The Curtain Comes Down

It hit front page news on the Independent yesterday – the speculation that the Hollywood first couple, Pitt & Jolie were calling it a day.

Amy Jenkins wrote the article, making it clear that even though the rumours had not been confirmed, that they hadn’t been denied either. Today it seems that the damage control is firmly in place with speculation being watered with the proverbial ‘we are working at it’ and that the couple are ‘very much together’.

I remember when Gere-Crawford split came to be. Didn’t they take out a double page spread in a top US newspaper, denying the rumours and insisting that they too were ‘very much together’? Months later, it turned out that they ceased to be ‘very much together’ for real.

Celebrity gossip is a hobby for many, but that is not the aim of this post (everyone is entitled to a private life are they not?) – the point is that it makes me think about love ‘n’ stuff – If only we could fall in love and stay in love forever? … At some stage or another things come to an end, when they have run their course… Naively, we think that love lasts forever, but the reality is that seldom does it, and if it does for you, then you are truly blessed and never stop being grateful for it.

Love most often is a passing phase, it is never guaranteed, that you will be loved back, or that if you are that you always will be. Falling out of love is just as a reality as is falling in love. Nothing is ever guaranteed; nothing is ever for sure except death and taxes (which ironically Pitt’s character in Meet Joe Black also says.)

Hope: Ever Present

Well the snow has finally hit the country after days of prediction and speculation. It is now the early hours of the morning and the snowfall has stopped for a while after continuously gracing us for the last 5 hours or so.

The fierce wind has taken over as the snowfall takes a breather … The sky is black in places, and grey at the same time, as the elements gather and there in front of me, as I look up, I see light – very faint light, it is a blue almost. As if a beacon is hiding behind the cloudy sky. It lights up the sky almost perfectly under the circumstances. It is the moon of course and the strength of its light refuses to be shunned away by the other forces with which it finds itself.

This is the essence of hope, undeniably. For no matter what the weather, hope will always be there. Whether we choose to see it or indeed appreciate is a different matter entirely. Nonetheless, somewhere amidst the heartache, the pain, the madness, the confusion, the weather of life, hope is there, ever present.

(*By the time I came to the end of this post, it started to snow again. THe sky now has turned a blanket of slate – grey in the background with a misty white film on top. The moon is still there, you just cannot see it at the moment. And just because you cannot see it at the moment, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Just like hope.)

Stephen Gately: A reminder about the reality of life

I think amongst all the speculation about the circumstances surrounding his sudden death, we seem to have forgotten a very important reminder: that life is so very short (shorter than we think it to be) and that our calling to return (for those who don’t believe in a Return, then they cannot deny that there is an end to it??) may arrive at any given moment.

That indeed, these very moments that I type his blogpost and the ones with which you read it may be mine and your last…

With this in mind, put your pride to one side – if you have wronged someone, apologise; If you need to forgive, do so; if you are grateful to someone for anything or something, thank them; if you love them, say it… this may be the last and only chance you have.

‘Love is the only thing that interests me’

‘El amor en los tiempos del colera’, a great novel by Garcia-Marquez, I would say his best one (maybe I am biased though as love stories are my greatest weakness …)

There is a great scene (one of the most memorable for me, although indeed there are so many equally powerful ones) when lovesick Florentino Ariza, goes to work with his uncle, he is told off for his inability to write even a simple commercial letter without romantic poetry creeping in. “It’s no use,” protests Florentino, “Love is the only thing that interests me.”

I often am asked why I am attached to affairs of the heart which are so central to my writing. My reply is the same.

My Immortal – too beautiful for words..

Dear God,

I have no qualms about the wounds, nor the pain, nor time nor the memories. You listen to all prayers, so please accept mine:
Let my love never cry for I am not there to wipe away those tears…

Wake Up

It’s funny how we never seem to notice the beauty of things to be found right in front of our faces …

Cleaned the windows -the same windows we have had for the past 24 years. And even though they are cleaned often, it was the first time I noticed the precious window frame on the outside of the house, which is has an intrinsic beautiful wood snuggling up to the glass, being that pillar of support. It really does enhance the look of the frame. I was taken aback by its beauty. I always thought it was a man-made material, but that is because I did not look close enough. Had I done, I would have known that it  actually is very natural and very breathtaking.

It’s worth not taking anything for granted … it could be there the whole time and you search everywhere for that one precious thing. Open your eyes. See with your heart. Appreciate with your soul – before it is too late.

Scaffolding

Saw something interesting earlier – a very grande, well built, well to do house with scaffolding all over the front of the building itself. How could it be that such a strong looking building, made of concrete and bricks complete with all the inner wall block linings and other trimmings (you can tell I am not a builder can’t you?!?!); a symbol of resilience, of a fortress against the world, against the outside, how could such a protector, shelter from the cold, source of security, need the help of a few tubes of steel?

We all need scaffolding from time to time, I guess.

Butterfly Love

Love. A most wondrous thing, truly it is. Comes to us in many forms and guises. Not always packaged in the shape we perhaps want it, but no less in it’s value.

A friend, on the verge of a relationship, asked me the other day what I thought about the man in question. He is a good man I know; the way he cares for her, his values, how he feels and his beliefs speak for themselves.

‘Yes but I don’t get buttterflies everytime I look at him. I want to feel that. It is important that I feel that,’ she protested.

‘Really?’ I asked, ‘Have you ever watched a butterfly as it flutters around the garden? Have you ever noticed how it will embrace a flower and kiss it for only a few seconds before flying off onto the next one. Have you noticed the way, it repeats this pattern until eventually flying off to pastures new because it was bored? Think back to the last time you did have that butterfly feeling with a man – how long did it last and where is he now?’

And then we just carried on walking, in silence, but deep thought at these beautiful creatures who leave a trail of broken hearted flowers.

Deep Cuts

There is a young man training to become a butcher at my local grocery shop. I saw him observing for a while and then the other day, he was there, ready for his new job, wearing the white coat, looking terribly smart, complete with knife in his hand.

I exchange pleasantries with the butcher, while this not-Sir-Alan-Cheeni’s apprentice quietly manages the task at hand. Suddenly, there is a loud yell – I am startled. The butcher just raises his eyebrows, he knows what has happened and tells him to run his finger under the tap nearby. It is then that I realise that the young man has cut his finger.

There  is blood everywhere. It is becoming camouflaged with the colour of the meat on the wooden block beneath it (so glad that is not my order he is working on!). The young man’s tears fill up, but he retains his machoism; yes, men don’t cry, they are alien beings, they are to remain unaffected by pain.

But this is not what concerns me (although if I am completely honest, then perhaps it should); as I stand there I cannot help but think that in that moment, this young man has demonstrated life in action: it cuts us and then we bleed. No matter who we are, how strong we may be, how in control of a situation we think we are (like this man thinking that as a trainee butcher, he would have control over the cutting), we never are immune to life’s power.

It also makes me wonder, whether we are guilty of holding the knives that cut us? . . .

I wish I were a child . . .

My friend and I were shopping for her children’s clothes for Eid, yesterday evening. Whilst we were busy trying to match colours and look for the correct sizes, the kids decided to ‘help themselves’ to some toys in the shop. They, brother and sister, each had picked out a toy that they had decided that their mother would pay for along with their clothes.

Their mother reminded them of how naughty they had been earlier – Hamza for not sharing with his sister Maryam, the chocolate cornflake thingy he had made at school; and Maryam for disobeying her mother when she was asked to sit at the back of the car, in her car seat.

“You are not getting these toys; consider this your punishment,” reminded their mother.

The children started to wail, but they were forced out of the shop, sobbing and crying as if life were about to end, right there, right then. The kids carried on crying for about half a mile, with their mother apologizing to me the entire time (I don’t know why she did that; she is a mother, she has the right to be firm with her children, how else will they learn?).

Hamza remembered his half eaten chocolate cornflake thingy that he had made and reached for it, eating it with pleasure. All of a sudden, he cried out,

“Look Maryam, look at that house, its so funny!”

Maryam looked outside the window to the block of flats, and she started to laugh; they both started to laugh, the laughter which came to kiss away the tears that had been streaming down their soft cheeks, previously.

“See how quickly they forget?”asked my friend.

I wish I were a child . . . how easy life would be, to be able to just in an instant forget the pain of memories which once were so beautiful, bringing so much joy?

The journey of life

As I walk through the shopping centre, I see a couple out with their children. Their young daughter (must have been about 5 years old), trips over and falls. There wasn’t anything in her path, she just fell, perhaps careless footing, perhaps slippery surface, but whatever it was, it was invisible to the human eye.

She stumbles, it hurts her, she cries, she starts to wail. Her father with his gentle and loving hands, eases her up wiping away her tears and comforting her, holding her hand, encouraging her to walk again. He easily could have picked her up and carried her, but instead chose to support her. A good thing I thought – after all, in life when walk through life’s passage, unsuspecting of what lies immediately before us, oftentimes we trip over, by some obstacle, visible or not and we fall. It hurts, we cry, but eventually we have to get up.

If we are lucky, we may have loved ones around us to help wipe away the tears, they may even be kind to lift us up from the mess and soothe the pain, but the certainty is that only we ourselves can get back on that path of life and carry on our journey.

Learning to get up when wounded is probably one of the most difficult things that any human being ever has to do. It is however, most necessary for life is such that you have to keep moving despite how much you may want to lick your wounds.
Besides, the best way to heal the wound is to not give it too much attention. For if you brush it off and keep going, it will hurt less to the point, that you barely notice it.

Pleasure & Pain

Dear God,

You are remarkable… Was walking past a florist stall earlier and noticed a display of magnificent roses. I stopped to admire their beauty. As I was looking at them, I noticed the thorns on the stems.

The rose stalk tells the story of the pattern of life itself. With every moment of pleasure, somewhere along the line there will be the enlacing of pain. And that with every point of pain, there is something that has the potential to bring you pleasure. When I think of these little signs, I realise how much I am in awe of You.

With every ending, there is hope of a beginning, and with every beginning there has to at some point, lie an ending.

With every love, there is euphoria, but then at the same time, there is the potential of heartbreak.

When a couple copulate, it is most often a source of pleasure but then should that copulation go on to sow the seed of a new life, the woman will go on experience immense physical pain of childbirth.

(.. whilst the man … holds the woman’s hand in labour, if she is lucky.)
( .. ok, so we really need to work more on this pleasure/pain theory .. but then, You say that on no soul shall You place a burden more than it can handle, so I guess, this only goes to show the strength of women, because quite frankly, after all, the men are the weaker sex!)

For now, thanks for listening, Nasreen

To love or be loved?

Dear God,

Confusion seems to have taken ahold lately. Hormones have been on red alert (excuse the pun) and what has resulted has been this frightening inner turmoil. I know that there are times when I sit here and wonder if You have forgotten me, sometimes I feel that You do, but then I banish these demonic whispers for that is insane. For I know that You remember me, because I remember You …

Lately I wrote to you asking for someone to want me. Ya Elahi, Ya Rabbul Alamin, sometimes I worry for I do not agree when people say that you should be with someone who wants you more than you want them. Using the infamous words of a notorious someone who, upon seeing Salman Rushdie playing out a role of a doctor, in a very awful Helen Hunt movie, quietly mumbled, ‘that is just .. wrong..‘ Yes it is so very wrong to be with someone because they love you more. Please help me here God, I do not understand; I know its wrong, for you have to be true to that person who is loving you, but then, I question whether it is ever possible for two people to love each other the same? Isn’t it always going to be that one partner will love the other more?

Thanks for listening.

Humbly and very PMT-hoping- that- soon- can- return- to- normal- whatever- normal- actually- is, Nasreen

Heartache

Dear God,

They say time heals. When there is excrutiating pain in your heart, it is difficult to accept and indeed fathom how things will ever get better, but by some miracle we have the ability to let ourselves heal.

Maybe today, tonight, at this point in time, I feel nothing, not even pain itself and it is a good feeling. I wish it could be like this all the time. Ya Elahi, please take my heart and control it for me, for I am unable. And who knows our hearts better than You who created them?

Yours,

Nasreen