He looked around and was pleasantly surprised. Nobody was there. Not a single soul. He was all alone.
While this unexpected pocket of solitude appealed to his quiet nature, he knew it did not really make a difference to what he was going to do. You see, this was a man that lived exactly the same way on a Monday as he would on a Sunday. He walked the same walk and paid almost no attention to the possibility of an audience. He would go about his business the exact same way whether anyone noticed or not. To him, pretense was something foreign. This was a simple man who believed that while people are prone to making mistakes and giving in to their emotions, if the intention was an honourable one (and you can find honour in every little thing - his father used to tell him), that was all that could be asked of an individual.
Maybe he wasn't as simple as he would like people to believe.
He picked up the suitcase that was left in the middle of the fancily named, "Smoking Room" and opened it in between puffs of his filtered menthol cigarette, his only worldly vice (so his mother used to lament). Now, he knew it did not belong to him, and he knew that he really shouldn't be going through other people's things but this suitcase had been there for over a week, untouched, almost purposefully ignored by the throngs of people who came to this small dingy room to smoke. He didn't have the heart to let its owner be without his suitcase any longer. He had lost his pet cat once when he was six, it never returned. The thought of Snowflake still brings a tear to his eyes even now, almost twenty years later. He could never knowingly put anyone else through the same experience, even if it was a suitcase.
"Maybe if there was some form of identification in the suitcase, I could return it to the owner", he thought to himself as earnestly as anyone could have thought so. He clicked open the two clasps that held the suitcase closed. Without wasting a breath, he opened it up and searched for anything that might reveal its owners identity. Not noticing the bundles of money, the frilly pieces of clothing and the wonderful perfume scent that wafted out of the open suitcase, a scent he would come to crave in the weeks to come, he reached for a card at the bottom of the case.
It read -
Serenity
No. 19 Jellico Road
"Serenity, that's a nice name. I'll drop this there after work I guess", he thought as he clasped the suitcase shut while dragging out the last few puffs from his cigarette. His regular Monday dinner of soup and bread would just have to wait. Serenity needed her suitcase.
He picked up the suitcase, dusted off the stray ash that had begun to gather on it and made his way to his small cubicle on the 13th floor. Now, he had Serenity to look forward to after work. Nothing could have prepared him for the wanderlust that would follow. One that he could not control and would initially, at least, come to resent.
to be continued
-dib- at 10:10 PM
Friday, November 25, 2011
twin flame
you can't always get what you want right hank moody?
funny how i define and relate a lot of my life to tv series'. on a certain level, i'm sure it can be viewed as pretty pathetic. tv shows end though or worse, get cancelled mid-season. life goes on.
i've been pretty good at moving on recently so this latest setback may just be a distant memory in the near future. i'm kidding myself here of course but that's the only way i can deal with it.
its no use whining and hoping against odds because ultimately life is not a fairy tale. despite what i've always told myself, there has always been that little flicker of hope when it comes to situations like this one, that refuses to go away because i don't allow it to. this time round, i can't do the same thing because you can't always get what you want or even what you need. why does god show you things or make you aware of people you can't be with? well, ultimately it will all make sense. i'll just have to wait for that.
goodbye sm.
-dib- at 12:58 AM
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
definitions.
'Personal boundaries define you as an individual. They are statements of what you will or won't do, what you like and don't like...how close someone can get to you'.
boundaries, guidelines, rules, limits.
sometimes life thrusts you into certain situations that test your boundaries. how you react define who you are known as tomorrow.
sometimes life gives you boundaries that you are not allowed to cross.
it may seem cruel, especially when happiness appears just across these limits. do you wither and suffer endlessly? or do you move on?
the irony of life - just as my boundaries are tested, something stirs in me that makes me want to test other boundaries that lurk just beyond. alas, too many variables means that i just have to forget about it.
i've had to forget about a lot of things this year.
can i just erase 2011?
-dib- at 2:23 AM
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
walking after you
tonight I'm tangled in my blanket of clouds
dreaming aloud
things just won't do without you
matter of fact
i cannot be without you, matter of fact.
- foo fighters
-dib- at 11:49 PM
Monday, August 22, 2011
the wanderer's abrupt awakening.
he woke up that night with an unfamiliar fear smothering the air around his stuffy room. it didn't take long for this place to enter his nightmares, the ones he thought he had escaped for good. the ones he thought had disappeared forever as they did as soon as he stepped out of this house so many nights ago.
the dream, he had thought of it as that before they kept recurring again and again, reunited him once again to the man in the mirror. the man that he had modeled himself after when he first embraced the persona of the wanderer.
"what are you running from? is it the pain or the happiness that escaped your grasp?"
"do you really feel nothing? or is it just a facade that keeps you functioning?"
and then he saw her walking into the man's arms. she turned towards him, smiled, revealing the dimples that captured his heart, the two reasons he kept on tirelessly trying to make her smile.
his heart skipped a beat as the familiar feeling of longing stirred up in it.
she opened her mouth and said the most heartbreaking words he would ever hear, "you were just a whisper in my ear darling".
she then embraced the man in the mirror and locked lips with him for what seemed an eternity as he slowly transformed into the faceless man whose name she always mentioned. as his heart broke, he could never ever recall this name no matter how hard he tried..he only remembered the initials M.B.F. those three letters were enough to shatter the whole world around him as he broke down for the most brutal, heart-wrenching low he ever faced, these three letters that the wanderer had etched into the sole of his boots as a pathetic symbol of subjugation that he never did achieve in real life. for he never saw the good in that, not for him anyway. try as he might, he was always in their shadow only lighted up when the man left for brief moments when he would always try to but never totally successfully step in as a worthy replacement.
then he woke, the pillow drenched with his tears and his chest aching as if a massive weight was suddenly thrust onto him. it was the heavy weight of reality that ironically only metastasized from his soul in these dreams.
these dreams pushed him out of his home, out of his life as he knew it...and the wanderer was born.
all that stopped him from collapsing then were the moments he spent with her before. the ones he held on to as he told himself that these were real moments filled with emotion and chemistry that he questioned again and again. alas these moments were fleeting and became mere memories almost instantaneously. he held on to those as he wandered around these all years...but now, back in his home, they came back to mock him as his dreams reminded him of reality.
he was definitely back home. to where it all began. to where his life as a man of love ended. the wanderer was born here many nights ago but today and probably many days to come, he was visited by a reminder of the man he once was.
and it hurt him so.
-dib- at 1:50 AM
Saturday, August 20, 2011
the wanderer returns
he coughed as his last few steps kicked up the dust that only served as a reminder to the last time he was here.
he recognized many of the things around him but could not remember the significance of most of them.
it was a weird mix of emotions for him. sentiment was something he had long extinguished from his being but being back here reminded him that the embers were not totally dead. on the other scale, he felt strangely liberated from the nostalgia that used to affect his every move back when he was still an inhabitant in this run-down house.
he took a deep breath, coughed a little more violently this time and took in the sights more intensely.
it was time.
he was home.
-dib- at 12:55 AM
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The tiniest flicker of hope always blown away by the winds of the past complicating and twisting the thoughts in your head. Perception and reality playing off each other creating a perfect picture of delusional aspirations?
maybe but if there's anything to take away from the numerous episodes is life is that without aspirations we are nothing. and who are we to deem them delusional? its just our defense mechanism for our inability to deal with disappointment.