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”Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” Desmond Tutu
John Parker wanted to tell the kind man who’d saved him from death, but the words caught in his throat. He mumbled inaudibly then coughed loudly. He desperately wanted to unburden and bare his soul to Anselm but realised his new friend would probably call him a monster.
Time dragged on, and Parker waited. The silence in the room was as thick as a winter fog. How could he utter such words to a total stranger? How could he tell Anselm that his girlfriend of 12 years had been diced to pieces and kept inside his deep freezer. Why? Anselm may ask. ‘Oh,’ he may simply shrug his skinny shoulders and just give an excuse, maybe, because he caught her cheating and their seven-year old daughter, Amber, wasn’t his after all. How could he tell Anselm that he, Parker, was a psycho, a sociopath, a sadist whose pain went deeper than imagined? How in heaven’s name could he tell his new pal that he’d been in prison; a prison of the mind where walls whispered obscenities and the only respite he got would be to slash himself open. How could he say such words?
‘I don’t think I should be in this room,’ Parker finally said and a sad sigh escaped his trembling lips. ‘I should go now.’
He stood up but Anselm stopped him with a wave of his large hands.
‘Sit down,’ the older man said firmly. Parker obeyed, his eyes staring straight ahead.
‘You’ve done bad things. I see it in your eyes. Even there’s pain in death, killing yourself doesn’t make it all go away. Get yourself treated, ask forgiveness and turn yourself in. There’s still redemption son.’
John Parker stared at Anselm. His English was flawless, he’d dropped the German accent.
‘Who are you?’ Parker asked slowly.
‘I’m your conscience,’ was the apt reply and the room began to spin.
John woke up with a start, his heart beating wildly. He sat up and checked the bedside clock. It was 3 a.m. in the morning. He’d been dreaming, it was a huge relief but the incident in the dream wasn’t far from reality, his eyes sought his wife of 12 years who was sleeping soundly. He’d been hiding the voices in his head well, it was difficult explaining to his GP that he’d been battling severe depression for three years. After the loss of his job and his wife became the breadwinner, he’d slowly sunk deeper into the quagmire of depression.
There’s only one brave thing left to do, he tapped his wife gently on the shoulder, it’s better safe than sorry, he thought.
NP: Guys, I’m sorry I couldn’t post this story yesterday, I tried but life just got in the way. I totally had a different plot to this story but then, it occurred to me that men hide their frailty. They go through life as brave hearts, pillars, unmovable and then they crumple! If you’re a man reading this, please, don’t bottle things up if you’re not well. Life is in phases. Talk to your spouse, close friend or even your doctor. Depression affects a lot of people in our society today and some needless deaths could easily have been avoided if things hadn’t gotten out of hand.
The first part of this story is here if you want to catch up: http://seyisandradavid.org/2015/08/11/dreaming-when-awake/
I hope you’ll all have a wonderful weekend!
Much love, always!! :)
(Photo credit: Flickr)
“All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake up in the day to find it was vanity, but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.” T.E. Lawrence
John Parker threw the cheque into the river Thames, his eyes darting everywhere like a man on opium. He dug his right hand inside the pocket of his chinos trouser and brought out a rumpled paper, he stared at it for what seemed like ages, then tentatively, inched forward, staring down at the dirty muddy water. He held the railings of the Tower bridge and contemplated his actions. Tourists trooped by, some gave him quizzical looks while others swept him away with the views.
He swallowed hard and heaved himself up but strong pairs of hands held him back. John Parker was stunned, he struggled but the hands stayed firm, locked, clasping his shoulders in a bear grip.
‘Let me go!’ Parker screamed like a trapped animal. Quickly, a crowd had gathered. Some lifted their phones to film the unfolding drama while the hands which held Parker spoke rapidly to someone in German, ‘Annette , könnten Sie bitte die Polizei rufen ? Nein, rufen Sie 999 ,’ (Annette, could you please call the police? No, call 999) Parker realised his plans had gone awry and he hung his head in shame. The strong hands gently led him out of the crowds.
Twenty minutes later, John Parker sat in a hotel with the hands which actually belonged to a huge bear-like fellow with a weather-beaten face, scattered brown hair and very kind eyes.
‘My English no good, but me understand well,’ The man said quietly.
Parker nodded, wiping sweats off his face with the back of his hand.
‘Thanks for saving my life, it was a stupid thing to do,’ John Parker said, trying to avoid the eyes of his rescuer.
‘Okay, okay, my name Anselm.’
‘I’m John Parker.’ They shook hands and Parker began his story…
Hello friends, I hope everyone is okay. I’ve not written short stories on my site for a while, and I thought, why not? So this is a story that’s filled with life’s truths. I would post the penultimate part on Friday. Mull on the quote before the story and please, don’t stop dreaming positively!
Much love, always! :)
I believe in life after death, not every one does, but I do. Human beings aren’t merely flesh and blood, we have souls, and soul are indestructible. I’ve got friends who are atheists, so I’m not going to expand too much on this before I start a debate that would rival a sitting in the House of Commons.
Yesterday marked exactly ten years when people with warped views of life took the lives of 52 Londoners, they also left almost 100 people with life changing injuries and scars. Yeah I know, my post is a day late but the topic isn’t. After work yesterday, I caught a few glimpse on the news and was sad at such wanton destruction of human lives. But I was proud, (in fact, I still am) to be a Londoner. Years has passed, but we’ve grown stronger as a city. More tourists visited London than ever before, I love travelling on the tube, bus or on a private car. It’s testament to the fact that evil will and cannot win.
If we read the news, there’s always stuff that would make our tummies churn (my daughter always says that), but life isn’t all gore and horror. There’s the incomparable breath of fresh air, there’s the sheer joy of clean water, what about the juicy goodness of an orange? The list is endless, life is good, and it’s tough, I won’t dispute that.
The relatives of the 7/7 bombing and the senseless and needless attack in Sousse would be comforted by the love and prayers sent their way. I believe in prayers but I also believe in living each day with a heart of thanksgiving in spite of my circumstances, that, I believe is what would keep me sane and out of the ashes of stress and despair. My husband used to say that everyone has problems, it’s just our ways of dealing with life’s daily grind that’s different.
I would end my post with this simple quote from Groucho Marx, ‘I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.’ NP: I’m still writing, albeit slowly. I’ve informed my publisher of my inability to submit my manuscripts until next year. Life seems to have a way of sending many distractions my way and I always oblige :) I hope everyone is fine. Please, stay safe! Much love to you guys, always! :) :)
(Photo Credit: Flicker)
For the past two weeks, I’d thought of a girl I met several years ago, a girl who taught me about hope, she once told me that, ‘hope is an endless journey, it never stops because if it does, it ceases to be hope.’
This is a true story:
Roughly around thirty years ago, as I was pushing towards my tenth birthday, my dad moved us into an exclusive neighbourhood, it was an eight bedroom duplex with what we called boys-quarters at the back. It was massive with house-helps and guards posted to the front gate and all sorts of people tending the garden. The house fitted us perfectly, we were a large family of eleven. My mom had nine kids, but even at that, I desperately missed my friends.
I preferred our former house, it was a bungalow in a quiet leafy street where kids could play outside. Our new home was different, everyone I met tried to speak with a posh accent. I was wild at heart at that age, I loved adventures, running around, stealing past guards and walking through the woodlands behind our home, giving my poor parents such grief.
Then one evening in September, the African sun was slowly receding into the clouds, I sniffed the air in contentment as I strolled along the road which led to our home with one of my brothers. A girl my age walked past and waved, she wore a white dress and green sandals, I waved back, stealing one more look. She had the kindest eyes, and a lovely smile. I liked her at once, maybe I’d found a friend at last. Within two weeks we met properly. She lived on the next street, and her dad was in one of those boring clubs my dad frequented, where middle age men drink and exchange business ideas.
Ayo and I became fast friends, if she wasn’t in my house I was in hers. She was extremely beautiful, I nicknamed her ‘china porcelain,’ because my mom had a set of china plates and heaven helped whosoever dared touched the plates, I think I broke one or two though! :)
She was very fragile, her pale, pallor skin often gave her an ethereal glow, more like a ghost at times but we still played hard. Sometimes I’d noticed the worried expression on her dad’s face but I ignored it, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t understand why he always seemed so pensive. She was my best friend and I loved her to bits, I didn’t for once think anything could be wrong with her. Then one day I visited her house and saw her sweating on the couch, she looked very ill. I touched her forehead and it was so hot. Her dad came into the living room and walked her to the door. They left for the hospital and I couldn’t sleep well that night.
Ayo stayed in the hospital for two weeks, I was dying to hear news but my parents just told me she would fine. I knew something wasn’t right. It was like that for almost six months, Ayo would be fine for one week, then she would be sick for four. One day in March, we were almost a year in our new home when she came in for a visit. Her eyes were bright and she looked healthy, I sensed she wanted to tell me something and when she did, I was clueless. My best friend had ‘Sickle-Cell Anaemia,’ a terrible disease of the blood. When she left, I went into my dad’s library and rummaging through his vast array of encyclopaedias (there’s nothing like Google then) found information on the disease. What I read was too advanced for my age, but at best, I understood her condition.
Three weeks later, on a hot Friday afternoon, I went to her house and saw her on the bare floor, writhing in pain. This time around, it was serious, she was crying and I held her head in my hands. Her mouth was dry and her eyes were yellow.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I kept muttering under my breath. I think my voice did a little trick and she stopped crying. She managed to sit up and gave me a weak smile.
‘Seyi, don’t ever give up on hope, it’s what kept me going all these years.’ She said and I laughed.
‘You’re just weeks older than me.’ I said, still smiling, I wanted to wish away her illness and pain.
‘If I didn’t have hope, I would have gone, but I stayed for my dad…’ there was silence, ‘and you.’ She added with a twinkle in her eyes. We hugged tightly and I felt a tremor passed through her body.
‘It’s time,’ her dad muttered looking down at us. I felt lost and my heart was beating very fast.
I helped her to her feet and into her dad’s car. Her elder sister stood in the doorway, her ashen face portend sad tidings. I stood beside the car, I wanted to follow her but was too scared. My parents walked in through their gate and spoke tenderly to Ayo’s dad.
That night, my eyes stayed open. The next morning, I dashed to Ayo’s house but the gates were locked. A week later, Ayo was gone. In a way, I was relieved she was no longer in pain, for my ten-year old brain, an ordinary fever is hell compared to the endless pain Ayo endured for her short stay on earth. However, I won’t really remember her for that debilitating illness, I would remember her warmth, faith and hope. She was a girl who believed in hope, and for someone like that, why can’t we have hope?
Although she passed, but I believe she did when she wanted to, she was way older than her years. If she were to be here today, I knew she would still be spreading her message of hope. Thank God for science, people with Sickle cell lived longer and less painful lives now.
Thanks for reading my long story, I try to keep my posts short but I’ve not posted for almost six weeks and I sincerely hope I haven’t bore you. I apologise for my absence, It wasn’t deliberate. I would visit your blogs as much as time permits. I love you guys and I hope you’ll all enjoy the rest of this week.
Much love, always! :)
(Photo credit: Flickr)
The most constant thing in life is change. Sometimes we may try to fight it, other times, we could do the wise thing and let nature or life, as the case may be, take its course. As Heraclitus, the Greek Philosopher would say, ”there is nothing permanent except change.”
I agree, the only constant thing in life is change. George Bernard Shaw also penned that ”progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”
However, how do we enjoy the changing seasons of our lives? How do we glide seamlessly through the seemingly unknown tides of change? We could either attune our attitudes to conform to whatever changes are before us or despair which would do us more harm than good. Not all changes are bad, actually, some things needed changing to ultimately give us a breather in the chaotic life we sometimes lead.
Using myself as an example, I’d deliberately changed some aspects of my life, and life has thrust some changes on me too. Like when my dad passed, or when I left my job, or when I decided to go solo on my career. Those were necessary but not all changes are pleasant though; the death of a loved one, betrayals from people you love, not been able to keep up mortgage repayments, illness, financial worries…
The list is endless but there are good changes too; the chuckling of a baby, the miracle of new birth, finding love, nature, the beauty of life in its entirety. I could go on and on about changes. I don’t think we should shy away from it. Most times, a seemingly bad change in fortune could well be a catalyst for a better and more productive life.
When our situation changes, it will do us well to live in spite of it. Sir Pratchett said it best in the above picture. I think we should live well before it’s too late.
I’ve missed you all, and I hope you’re all well. I’ll be popping by your sites as time permits! Have a great Easter, and if you’re not a Christian, have a great holiday!
Much love guys! :)
(Photo credit: Flickr)
Life (love) is a pilgrimage. The wise man does not rest by the roadside inns. He marches direct to the illimitable domain of eternal bliss, his ultimate destination.
How does one attain bliss in life? How does one attain bliss in relationships? I don’t think there is a clean-cut answer, but I bet it starts with a pure heart. That doesn’t mean the pure don’t get dumped, they do, but they can always pick themselves up again and march on regardless of their situation.