Part 7 – Butterflies and Hurricanes

7 12 2007

The first drops of rain came as a blessing, soothing out the stress of a complicated day. The orange sky blurred the certitude of not being in a dream. A sky blistered through all the years of massive pollution produced by billion dollar industries still sucking on the last parcels of healthy atmosphere left. Somewhere all of us know this is just never going to stop. All this was merely the side effects of another highly polluting agent; money.

He gazed at the heavens and felt the few drops on his face, as a recognition of his understanding. His face was all wet but he couldn’t be sure if it was rain, or merely unstoppable tears. His hands tightened around the straps of his gig bag as he rushed past the busy metropolitan crowd. He has always dreamed of living in the city, among the concrete jungle where one can lose himself far from the daily torments of a tedious routine life. It was like living in a more unorganised version of an ant colony, where each member of the society is a mere peon, playing a trivial role in a cast of millions of actors. The feeling of being part of it all is utterly overwhelming. He felt alive amongst this pile of chaos.

The deafening sound of rushing vehicles lured him. This uncontrollable urge soon seemed to be pulling him harder towards the busiest crossroad, where thousands of vehicles swooped by nearly in a blur. The blur slowly turned into a tornado of mist and glowing colours, sucking him in. Out of nowhere, he was at a familiar bridge again, and the rushing water beneath made him feel dizzy. The darkness of the night seemed to enclose on him, pulling him deeper into a state of trance, he could feel the air gushing through his hair, and the water below came closing in. He tried to recall how he landed there, but it was like trying to look at your shadow through a smoke tinted glass. The scene began to change as if by enchantment, and he could feel being sucked upwards…

His sleep was disturbed by the powerful scent of a lady’s perfume. As the nurse entered the room propagating a scent triggering thousands of compelling emotions and memories. Recollections of childhood, of his mother, of thousand of nameless places he’s been. The fragrance was intensely mystifying, diffusing as the welcoming mist preceding the heavy monsoon rain. He would recognise that soft and yet so intense scent anywhere. It constituted one of the rare moments of pleasure he could be blessed with.

As the nurse gave him the usual daily injections, the only thing he felt was the soft touch of her hands on his bare skin. Her voice was still more mesmerising, defying that of the most enchanting mermaid. She used to talk to him, while meticulously repeating each steps of his daily massage. She could talk for hours, her voice only disturbed by the frequent rustle of her blue bracelet. And he found himself transported to her world fantasies, and her never ending “love experiences”. That term sounded a little out of context.

She was somewhat similar to many people he’s come across; beautiful, intelligent, charming and yet so naively fragile. The way she fell in love so easily was beyond his comprehension. Is it really love anyway? She would date a guy for a few weeks, be completely in love, tell him everyday how much she loves him, build her whole world around him, then one day, the guy would breakup simply because she was becoming too possessive, controlling and invasive. She would be completely broken for a few days. Then one day, she’s with another guy, probably saying the same things. The process starts all over again.

So can her feelings really be described as pure passionate love? He doubts so. Her ability to move on unhindered in such a short period of time itself is proof enough for the validity of what she felt. Sometimes he wonders how many out there really grasp the true meaning of love. In most cases it’s rather pure emotional and physical dependence misunderstood for love. That’s why people can move on so easily. ‘Cause what really matters is not who the person is, it’s how you feel when you are with that someone.

In a way, love is merely a wrecked raft striving to survive in an ocean of emotions. It’s all a matter of the heart, or of the brain rather. But it’s surely more poetic to follow the common rhetoric about the heart’s intrinsic link with emotions. Sometimes he would ponder on the question. Despite all that he could believe, or thought he knew, in a way things were preferably left unexplained. He could stress on the belief that love needed a reason to survive, but relationships need more than love. He often told friends that what they felt was far from being love, and the relationship would simply not work out, but in a way maybe what that individual needed was merely his own perception of love.

We are all guided but the basic instinct to reach for happiness, in whatever way or figure we could possibly fancy. We can’t possibly judge actions or inactions of individuals, simply because we are not them. It’s human nature to evolve, to adapt, on the other hand, it’s also human nature to refuse those changes…

He gazed at the hands of the wall clock ticking endlessly around the same axis, just like we revolve around our perception of life and reality, escaping crossroads we ourselves created.




One response

19 12 2007
daily health

Couldn’t imagine how would a better writer of skill would write.

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