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.)

How wonderful to be so loved

Dear God,

When out shopping, one gets to see so many beautiful things (mostly those that will not necessarily be yours). Today, as I casually strolled into one shop, I was browsing the goodies when I saw a child walk up the stairs towards where her father was standing. Clutching a soft toy which fell from her hands and which she kept stopping to pick up over and over again as it kept falling with every step she took upwards (her father smiling but secretly wishing that she would hurry up!), she suddenly stopped.

‘Wait daddy!’ she shouted and then proceeded to walk down the stairs. The toy had fallen again, but she had not cared, but instead focused on descending the stairs.

‘Careful please darling,’ her mother gently said to her as she stood at the bottom of the stairs.

The little girl nodded as if to signal that she was going to obey her mother and not hurry. Moments later, she was towards the bottom of the staircase, with a few to go before she reached the ground.

‘Mummy, I love you,’ she said out aloud before she turned around to carry on ascending the stairs and head towards her father who still was waiting anxiously.

As her mother picked up the toy that had fallen from her daughter’s hands, I leaned over and asked her mother, ‘Is that all she wanted to tell you?’

‘Yes,’ the mother smiled.

How so very wonderful to be so very loved…

I do like to go shopping, one gets to see so many beautiful things (mostly those that will not necessarily be yours).

Broken Cups (& Hearts)

A friend was telling me yesterday how her young son had broken a cup from her prized crockery set. She was very upset by this and had scolded him rigorously for showing no respect to her by breaking it and then trying to cover it up by shifting the blame on his sibling.

‘You should have seen the way he tried to sweep it up and put it in the bin before I came along and caught him,’ she related.

She was in tears as she went over and showed me the remaining items minus the now broken cup.

‘Just the one cup broke?’ I asked to which she nodded sadly. ‘I know it is difficult as you loved this set a lot, but since when was there a guarantee that anything will last forever?’ I said.

We always seem to get upset at the breakage of delicate items that were created to be broken and were never promised to be immune to being broken, the heart for example. No matter how much we protect ourselves, one day it will break and sometimes, it carries on breaking again and again until we decide no more. And when we have decided no more, sometimes it carries on breaking regardless. Unfortunately though, as with a broken cup or glass, we are unable to sweep away the pieces but instead often end up carrying them deep within us, for them to pierce our souls now and again.

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.

Do men like this exist?

Love this track – the lyrics are fabulous! Oh what a tune!

“…A thousand armies couldn’t stop me, no”, “Stormy weather couldn’t stop me, no” – ah! ..

(My respect to all those men out there who are not afraid of the meaning of this song)

‘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.

New Beginnings

Dear God,

Walking through the suburbs, I notice the beautiful houses that surround me. One after another, each one as welcoming as the one before it and the one after it. The plants, shrubs, greenery that can be found in the driveways is a pleasure to appreciate. People really take care of their homes; it is such a delight to see as you pass by.

And then I come to one house in particular. There are no colourful flowers adorning it; just a small magnolia bush (I know it is magnolia, my brother-in-law loves that and they have what is now a great tree in their garden), with some evergreen plants here and there. I carry on walking but am pulled back by the tree stump which is guarded now with boulders around it. You can tell that it was grand tree once; the base is still strong and defiant. I wonder how it was reduced to what it is now – Maybe with the winds it broke and the owners cut it for safety or that it would grow better? Maybe it was diseased so to save the rest of it, the only option was to cut it and let it start anew? Or maybe there is another maybe or so many other maybes.

All I know is that once grew here a mighty tree and I know also that that mighty tree will grow and flourish here once again. It is only a matter of time. For time heals all wounds (and so they say).

With hope for the future and for trees everywhere, please have mercy ya Rabbil Alamin.

Nasreen

The beauty of Henna (mehndi)

Many of us are celebrating Eid over the coming days. As is cultural tradition, the women love to decorate their hands with henna patterns. For the first time in a very long time, I am also one of these women. I have never had the urge to have mehndi done on my hands before, but this year, this Eid, I wanted to. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have mehndi on my hands. Maybe I will never get to put mehndi on my hands as a bride, but as a woman celebrating Eid, it is the least I can do. Perhaps in some strange way, it will compensate for it..

I sit here looking at the beauty that is mehndi. It makes me think that life’s events (be they good or bad) adorn us, like henna. When the henna has dried, it will peel away, leaving behind rich colour. When something great happens to us, whilst we rejoice in it’s euphoria, like the henna it looks beautiful. When it passes, it leaves behind it’s mark, but gradually, the memory will fade, as does the henna after however many days before the colour wears off completely. So too with the not-so-great things: once again, whilst we go through it, we don’t realise, appreciate or understand the beauty of the trial that has befallen us, for it is nothing more than something positive packaged in a different way, and when it too passes (for everything must run it’s course), it leaves behind it’s mark like the colour of the henna which then goes on to fade away with time.

The beauty of henna cannot be praised enough. A beautiful Creator’s beautiful creation. Alhumdulillahi Rabbil Alamin.

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? . . .

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.

An ode in remembrance

These days I seem to be up very early (an alien concept for me in the past, but then again that is the past…)

For the third day running, at the same time, (5.15am ish), there is a gentleman who walks past my house, singing an ode. I think he is  Polish and even though I do not understand the language, I feel the emotion in his words and the way he sings his poem.

I wonder who he has left behind that drives him to sing this powerfully moving ode.
It gives me great pleasure to listen to him as he walks past and for that brief moment or two that he passes, I remember my own longing and my own heart’s desire.

I may not understand the language in which he sings, but my heart seems to understand, for it weeps, weeps silently.

Falling in love

.. don’t.

(simple as that)

Something for Everything

I purchased a very beautiful photo frame about a year or so ago. It is round, antique-like effect and encrusted with little jewels all around it. At the top is the finishing touch – pink flower with leaves in a varnish finishing which picks up the colours of the rest of the frame. It has been sitting in my draw since the day I bought it. There was never the right photo to suit it, so it just sat there ever so quietly.

Once in a while, I would think that an ok-ish  image had come along

and I would place it into the frame, but soon enough would remove it because for some unbeknown reason, it didn’t seem to ‘fit’.

A few weeks ago, went to my niece’s birthday party. My sister and I had a photo taken. That photo came out so beautiful; too beautiful to just be sitting on my shelf or with the rest of the photographs- in a shoe box. I decided that I would go and buy a frame especially for it before it suddenly hit me that I may have something for it: I nearly had forgotten all about that lonely frame.

The photo was a little big, so I cut it slightly and it fit … and then I realised that the frame was meant for that particular photo – my sister is wearing a pink top which is in tune with the beauty of the frame that they both sit gorgeously together.

It makes me think that everything in this world has a fit somewhere. Life cannot be so cruel that there exists one thing without its partner.  Like my frame which has waited for the one to adorn it and like the photo that would be taken years after the frame was made ready to adorn and be adorned by it. It is always time that separates but when it is right then naturally somehow you find what is yours.

Relationships and plants

It is with great regret that I acknowledge that the plant I held so dear to me is unwell 

Bought it a while back from Ikea and whilst I accept that the plants from Ikea seldom last (they are so healthy and green in the store but as soon as you bring them home, they start to die .. ), this one defied the odds and managed to exist for longer than the others I have had in the past.

It was a dainty little thing, very healthy and so I decided to re-pot it so that it would grow better and the roots would have more room. But then … one of the leaves started to lose it’s colour .. and so I cut it off, even though I didn’t want to but I knew that if I didn’t the illness it had caught would spread throughout killing the whole plant.

Gradually, one by one, the leaves are falling until one day I will have to get rid of the whole plant.

Relationships are like plants. If the maladies are not removed earlier on, they ferment and with time, infest the whole of the plant until the root has been attacked. Sometimes perhaps we don’t pay attention to the fact that relationships require a lot of care and attention not forgetting the right soil, food and conditions like a plant.

Love – “the most abused and misused word on the planet”

“… love is probably the most abused and misused word on the planet”

pg. 102, Catch a Fish from the Sea (Using the Internet) by Nasreen Akhtar

It is you know… Sometimes I wonder, if as humans, we ever truly understand the meaning of this word or even it’s value.

Being a linguist, and an integrational one at that, I know that words do not have fixed meanings, for we as their users assign our own meanings to these words, but do we respect the word ‘love’? or do we use the word so loosely as if it is not sacred, not a blessing, not a gift?

I wonder what it feels like to hear someone tell you that they love you? And then I wonder how it feels to hear someone tell you that they love you and for them to mean it. I would love to hear both.