors opened, everyone rushed out. It was chaotic and touching at the same time.

When they saw their children, the mothers hugged them tightly, as if not wanting to lose their children. Sadly, some children cried when they saw their relatives instead. A sign that their parents were gone. Forever.

I stepped out of the bus and was greeted by aunt Lucy, who was my mother's older sister. My heart beat faster and faster. She's gone too? I thought. Then aunt Lucy grabbed my arm and walked towards one side of the crowd.

There, I saw a figure of a woman on a wheelchair. She was wearing a red dress with a gray sweater. Her hair flimsy and white, dancing in the summer's breeze. Is that mum?

And yes, she is my mother. But no, she is not the victim of the war.