New world
Cast down your shadows
No one, her
Getting from A to B
I hadn’t much considered the prospects of tomorrow. Perhaps it was that tomorrow existed in a space and time that I could never quite wrap my head around. The unpredictable nature of it all made it feel more like an illusion then a place I may one day visit, much like a mirage in the desert. And just like a mirage perhaps it is a symptom of dehydration. It may be that any disease that causes the warping of the concept of reality, or even reality itself, in one’s mind is where it comes from. The result of a sickness that has long since taken it’s hold on humanity. Replacing any fragment of cynicism with hope, and the avenue through which this was achieved was with the destination of tomorrow, and the logic that if you add all your tomorrows up, you may arrive at an even more astonishing place.
The sum of tomorrows is bliss
Walking through the desert, sand blistering against your skin, your body slowly betraying you, achingly moving towards ultimate demise. Then the allusion to water; an unfulfilled promise, yet a promise that relies on your body acting against it’s natural deterioration, finding within itself a reserve energy bank, kept locked deep and hidden away, but awakened at the prospect of survival. Awakened by the hope that the images are real, that there are in fact palm trees, in the desert, that those ancient palms may bear fruit. That, if there are trees, there must be a source of water, because vegetation needs hydration to sustain itself. And if there may be but a drop of water in a dried up basin, that the basin may be the result of a much larger body of water. And if there is water in the desert, then surely there will be a town, and the town will undoubtedly see merchants come and go, and those merchants may travel as far as the sea. Should they travel that far then there would be a dock with ships, and perhaps one weary old captain would take pity on one who had such a long and tiresome journey that he would agree to take you aboard and all you need do is pull your weight on deck, and soon you would be home and far from the desert and it’s unforgiving sun and sand.
So, in the desert, it was not just the palm trees that give the traveller strength, but rather the sum of the possibilities. Similarly, there is tomorrow, which is often difficult and dreaded, but the sum of tomorrows is bliss.
Herein, I find my heart heavy. Of course, we do not always consider each and every link in the chain reaction, our minds do that for us; quickly deducing all the possibilities and most likely outcomes. In this way, it is understandable that we only see the point A, which is here and now, and point B, which is somewhere and sometime in the future that is not quantifiable. There could be the breadth of infinity between A and B, yet somehow, our minds force us to see the endpoint, often, without considering the journey it would take to get there. So when thinking of the amount of possible miles between point A and point B, I feel my heart sink; how could we ever hope to get there? To get to a place and time where you feel at complete ease with the universe and that everything you had come to desire along the way, had somehow become part of a tangible reality, that is arguably the goal of the majority of mankind.
The only tricky thing about a mirage in the desert is that you have to be awake to see it. In order to see one, you have to wake up every day, and keep moving. Eventually, your body will see something that sends overflowing waves of hope through you. And so, you are able to carry on, on your journey to tomorrow. There will always be things to reignite a spark.
My inability to fathom the existence of a time and place completely separate, yet not removed from this moment is definitely challenging. While I know that the existence of such a place is undoubtedly true, as I have experienced a good deal of tomorrows, I also know that the mirage serves a greater purpose than simply to keep us searching for water in the desert. The journey to tomorrow can often be tiring, just as trudging through a desert is, though I think tomorrow serves as an opportunity for us to get better along the journey. That on our way to tomorrow we grow and learn, so that when we arrive in “tomorrow” we might be able to handle greater dunes in the desert or more venomous snakes hiding in the sand.
It isn’t just about the first mirage, or the second, it’s all of them, all of the hopes for the future, and all of the experience of all the yesterdays and tomorrows that contribute to an arrival at point B; somewhere and sometime quite unquantifiable.
Living in a post card
The air in the lounge had been borderline suffocating. My glass had almost slipped from my hand as I brought it to my lips due to the perspiration on my fingers. It was not so much the sweltering heat of the evening, but rather my nervousness that had gotten the better of me. If I did not calm down I would turn into a puddle soon. Not to mention the effort I had put in to doing my makeup just right and applying the exact amount of perfume to the soft skin of my neck and wrists, and of course, the red dress would all be for nothing if I continued to perspire.
It was all a bunch of sillyness really. And the biggest silly of it all was the dress. I knew it. I had asked myself what I was thinking when I had bought it. Even if I had just bought it I would be able to forgive myself, but I specifically went looking for it, knowing full well that this grand sherade I had meticulously thought out would amount to absolutely nothing but tears. Yet still, I could not restrain my feet from carrying me through the roads in town, strolling past all the store windows. I could not stop my eyes from wandering over the displays and the mannequins. I could not even stop myself from trying the blasted dress on when I finally found it, and I could not stop myself from buying it either. Rediculous, truly rediculous.
I sit there, on the emerald sofa, glass in had, wondering just how much of a fool I am about to make of myself. The sigh I release as I place the glass back on the coffee table is dismal and as much as I want to collapse back on to the sofa I decide it is probably best if I move to the belcony. I would go and change out of the dress and into something less desparate but my guest is set to arrive any minute now, so the only resort I have left is to move to the balcony in order to save what is left of my frayed nerves.
The instant rejuvenation the evening air offers is a brief reprieve from my overbearing sense of disappointment in my complete lack of self preservation. All because of a red dress. In fact, the red dress was not the primary source of the issue, the source was in fact, a great deal smaller.
I had been sitting at a corner Cafe nursing a cup of coffee some years ago. The table I sat at had been right next to the entrance, and was the one I reserved every morning at eight for half an hour. I had already read my paper when a man I was not familiar with had slumped himself into a seat at the table on the opposite side of the door. He carried a satchel with a great number of sheets of paper sticking put here and there, a pen stain on the bottom left side of the bag, a pair of gloves clipped to one of the rings on the strap and a pair of spectacles peaking out the front pocket.
When the waitress came over to take his order he replied with “I’ll have whatever she is having, to go, please” while gesturing towards me with a shrug of his shoulders and a slight nod of his head. When the waitress left he carried on by saying “I’m too tired to care very much about what coffee I have.”
“Hangovers will do that to you.” I replied. To which he laughed briefly.
“I’m not hungover,” he said simply “I was interviewing a rockstar that lives around here last night.” at that I almost spat out my coffee.
“You don’t mean…” I said sceptically.
“Precisely,” he smiled. “So I think it’s rather self explanatory how it is the evening ended up going, but I was working so I wasn’t drinking,” he explained, “I was, however, rather close to a couple of men with a funky smelling cigarette and so I think that is the cause of my blinding headache.” I tried to control myself, but burst into a fit of giggles.
“I’m so glad my pain amuses you” he says in the midst of my laughter.
“I’m sorry” I said, placing my hand on my chest to calm myself “it’s not so much the fact that you’ve gotten yourself a migraine off of second hand smoke, it’s just-“
“Yes?” he interjected curiously with a slight upturn of his lips
“You seem so ordinary.”
“Ordinary?”
“Yes,” I giggle “orginary.”
“Well,” he says, pulling a pen from his bag and bringing out a postcard from the front pocket, “I’ll have to immediately write to my sister telling her about a mad-woman I met at the coffee house who had the audacity to call me ordinary.”
“You can’t exactly do that without your glasses can you?” I ask pointedly while referring to his spectacles still peeking out the front pocket of the untidy bag.
He looked to the bag, the spectacles, did an almost unnoticeable head shake, and lifted his gaze to meet mine. He had a look of amused bewilderment, the look you get when you just witnessed a magic trick happen before your eyes; you didn’t know exactly what had just transpired, yet you found that somehow you find the one side of your mouth turned upwards in a smirk at the very nature of simple astonishment. And so our eyes stayed on eachother, as I found my own expression mirroring his; equally astonished.
It was not until the waitress had repeated “Sir, your coffee” for the forth time that we broke eye contact rather sheepishly. Embarrassed at the whole situation, I turned my attention back to my now cold coffee. Out of the corner of my eye I was mildly aware of him paying the waitress, her going back into the Cafe and him emptying about five sugar sachets into his to go cup. Then I heard the scraping of his chair as he got up and dared myself to raise my gaze as he was slinging his satchel over his arm.
Once he did, he looked at me, smiled again, then looked gown at his bag, and rifled around in it for a few moments, then felt the pockets of his trousers, growing a bit antsy, and finally feeling the pocket of his large tan coat. From there, he pulled out a pen, retrieved the post card he had discarded on the table earlier and began to scribble a note on the back.
“Look, I’m going out of town this evening,” he said as he turned to me, “but I’ll be back next week. If you like, give me a ring and maybe I can introduce you to that Rockstar fellow.” He placed the postcard on my table, and looked at me once again.
“It was lovely to meet you…” he said, waiting for me to give him my name. Looking up at him, I found myself on the verge of blushing.
“I’ll give you my name after I meet the Rockstar,” I said, with a laugh playing on my lips.
At that he nodded and let out a low chuckle.
“I can live with that.”
I did meet the musician, though he failed to live up to my expectations. And so it was at that Cafe, all those years ago, that we became friends and I let that damned girl in the red dress on the postcard work it’s way into my mind. And here I am nursing a cocktail instead of a coffee, and hoping, beyond hope, really, that there is something more to the years of wishing that I lived in that postcard.
At the very least, the breeze had calmed my nerves, and I’m sure the alcohol had contributed to that. Nevertheless, I felt more comfortable in my dress, less nervous. Then, finally, the doorbell rang, and I knew I had to step out of the postcard.
By: Leilah Bhyat
Cartoons solve all your problems
All I seem to want to write about lately has to do with the fact that I want to complain about people complaining.
I am not one to lecture or judge, but “to be frank” as my sister loves to say, the last few months have been nothing but complaints and things going from bad to worse to (insert word that is worse then the word ‘worse’ here.) I do not know about anyone else’s head space, but I am pretty sure it looks something like this:
Spongebob Squarepants 
Bugs Bunny
I really do feel for Spongebob and Bugs, that many years in the TV industry…no wonder they look like that.
What I think is really quite ‘neat’ about cartoon characters like these two, is that you never see them complaining too much. No matter how many hunters come after Bugs Bunny, he just takes them as they come and always winds up beating the s*#t out of them. (This blog is rated PG.) He uses the things he is good at to get the better of people that pose a threat to him, he takes his time and uses his wit and intelligence to make sure he is never in too much danger.
The thing I find really impressive about Bugs though, is that he has never hidden from anyone or anything. He always kept the entrance to his burrow in the open, and did not move for anyone, he did not let anyone take away his peace of mind. I think the reason for this was that he was so sure within himself and so confident in his capabilities to ward off any hunters or predators that he never felt the need to hide away or run in fear. Instead, he found a way to best his opponents in ways that suited his strengths. And it didn’t hurt that he always rewarded himself with a carrot at the end.
Spongebob is not much different. He failed his boating (driving) test 1, 258, 058 times. (I had to google that one.)
Driving a car (boat in Spongebob’s world) is something that is essential for many people. I am sure that Spongebob thought it was, or he wouldn’t have taken the test so many times. I can’t recall him complaining about this once. And still, he carried on studying to take the test, despite any discouragement he may have gotten from his peers or his teacher (something that, in the real world, is extremely disheartening.)
Of course these are silly examples, but I do believe that sometimes it helps to see that sillyness in things in order to gain some perspective. Simply put, if a cartoon character can do it, why can’t you?
The next time you are faced with negativity ask “What would a cartoon character do?” If the answer is “Drop an anvil on it” I would not suggest this course of action as you may be held liable for any damage you may cause. However, if the answer is, “Eat a crabby patty” or “Carrots make everything better” then perhaps you can take time while you are chewing to think about if anything that is bothering you is really going to make a difference five years from now. If not, “Would Spongebob care?” HELL NO.
If the answer is “Yes, it would matter five years from now,” then perhaps you should consider dropping an anvil on it. It might just save you some time.
And another thing 