Between two breaths is life

I think in our lifetime, we experience many moments of rebirths. It takes dramatic changes for some to realize this new beginning. For others, it is every breath of air inhaled.

Fisherman in the city

I saw a man crossing the road with a fisherman's hat, rubber boots and a branch in his left hand. Down busy Laurier Ave West, where men wore suits and women wore dresses. & I thought to myself,
What a picturesque moment it was.
The man seemed to be cropped out of a children's book.

In a paradox city where conformity defines what is sane,
Yet, madness is cowardliness when revealing the true self.

Disclosure to closure

The night was cold. But as was every of the 8 nights in El Novillero. But I suppose there was something about that night that caused a surge of warmth inside of me. In the back corner of my mind, I knew my emotions played a role in generating this subtle heat. I was volatile. Fragile and filled with feelings I could not comprehend. At any given moment, I knew could burst or break. But what kept me together was the presence of sixteen others around me. 

And the basketball.
The dark brown, and barely inflated ball being thrown around seventeen of us.
And I thought then. That if a flimsy ball was capable of withholding what little left of air in it, then I could contain myself. It was reassuring in some weird way to believe that I was made of rubber. 

So we sat and some of us sang, whispered and reflected. All seventeen of us, on the cement court between two nets. The very court that soaked our sweat for a week. Where the highland sun blazed and burnt our skin. Where little Maya Kiche girls and boys giggled and teased me into distraction, between wheeling wheelbarrows and shovelling gravel. Now all I hear are echoes of their laughters and apparitions of their infectious smiles...


At some point, we laid on our backs, against the cold, grey ground. In silence.

The infinite stars above me. Winking away at almost every inch of the darkness. I searched for the Big Dipper, and could barely locate it. I finally found my voice to question my friends if it was possible to see Big Dipper from Guatemala. Someone responded affirmatively, yes.

The only constellation I had ever known to trace in my lifetime. The very one that willingly reveals itself to me almost every time I sought for it. The same one that I saw on the bus to Montreal on the way to the airport before our flight...Big Dipper had camouflaged itself into its peers of million others.


And I was taken aback.At the beauty designed into perfection above, and presented itself to me. The universe opened itself. I felt tinier than the stars above. And the hills and mountains all around offered relief. I was overwhelmed, yet my heart was full. Filled with love I could not tell then if I deserved. I was experiencing seventy-five emotions at once, then finally I found calmness.


Like I understood everything, in that moment of epiphany. My surrounding- from the sky to the ground- embodied an experience I had frequently thought about only in my head and would sometimes reveal with words. It was surreal. My train of thoughts turned into a physical experience, resonated by the stars, sky, and earth around me. It was a moment of disclosure and of closure. 


I realized how infinitesimal I was. How vulnerable. My existence was limited, and my capabilities are restricted to what was prescribed to me. I became aware of my fragility, and how fallible I was. All throughout my twenty years, I have been teasing with the idea of "changing the world". The thought had sowed ego, yet at the very moment I felt weak. Yet it was that moment of weakness that I realized, I am only human. There is a higher Being, and He knows me.


I accepted everything thrown to me. I accepted that my stay in a country I had made my own, was temporary. I accepted that I may have been a foreigner, but this earth is my home and not mine alone. I accepted that I have a place to return to, and more tasks to fulfil. I accepted that it was possible to know love, even if language is incapable of expressing.


And probably the most sobering thought was this. I accepted that I am confined to my limitations as a human, and although I will never change the world, I know I am capable of some things. And these things begin with myself. I am capable of loving, sharing, helping and learning.



The night was a gift.
And as many have promised eternity before the stars, I knew this was a memory that will last eternally with me.

And it has. This is a memory conjured up so frequently. Often during my darkest days. Upon my return, I have often found relief and comfort from reflecting on this memory. It serves as a constant reminder of who I am and what I am capable of. More than anything, it reminds me that I can be anywhere yet still be at home....as long as the sky and stars still hover above me. And as long as I have faith sown within me.

Contracts and Promises

The general principle of contract is "offer, acceptance and deliver"
What is imminent is the component of 'commitment'.
Promises are also commitments.
But contracts are more enforceable than promises.
The saying goes, that promises are made to be broken.

In contracts, a breach is ground to seek remedy.
Promises are similar to contracts, but not entirely-
But what do humans seek for when promises are broken?

Sweltering

My window is left ajar to my left, as it begs for summer breeze to blow. Wafts of warmth enters instead, igniting my forehead and neck to respond feverishly with sweat. To my right, the fan blows. It spins in a frenzy but only serves to discharge more heat, repelling the sombre and unwelcome entrance from my window.

I sit in between. The fan and the window. Like a fence-

Or a net rather,
Of a table-tennis game.
                                                     The sweltering heat is the ping-pong ball.

And although light streams through the pane
Nuanced clouds have triumphed over the evening sun
I breathe in dry dusty earth and anticipate the mucky smell of nature-
I love how the rain smells.

Perhaps, the rain will carry with it whistles of coolness.

Sepia

Some lyrical lines of a song can touch the core of your soul...deep enough to leave you breathless with a nostalgic scar.

Some phone calls can do the same too.

Mahogany

Your eyes, they burn like the desert's sun,
Emanating heat against my naked skin
They pierce beyond flesh,
Leaving redness to swell on my bronzed cheek
& deeper to my core, conquering territories
Stripping me cold, soundless and empty

The same eyes, with milky whiteness that reflect
The solemnly glow of the moon
Once held a gaze filled with stencilled promises into parchments
Of vows that left my inner core to feel full-
Smudged ink and stains remains shredded in loom

Your eyes, with bold mahogany-coloured darkness,
They whisper eloquently
Of poetries and praises that seldom escape those crimson lips

I find refuge in
The silence of responses that resounds
For poised between verses that are unpronounced-
Is affinity
That only your eyes can speak of.

     Yours, is the weapon that disarms me

     & the very same that conjure tempests within me

     And affirms-

    And calms me
Defining the parade of love in between.

On peut content de sa peau

To find myself overdressing five days a week;
In collared shirts, flirty skirts, and swirly dresses-
Slaving away into sophistication
Or rather tangled and twined up into a dress code.
In khaki Capri and black flip flops over weekends;
Dressing down has never felt so liberating.

Ellie Goulding's voice sounds like broken glittery stars.

Notepad

Twitter shall be my notepad.
A place to vent out random thoughts, incoherent phrases and unfinished sentences...
To be polished and redefined here, on this blog.

If you tweet, follow my train of thoughts:
@ShafiqahMuhamad

My little goal.

Two days ago, I bumped into a former colleague who teased me about my nose. Last I saw him, I was sunburnt only around the nose. For some reason, the comment stirred an idea...

Today, I have pinned up two printed photos from my Guatemala trip in February and a postcard of Lago de Atitlan I bought from Panajachel on my cubicle. I guess in some way, the photos serve as a motivational mechanism. I do plan on going back to El Novillero again next year.

How Guatemala seems more homely to me than my own birth country continues to puzzle me.

Right now, I am REALLY missing this little guy and his infectious smile....

Rupture

I am the vulnerable and vulgar

Your catastrophe wrapped in a dress
I have you between my finger
But your dark cold eyes-
The very ones I love,
See through my contradictions,

          & leave me feeling naked
          Like the trellis of lost summer,
          The leaves have abandoned me


I pathetically sought refuge
From your penetrating existence
Reassuring, reaffirming
But not regretting
I am wrapped in self-pity,
On a canvas of my own stitched skin-
I thought thicker than my own esteem;

          But my ego buoys by the bay,
          Threatening to rupture

So I stood still,
& let my fears, tears
everything underneath speak
While my tightened throat clasped sore and shut

           A shadow is cast when the sun hangs above
          But darkness is only a fragment contained within boundaries,
         Beyond the limit, 


I desperately thought
       ...is light.

Tea & Earrings

Berry lemon tea from Bridgehead,
I like mine with a hint of honey replacing sugar
I have had it for two mornings now during my break
I couldn't tell whether it was tea that soothed me from the busy week
Or the guilt-free fair trade label.
Or both.

& on the topic of consumerism,
I wore my new earrings to work today-
They are vertical rectangles, metallic, bent with artistic trellis
I bought them yesterday with MJ after work
I think they will be my new favourite pair.

Nothing tastes as sweet as what I can't have.

Lazy Sundays

It's 4pm. My bed is unmade. I've got a nutella on two slices of bread. Sparkling Italian juice which burns my throat in my favourite mug. Pages of Jose Saramago waiting to be read. I love lazy Sundays.

Sunflower

Miss me like the docile sunflower
Endearingly smiling at the sun

Yet, begging for a sprinkle shower
From a gentle summer rain.

After taste

I cannot tell if this is bitterness gone sweet
Or sweetness turned bitter
Your words leave my tongue repulsed like a morning after taste
They echo in my ear-
Muting the drone of the busy streets

& although the heaviness has shrugged-
Off the slump of my shoulder
I can tell you that what stale forgiveness once remained
Has stirred into sourness

Plankton and tea

It's a lemon-honey tea
& guitar on the bed
with messy comforter
kinda weekend.

Vanilla Latte

Foamy like sponge,
Yet not as cushioned
Tarnished on its imperfect rim,
Coffee coloured, but bread-crust brown
That kissed the caramel skin of my upper lip
With a hint of vanilla inhaled.

I savoured every sweetness that melted into the tip
Of tiny little buds of my pink and porous tongue
Let my throat subtly squeeze
At the pleasure of prickly bitterness

Warmth invades my chest,
And tumbles away to my insides
As I daintily released from my fingertips
The archness of porcelain white,
I wilfully let its clinking chime harmonize-
With the cacophony of the ambiance

As the cup is embraced by the saucer,
I embraced blissfulness.

Doors Open Ottawa

I had a pretty fantabulous Saturday. Doors Open Ottawa allowed me to visit landmarks I wouldn't usually visit on other days. The following are places I explored:

1. Fairmont Chateau Laurier
2. Government Conference Centre (Formerly a railway station)
3. Embassy of Ireland
4. Embassy of Sweden
5. Embassy of South Africa
6. Rideau Hall
7. 7-Rideau Gate (guest house)

Ottawa is such a rich city with so many historical sights and sounds. I experienced the "capital" essences today during my little adventure, between international bits and local liveliness. There is nothing like French and English voices droning in the air, or friendly people advising places to visit while shamelessly sharing their life stories during bus rides....and funny bus drivers teasing me for how silly I looked when I ran desperately to chase after a leaving bus.

I took a little detour before heading home, and sat at my favourite coffee pub just to write. I bought a mini notepad, to jot my thoughts and lines that may emerge randomly throughout the day. The barista struck a quick conversation with me about Dollarama, upon glimpsing at my plastic bag which carried scissors and sponges for my kitchen.

Between sips of my latte, I  decided I made the right choice in choosing Ottawa to pursue a post-secondary education. I felt content. My soul was calm. After three years in this city, my heart felt at home. The quirks and antiquity of Ottawa has grown into me. I was very much at ease, that I decided to walk along Bank St. and take the longest way to my house. 

I spend most of my time by myself within the past years. I have friends, but selectively reserve myself to few who I can trust. I find that I've learned more about myself and generally become more receptive of my own growth or paradigm when I am alone. Reflection is something I often engage in. My mind conveys clarity and succinctness when my lips and vocal chords are silenced. I am not much of an introvert, nor am I an extrovert. But I think I am in between. I appreciate both sides of me, and constantly find myself seeking equilibrium alternatively between one over the other...

Sushi, Imagery & Root Canal

This summer is turning out to be more interesting than ever. Between sipping minty cocktail over seafood linguine with Christine. To lunch missions with the work girls (within time constraints), to satisfy spontaneous sushi cravings...

Probably the highlight of my week was a moment of enlightenment for me. I found out in my poetry class today that I need to improve on my use of imagery. To find a focus that needs work and practice is exciting. It makes me feel productive. A part of me is slightly worried of losing my writing style. I've become really comfortable and attached to the way I write. But then again, the whole point of joining the class was to expand on my style. I did complain my poetries have started to all sound the same. I am seeking for versatility, after all. There is so much more to gain than lose.

Also, I am scheduled for a root canal procedure this Tuesday with my dentist. I have only heard of the procedure once, in Finding Nemo. And  I am more worried about my tooth permanently extracted than the effects of the pain. All I can say in light of my vanity, is that my smile will never be the same if any of my tooth goes missing....

Phantom

How does one rinse the mind,
When it becomes infected with
Guilty-sweet vignettes of nostalgia?
For I fear the phantom would reappear-
When I've long shook the opera into silence.

Blooming brellas

Rain drops trickled like tears,
While thunder strummed the chord of resentment
Umbrellas of brightly designed
Bloomed like the summer petals.