To The Man Of My Dreams

Posted on by Prie

I’ve seen you, not all of you at once. But I’ve seen parts of you in guys I’ve dated, guys I’ve been friends with, mere acquaintances and passers-by. Maybe I haven’t travelled the world enough to see all of you in one person. But patience, my love, someday I will.

I once dated a guy who cared for me just like you’d care for me. When he smiled at me, the world drifted away. He worried about me, day in and day out, making sure tears never left my eyes. Whenever I felt uncomfortable or scared, he’d hold my hand in a death-like grip, giving me a warm assuring smile. A smile that could melt mens fierce hearts. On winter nights, we’d wear our warm, fuzzy sweaters and go on these long drives around town where he would listen to me blabbering for hours. But nothing lasts forever and both our hearts changed.

I was friends with a guy with whom I had just as engaging conversations as I’d like to have with you. He was clever, smart, witty but most importantly, I never grew tired of him. I talked to him every day for two years and still couldn’t get enough. We had an amazing online relationship for he was textrovert. We tore each other’s personal space and I knew more about his bathroom breaks than my homework. The lack of offline chemistry is what ultimately made us fall apart.

I knew a guy on first name basis who was so beautiful that I wanted to cry. He was a specimen that had to be conserved, the kind that makes maidens weak in the knees. The day he started wearing glasses was the end of me. Though I still remain smitten by him, he taught me a valuable lesson. Looks won’t be enough to last a lifetime. The man of my dreams, I want you to know that I will sometimes be attracted to a guy like that but you will forever hold my heart, not him.

I used to see a guy at my local library, that was drowning in an aura of mystery. I saw him days on end but never once saw him smile. He looked like the kind of guy who puts on a barrier but is extremely vulnerable once you dared. Many times, I thought of reaching out. Ask him about how he ended up with the deepest turquoise in his eyes, why he hadn’t shaven for days or why he never smiles. I hope that you, the man of my dreams, would talk to me if something’s ever troubling you and not go swimming in an ocean of self-pity and loathing.

The man of my dreams, I expect so much from you and yet all I have to offer to you is a sinful, imperfect soul. But if you’ll have me, I’ll be the luckiest woman across seven continents.

Childhood Fear

Posted on by Prie

Everytime my local newspaper published a road accident, my mother made it a habit to read out the details to me in the most gruesome way possible, hoping that when it was finally time for me to drive, I would be so scared that I wouldn’t speed up or break a rule.

She was right. She did scare me, possibly scarred me. Because everytime I drove, I drove in fear. A general fear is important when you drive but this was no ordinary fear. It was instilled in me through years of gore stories, sometimes made-up but nonetheless crazy scary.

When I drove, I drove to live, to survive by assuming that everything around me was there to kill me. Calculating the various permutations and combinations of death in my head, I never truly enjoyed driving. Whenever I took a turn, I looked haphazardly both ways trying to avoid the speeding car that’ll knock my brains out on the concrete road and send my body flying in the air.

But today was different. It is peak summer in my town but yesterday it rained heavily, with lightening showers and therefore the weather today was of a curious nature. The wind was warm for one second and cold the next. The sun was high up in the sky but its rays were too soft for me to notice. The hair on my arms swayed happily.

So I slowly started accelerating. My mother’s stories flashed before my eyes but I said to myself, “Not today”. I wasn’t breaking any rules and there was practically no one ahead. Soon I think I was flying. Ultimately I had to slow down but I think I came a long way today in overcoming this childhood fear.

The Traveller’s Tale

Posted on by Prie

“You are welcome to stay with me child.
Give this old man and his wife company on this cold winter night.”
A weary traveller lost and far from home,
Took up this offer when he couldn’t roam anymore.

Over a cup of coffee and a bowl of pottage,
The two men exchanged their stories.
The old man talked lovingly of his wife
Till midnight when it was time to retire to bed.

The traveller soon fell into a deep slumber
On the warm bed with his stomach content.
It wasn’t until half past three that he woke up again
To some strange noises coming from the old man’s room.

He didn’t knock out of courtesy for his host’s sleep.
He peeped through the keyhole to make sure everything’s okay.
He froze numb at the gore view that consumed him;
Of the old man making love to a dead woman’s rotten corpse.

He stepped back and ran back as fast as he could.
Only to stop and breathe within the confines of his room,
When he heard a knock and the voice of the old man,
“Son, would you like to meet my wife now that you’re awake?”

Invictus (Unconquerable)

Posted on by Prie

On a warm summer day as I sat on my balcony with my chair arched all the way back, listening to the breeze that carried the stories of faraway lands, my sister handed me a Jeffery Archer book. Knowing well how I worshiped this man drenched in crime and mystery, I asked her, “Did my birthday come earlier this year?”

“Do you want it or not?” came back a stern reply.

I gave her a grateful nod and proceeded to sniff the book. The dry weather that consumed my town in the first few weeks of summer, couldn’t stop this book from smelling like a breath of spring even though it was basically about Archer’s first few years in prison. Sure, this man committed a crime but at least he got a lifetime full of stories and some foul-weather friends out of it. Not a bad deal.

As I flipped through the first few pages, I came across this poem which I hold dear to this day. For a long time, this poem gave me courage. The power I garnered through its words was all mine. But now I think it’s time for me to stop being selfish and share it with the world.

Invictus by William Ernest Henley was written when the poet was weakened by the clutches of death. Tuberculosis is a cruel disease, they say. It tried to break him, but it couldn’t and thus led to the birth of a cultural touchstone that’ll find its words on the lips of powerful people like Winston Churchill, Nelson Mandela and Aung San Suu Kyi.

Well, then what makes it so great, so worthy? I’ll let you decide by citing its most famous verse –

“It matters not how strait the gate, 
How charged with punishments the scroll, 
I am the master of my fate, 
I am the captain of my soul.”

Whenever I feel like I’m about to topple off with the weight of the world upon my shoulders, I tend to repeat these lines in front of the mirror again and again till I fully absorb the vigour and vitality of these words.

The poet affirms that it doesn’t matter where your religious alliance lies, and whether you are a believer of Heaven or Hell. You are steering your own ship and you are in control of your own fate. You are no one’s puppet. You can overcome dark times if you have the courage to be brave; you can truly be unconquerable.

Here’s the link to the complete poem.