“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I know the day is perfect the moment I open my eyes and see a crow at my window, with a brilliant blue sky beckoning to me. The day is perfect because I sense the pall of blue hanging over the world.
Life wouldn’t be perfect if it was all giggles and presents.
As I hear the cuckoo bird chime 8’O clock, I head out for school. It’s a short journey but I look forward to seeing how my world changed overnight. I remember the day I spoke to a stranger I’d see everyday on my way home from school, and learning I’d been living, shamelessly unaware of how he was our neighbour. He died the next day, no one quite knows how.
Since then, I see how enormously huge every second is, they whizz past so quickly but they remain engraved in the past.
I don’t see anything new although the store at the corner of the street hasn’t opened for the day yet. The stray I named Leah, is up and running, buses are right on schedule and I see our regular church-going neighbours, home from church and prepping for the day.
It’s lovely to see how life goes on on a path of its own, something we call routine in our little spheres.
With a pang of anxiety, I realise today’s the deadline for our group project and day we’re having a Calculus test. I’ve paved the way for the first few blues for today – how perfect indeed! I make hasty plans for a revision and estimate how many minutes I’ll get, to complete the project before the deadline.
I’m prepping for a war with time, yet again.
Same old, same old.
I feel like school came with a mental package I didn’t sign up for. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to someone and felt good about it and not awkward.
Life was a lot easier in middle school – everyone laughed in my face. Now they do it behind my back.
Any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.
― Clive Barker, Abarat: Days of Magic, Nights of War
The road home is contoured with leaves and petals, indications of a strong wind having passed through earlier. The very sight of the petal brimmed road, sets my heart at ease and reminds me of how gorgeous life is, when I look at it through the lens of a petty human.
Each petal and leaf are crafted to perfection, each curve and crevice complementing the other.
Pappa says we have angels in heaven, who are tasked with moulding each petal and grain of sand to the extent that perfection is redefined every moment.
I see the shadows falling on all the right places, creating a flawless sight sculpted to the highest pinnacle of beauty – an artist’s dream.
A perfectly happy life is a myth but I realise that being content with what we have, finding joy in the littlest of things, is undoubtedly the next best thing.
Besides I have a variety of lenses through which to view the world. That of a student, a daughter, sister and the more widely used ones of an overthinker and wanderer; all adorn my arsenal of lenses and I know at least one of them will show me what the other missed.
To be content with little is difficult; to be content with much, impossible.
― Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach, Aphorisms
I know everything will be fine as my dog welcomes me home, wagging his too-short tail to the best of his ability. The rest of the day proceeds as it always does.
I answer the quotidian questions of ‘How was school?’, do my homework and fall asleep while drawing or writing.
Now all I have to do is patiently wait till the sun decides to come by again.
The ninety and nine are with dreams, content, but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
― Edgar Allan Poe
*Willy is my five year old pet dog. He’s a pug (hence the short tail remark) and my best friend too!
I tried to draw him but as you can see it did not turn out well. Click here to read his answers to a cat’s questions!