Life Itself

There are some things that only your mother knows about you. No matter how much anyone else may try, it's impossible to gain that depth of understanding that a mother has about her child.   I have always known this to be true. A few days back my mother said something that proved it all over again.   She pointed out the fact that I have crazy will power. That once I decide something, no one can change my mind.  My mothers favourite illustration involves my giving up thumb-sucking. I was one year old and my parents had tried nearly everything: putting spices on my finger, tying them with bandage, telling me a hundred stories. As you may imagine, they failed miserably. Then one day my father looked at me, pointed at my teeth and said "Zoya all your teeth will fall out!". I simply confirmed if he has being serious and needless to say, that was the last time I sucked my thumb. At this point of her story telling, my mother usually recounts her fear at how crazy my will powe

He doesn't understand me I only hope that he does He doesn't comprehend my silence I only believe that he does He doesn't see me sparkle I only crave that he does He doesn't like me for who I am I only need that he does He doesn't belong with me I only pretend that he does.

Do you ever feel like you are having two simultaneous conversations with someone? One that is really being said and one that is almost said but kept away? Lately I struggle so much with double meanings that I myself don't know if I am listening at all or I am recreating everything. One moment I hear something you have not said and another moment you say something that brings me crashing down.  Strange as it may sound, I want to believe that we really are having two conversations. That each meaningless word means something. That each silence contains a million sentences. That you really are saying all those things that I "almost" hear.  Unfortunately I never know. After each goodbye I am left wondering. On most nights I settle the matter by reconciling my ability to imagine with my ability to be rational. But then there are nights like today when settlement isn't possible. Nights when imagination triumphs.

Make your move And wait patiently One of these days  You'll get your due Drop that hint And turn away One of these days It'll be comprehended Take every risk And then forget One of these days It'll be worthwhile.

I watch you  As you slowly mix  The bubble formula I watch you  As you delightedly Blow and smile I watch you  As your hopeful eyes See the bubble grow I watch you As the bubble gently  Blows my way And then  I watch you  As I slowly take my finger  And burst the bubble.

Do you sometimes feel like shaking someone and asking them for the truth?  Do you get up with the need to look someone in the eye and tell them how you feel? Do you for a moment lose your inhibition and decide to take that chance?  And then do you shut your child-like brain and get back to the humdrum of life? Or do you actually pick up the phone and make that call?

There is a strange sort of nostalgia that pulls me towards you again and again. Each time I say goodbye and think I have forgotten, memories come reminding.  Shards of yesterday A million dreams  Scattered and nameless  I always wonder if I made a mistake with you. And the little space of could-be leaves me annoyed and just a little unsure.  And as always I write about it and leave it like I see it, as a lingering-passing thought. Perhaps tomorrow I will remember a little lesser. Perhaps tomorrow I will finally let go.