The road not taken...

I look down at my notes again. I lost my thread of thought for a second. I have been explaining the principle of autoclave to you. And all of a sudden you come up with a hilarious incident that happened when you were left alone to use it by yourself. I laughed so hard. And then I see those dimples- deep deep dimples. And those shiny sparkling eyes. I lose my grip on reality and pressure.
We have been classmates for 3 years. I noticed you the first day. I did not speak to you till we were well into the second year. And then I discovered how much I truly liked you as a person. It was a joy to be with you. I spent a lot of time after college with you. I don't quite know how to describe what I felt. I never paused long enough to examine my feelings.
I have heard stories where one feels a way and the other doesn't and the friendship goes bust. I was not sure if I was in love, I was not sure if you felt the same way. I was not that brave. To express what I felt, then meet with rejection and lose your friendship. Call me a coward if you will. No..I was definitely that strong.
I'd rather have you for a friend for a lifetime. Yes, I think a few years from now, I will look back at these moments and wonder if I should have just told you. But for now, I am happy just being in your company and not jeopardizing anything.
I shush you and begin with the autoclave notes again..

Reconciliation

Everyone talks in hushed tones. Its a little hypnotizing like the bees buzzing, but this is not a happy occasion. And yet, I occasionally hear people's quiet laughter. My grandfather was a funny man too. He was a stubborn man, but no one can fault his sense of humor. I have often wondered why his humor never made him forgiving. He always said he believed in 3 chances for a person- the first to recover from his mistake, the second to see where the situation goes in case of deliberate doing and the third would ensure that they never would be in the situation again, because life would drastically change after that. Well this was pretty deep things to tell a 10 yr old that had just stolen a cookie. I always asked him for one after that.
I came to live with him after my parents decided that they wanted to go their separate ways and that I would be a burden. He took me in and brought me up. Saw to it that he never repeated the mistakes he did with my father. I was well fed, well cared for and I lived in a cheerful household.
I don't quite remember what set it off. I was 21 and hot blooded. I thought I knew things that he did not. He did not see it my way. I left in the middle of night. He tried calling me up. 3 times. And left it at that. I did too..
Its been 15 years and I got a call saying my grandfather passed away. After his funeral, I was handed a package by his best friend. He still wore the friendship band my grandpa gave him when they were in first grade. And in the package were stacks of letters. Letters about things he never told me, things that I thought he did not know.
Letters dating from 15 years ago...letters that he never sent.

Death of a dream

My head is heavy. My eyes squint at the light. I look into the mirror and I also see my eyes are bloodshot and that I have a stubble. I splash some cold water on to my face and I pause for a moment with my face inside my hands. How I wish I can just close my eyes and ignore the outside world. I shake my head wanting to wake up from whatever nightmare this is. I only feel the buzz from the heavy alcohol last night.

I walk out into the bedroom and see your side of the bed neat and straight. You did not sleep here last night. We haven't slept in the same bedroom for a long time now. I can not say I did not know this will happen, yet I am truly hurting that it did.

Everyone dreams of a perfect life. A perfect wife, a perfect job and a great package. I put in my 100% to the quest for all of it. I met her at a football game and she was everything I wanted. After a short courtship we married. Maybe it was too short.

I realize that we are not compatible. Maybe my expectations from a marriage was too high. Maybe underneath it all, I was a different person. Maybe we both look at things differently..Maybe we ought to have given it more time. Maybe I did not prove my love often enough. But sometimes as they truly say- Love is not often enough.

In all..the death of a dream. I have woken up.

Starting anew

I sit in the couch and stare at the blank canvas. I lie down and close my eyes for a few minutes, concentrating all my thoughts to a single point. And let me tell you that is hard. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I walk to the patio door, look out and breathe deeply. I look around as far as I can, craning my neck.
No. I don't see it anywhere. Inspiration is a bitch. I have had to look at the empty canvas for a month now. And everyday has been the same. Scouting for a spark that will help me paint a new idea, a new thought onto the blank bit. My thoughts have always been fluid. But now..now it seems like it has all dried up and I can't even paint the walls of my house if I have to. Its been dreary. I have sung, I have danced- even naked in the moonlight, grew a beard, twirled my mustache, drunk a bottle of vodka. Besides understanding that I am easily prone to colds and that I have a bad voice, I haven't discovered anything.
It is hard to see people now. They want to know what is up with me. How do I tell them no, nothing is.  I truly don't know what is wrong. Maybe I should see a shrink too.
I think its maybe time to put those brushed to rest, put it all down and start anew. And then it strikes me...starting anew..
I wake up early next morning and go to the roof. I stand in the early light of dawn and feel the sun's warmth light me up from inside and I paint and paint and paint...

The W's

Why is it harder to find something that the guests request when the house is clean and the same thing in a dirty house is literally the first thing you pick off the floor?