Leaping, by definition requires one to fly through the air, leaving behind the place where his feet were once firmly planted, with no idea of how he’s going to land.
I turned 28 ten days ago.
Friday, December 04, 2009
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
The Observer
I found myself in a courthouse today. Thankfully I was just a friend of the plaintiff, so I was pretty much on a observer trip, studying the cops, lawyers and judges uphold the pillars of democracy (with justice and freedom for all). Almost like visiting the zoo. Don’t annoy the animals, stay away from the bars.
It’s surprising how similar the atmosphere outside a courthouse and hospital is. Both institutions deal almost exclusively with misery and never having to visit either is something we can all hope and wish for. As I strolled around the crowded campus, the atmosphere, stale and pregnant with worry, reminded of a hospital I visited several years ago.
A friend of mine, well known for his ability to sleep through almost anything, had his reputation challenged when an insect entered his ear and refused to leave. Soon it was 2 am and I found myself at a hospital, waiting for a doctor to get the offending insect out. Confident that this would be no short wait I decided that walking around the empty halls of the hospital would be the right move for someone with an observer status, such as mine.
It was winter and the empty halls of the hospital amplified the cold. It was hard to imagine them empty, as if death and sickness had joined in on the festive atmosphere outside and had taken a holiday. One corridor led to another and before I knew it, I found myself in a long narrow corridor in what must have been the back entrance to the hospital, the words “Emergency” painted on the walls in bright red. Halfway down the corridor, in a little seat sat a woman. The first person I’d seen since I started my little walk. She was in her mid forties, wore glasses, and seemed like she would have offered me tea and biscuits if I visited her home and would have perhaps asked me what I planned to do with my life and if I had a girlfriend and if I kept my house clean and if I were eating healthy . But not on that night. Even at that distance I could sense her anguish. Even at that distance I could see the sadness on her face. The line that divides sadness and grief is worry. And she was on it.Hard.
I contemplated speaking to her but was unsure of the good that it would do, afraid of being more of a bother than anything else. I wish I could have helped her. I wish I knew how. I said a silent prayer for her in the corridor and I wish I could have done more. I think of that night and the lady in that corridor and a wide range of emotions hit me. And somewhere deep down I’m afraid one of them is guilt.
It’s surprising how similar the atmosphere outside a courthouse and hospital is. Both institutions deal almost exclusively with misery and never having to visit either is something we can all hope and wish for. As I strolled around the crowded campus, the atmosphere, stale and pregnant with worry, reminded of a hospital I visited several years ago.
A friend of mine, well known for his ability to sleep through almost anything, had his reputation challenged when an insect entered his ear and refused to leave. Soon it was 2 am and I found myself at a hospital, waiting for a doctor to get the offending insect out. Confident that this would be no short wait I decided that walking around the empty halls of the hospital would be the right move for someone with an observer status, such as mine.
It was winter and the empty halls of the hospital amplified the cold. It was hard to imagine them empty, as if death and sickness had joined in on the festive atmosphere outside and had taken a holiday. One corridor led to another and before I knew it, I found myself in a long narrow corridor in what must have been the back entrance to the hospital, the words “Emergency” painted on the walls in bright red. Halfway down the corridor, in a little seat sat a woman. The first person I’d seen since I started my little walk. She was in her mid forties, wore glasses, and seemed like she would have offered me tea and biscuits if I visited her home and would have perhaps asked me what I planned to do with my life and if I had a girlfriend and if I kept my house clean and if I were eating healthy . But not on that night. Even at that distance I could sense her anguish. Even at that distance I could see the sadness on her face. The line that divides sadness and grief is worry. And she was on it.Hard.
I contemplated speaking to her but was unsure of the good that it would do, afraid of being more of a bother than anything else. I wish I could have helped her. I wish I knew how. I said a silent prayer for her in the corridor and I wish I could have done more. I think of that night and the lady in that corridor and a wide range of emotions hit me. And somewhere deep down I’m afraid one of them is guilt.
Monday, October 05, 2009
The return of an old friend- III
I saw him through the trees. As usual, he took me to the right place, he took me to the right time. and reminded me of who I am. Orion is back.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
strangers and friends
So we sit and laugh.
Perhaps one of us could tell a story or perhaps an anecdote. or two.
We’ll watch the view and throw back a few.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Poke and joke.
And laugh a little more, tell us another story.
We’ll drive around; go to that place you found.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Of Quiet things.
you hush and shush. Don’t tell anyone.
I swear.
Old times and secret crimes.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Fun in the sun.
What do we do? Did someone bring the guitar?
We’ll sing a song, words all wrong.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Tears and fears.
You lift your veil and show me your pain .I finally see you, for you.
Your wounds your scars I see them clear. I understand you now.
We’ll watch the view and throw back a few.
my friend, we’ve only just begun.
Perhaps one of us could tell a story or perhaps an anecdote. or two.
We’ll watch the view and throw back a few.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Poke and joke.
And laugh a little more, tell us another story.
We’ll drive around; go to that place you found.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Of Quiet things.
you hush and shush. Don’t tell anyone.
I swear.
Old times and secret crimes.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Fun in the sun.
What do we do? Did someone bring the guitar?
We’ll sing a song, words all wrong.
Stranger. we haven’t yet begun.
Tears and fears.
You lift your veil and show me your pain .I finally see you, for you.
Your wounds your scars I see them clear. I understand you now.
We’ll watch the view and throw back a few.
my friend, we’ve only just begun.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
that's new
I was told i was laughing in my sleep.That's new.
Iv done crying, whining, grunting,shouting, moaning and even given a little advice to a person or two.Hell.. if u catch me on the right night, i bet i could give you the best speech you've heard.
But laughing.That's new.
Sounds like I'm having fun.
Good to know.
Iv done crying, whining, grunting,shouting, moaning and even given a little advice to a person or two.Hell.. if u catch me on the right night, i bet i could give you the best speech you've heard.
But laughing.That's new.
Sounds like I'm having fun.
Good to know.
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