Tales of The Little Star

At the edge of the Universe there hung a star in the sky. It felt so lonely sitting there, watching the sun rise and shine and make the world brighter for everyone on Earth. The star was sad. It wondered when everyone would be happy to see her.

One day on its daily rounds around a world, it stopped at a coffee shop. Everyone in the coffee shop was so happy to see the star. The star was delighted to have to walk in and have such an extravagant applause; it was never in the limelight. The patrons of the coffee shop, Mr. Saturn, and Mr. Jupiter waved at the little star. They said hello and asked how she was doing? The little star was amazed; no one ever gave it attention. But today was different. The coffee shop owner decided to celebrate the star, they all cheered: “Hip Hip Hoorah, the little star at the north end.” The star was in tears. It came time for all the patrons to make speeches about the little star. Mr. Saturn stood up and spoke first: “Little star, you may be small but you are wonderful, you provide light to so many of us, especially Mr. Jupiter.” Everyone chuckled at this. The star unsure of the joke, smiled. He continued: “Little star, you may not be as bright as the sun.” At this the little star grew a little sad. “But you are the only one that provides us with direction. You and only you know the way around the universe, pointing always to the North. And you are the brightest star in that direction, without you the planets would not know in what direction to follow the sun.” The little star was very thrilled to hear this. The coffee shop doors opened and the Sun walked in. He was bright and beautiful but on seeing the little star he quieted down. He came up sheepishly and spoke his feelings: “I always wanted to tell you that without you Little star, I wouldn’t know in which direction to rise. You are the reason everyone on Earth is happy. I only play the part but you direct us.” On hearing all the praise, the little star was again in tears. The little star that never speaks, spoke to the crowd; “Thank you, Thank you, I always thought I was a nobody, that no one cared but I realize that in our daily duties of being planets or stars, we forget how important it is to thank everyone and what an important job or role you play. Everyone is always grateful, and we all belong to a team. If one of us sits out, we wouldn’t be able to make the people of Earth happy.”

The people of Earth heard a faint applause and then a happy cheer: “Hip Hip Hoorah, the little star at the north end.”

Sometimes when we are busy, we forget what other people mean to us. Its important to say it, and just as important is to believe that you are important to other people too. This is the morale of the story.

To Dearest Sinthu, My little star.

events

His story begins, quite silently, born amongst three, though the youngest, his sole earning become the family’s dinner. He craves a better future, going to Colombo, writing his Bookkeeping exams, but since his father’s death, these hopes are only that, hope, deeds do not do what undreamt dreams see. He becomes older and a woman is arranged for him, in the wake of wars. Her dowry is important. Her life entangled with this man, new but also familiar. She agrees, for the sake of others, to marry and go live with the others, to become their beacon of light. The dowry is put to good use, invested in a passport and a suitcase. He is sent off to a faraway place, called Germany. He has to land in three different transits, eat with knives and spoons and by god, a utensil called the fork. His heart is with his unborn child, left hastily with this woman, familiar and yet new.

There is a certainty in newness, it smells different, is different, but whether you like or dislike it, that property is not attached to newness. A new child born, she puts her in a cradle made of an old sari, so her head is round and thick of black hair, so the elders say. Her father is not present when she is born, the army helping her mother to the hospital, leaving her absently at the entrance, telling her the door is not far from here. She is in labour and this pain is unlike anything, the nurses fear she will topple from the stretcher, lay a sheet for on the floor to roll on. They keep vigil, the unborn child’s grandmother prays. She is scared, her son is not here.

Oldness like her grandmother, smells good. It feels good, like her mother’s old saris, hung around her so her head is round and her hair is thick. Her pictures are sent, yet her father changes addresses frequently, never quite make it to its destination. Lost in journey, she may look back at this, one day grasping her framed degree as an ominous sign of her future. They speak often, her parents, her mother asking when she will see him again. Her father replies that the time will come.

Time comes, they are shipped, human cargo, he meets his daughter, does not kiss this new child. He is afraid to touch her, her fragility scares him. This child, he was not present for is now the centre of his life. His beacon of light. She wonders now, her father’s grateful eyes forget the details. Smoke screened behind other duties, he becomes quiet, distant, unsure as to what to do and worst of all, what to say. 

She beckons for words, but only some come.

“Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth”

There are times we as individuals feel that we should really get up and be a part of history. If you’re American maybe it was the recent, well publicized elections. Well not my cup of tea, no I am a scientist, I live for the little pushes towards the future. 

I fell in love. Yes in love. With a planet and fortunately it came into full view a few years ago. A Mars sighting was to happen and we were lucky enough to have clear skies and an absolute view. I was elated. This feeling, I can’t even describe, enveloped me. I was about to meet the rockstar of the universe. 

So me being this person with nothing better to do than come home after school, wrangle my brothers, tell them how could they miss the most important moment of their lifetimes. Each of them looked at me, across the room at each other and burst out in a full laughter. If provicial law did not stop me I would have glued their mouths shut. Ergh! brothers! But my parents forced them to come with me, as protection. Apparently there’s a saying: something along the lines of even if he is younger, he is a man. Obvious as it is, it should just stay a saying.

But we set out towards the Science Centre, in shorts and t-shirts, I was excited! On the grounds they had games, giveaways and lots of experiments, to pass the time before night would befall. My favourite was of course the free mars bars, I took as many as my hands could take. Finally the wait ceased, the veil fell and the actors came out. The stars and the waning moon, white and crisp. And then the main player of this dramatical production that occurred every few centuries. Mars looked beautiful, red and distant, it rose magnificantly to a position high in the sky. We lined up straight to look through ametuer telescopes, these lines grew exponentially. It took us almost an hour to make it to the front. I had taken my mediocre 24 roller to take pictures. Of course it was nearly impossible. I asked the telescope man, if I could take a picture and he replied it would not look any good. I heard him but I didn’t listen, pressed the button slumped over the telescope. The night got cool very quickly and my parents had come looking for us, waiting at the outskrits of the action with jackets. They frowned at us for taking so long. It was worth the wait, I replied. And looked endearingly at my camera, it will be worth the wait.

Two weeks later, the film developed, my father came home upset. He told me that half the negatives were developed to reveal completely black prints. He looked at me, how many pictures did you take at that Mars thing?. I lied, none. I was disappointed. But I think we all learn these things at one point in time or another. That no matter the space, the place, no matter the time or the people, no the matter the recording, picture or prose, its always the way you felt. That light-hearted I was part of history, that really matters.

I still search for that feeling, what memories bring are only faint and hasty.

“The purest among us, the darkest bean, the greenest leaf.”

I have often wondered. Wandering in my memories, breathing in my past, asking for directions. I have thought that losing oneself is the best way to find others. This much of this memory I remember:

It was a hot and sticky day, a day in july perhaps. Some relatives had just come into town and we were showing them this city, and decided to step into a large mall. Of course, we were annoying kids, like kids can be. The four of us running around was too much for  the four adults to handle. One in Sears, the other splashing water onto themselves, one loudly asking where the ducks were going. It was bound to happen.

One finally got lost. It had to be my brother. We looked in all the places we had been to within the mall. We asked around. Anxiety and fear slowly creeping in, filling up the spaces my mother would usually use to breathe with. Her second child, her only son, this was horrific.

How would you explain to the family that you lost a child, with four adults watching over the place? 

But no one would need to answer that question. We found him, after informing the security. They told us he had gone to a restaurant and conveniently, he tells them that he is lost. Smart kid, I wished I had gotten lost, the frenzy of it all, he was right under our noses eating spaghetti and strawberries. They had called home a few times, thinking we had gone home, he remembered that much, no not names but numbers. 

That day I made a pact, if I were ever to loose myself I would do it in a place that had good food.

“Love is what makes you smile when you are tired.”

Terri, aged 4, simply put it, well.

This story is quite simple too. It starts with a mother. My mother, she like most, is quite capable. She does many things that many woman don’t try, citing their gender as a reason. I think she throws out that reasoning when she empties the garbage bin. I have learnt this trait well, nurture obviously being favoured here. 

I am fond of her toughness, her capability, her unceasing love. This one day was clearly shown to me. It was my birthday, a few years ago, a few friends had decided to throw a small party and I had gone. Even when 90% of the population didn’t have cellphones, I was clearly lucky (or unlucky) enough to be in possession of one. I had to call at three times that evening, to make sure that I was safe, once when I got to the place, during and of course once when things were over so my father could come pick me up. 

I hated this. All of it, whatever human could sustain restraint. Not me. But clearly I also was impeccable at not noticing my ringtone. I probably missed at least 12 calls that night. Each at 3 minute intervals. Finally I called back, telling, not asking, my father to come pick me up. I was so irritated. Hissing out each response my father asked during the car ride home. To take the cake (no pun intended), my mother also joined in,  calling throughout the ride, asking me where we were. I was tired, these two did not understand the meaning of letting go, letting me grow up. The calls successively came at 2 minute intervals, following us all the way up the elevator of the building, through the hallway, at the front door.

I was about to spray a lecture of hatred, include the fact that my friends had never seen this type of as, Natalie put it: “love”, where the parents are obsessively controlling their daughter’s life. I was about to throw a fit. I was about to…

But I didn’t. What waited inside chilled me to the bone. Three people stood, my mother, brother and my other brother (my brother’s friend),  “HAPPPY BIRTHDAY” they screamed. I stood in absolute shock. A cake in hand, streamers and balloons everywhere, I hadn’t noticed that I was being celebrated.

I wanted to keel over, vomit out all my thoughts and the mean words, but I couldn’t.

It was 11:00 at night and I was tired. And I smiled. And noticed what love could make you do.

“Where do birds go to die?”

Childhood stories are always welcomed with open arms specifically those with a tenacity to outlast time. This one does, one of my own. So I tried to match it up with a verse from a novel I dearly love.

With lives being much busier now that we had entered sixth grade, we usually ate lunch quietly and quickly. But today was different, us three, the three of us wanted enjoy the fading foliage and cooling weather; we wanted to eat outside. The three of us decided this but of course, being 12 year-old girls, myself and Aisha* fought over the position of being the one to sit in the middle. This position most coveted amongst us because both friend’s stories could be heard equally. And therefore this was of course the best spot.

Regardless, Aisha and I thought it through and argued that this time it should be Sara’s* turn because she had not partaken in the war of words and abstained with such dignity. The queen of good behaviour. ‘You should sit!’ we exclaimed. We found a picnic table to hold our appetites, and so we sat. We spoke about the geometry homework and then a few minutes later…Polp!

We all looked up to see a large seagull incline further into the blue skies. On Sara’s hijab there was a good size bird doo-doo, white and thick.

We all laughed and couldn’t help but stare with the wide eyes. Needless to say, no one fought over the middle position after that.

*Real names were not used, in love for these two, who I still know and love more than I did in the 6th grade.

Conformity is complex

So I and a dear friend were conversing; how racism and other things affect us. She was telling me about judaism and how most people figure that all jewish people are just rich. And worse that somehow they were always like this. So I remember wanting to challenge the idea that we sometimes conform to generalizations. But this in itself is most complex. Conformity requires much needed loyalty. We need to disregard exceptions. We need to narrow our minds and focus on one perspective. We need to stagnate our own thoughts because in the brisk desert of conformity, our thoughts are the deep, blue and wide waterholes. They don’t exist.

So is it as terrible as it sounds? Well quite frankly, its horrible. Why would you not want to challenge someone else’s view? Especially if it disregards the very foundation of integrity. So when someone at the water cooler points out at purple people and glees, “honestly how did they (imagine large herd of purple people) get this far?” Come up with an equally amazing response such as: “I don’t get it, you obviously made it this far.”

You then have just made ‘me’, the blog me, extremely joyful. And a thank you will be passed along in the form of airmiles points.

words escape

Recently I went to a close relative’s wedding, I know the couple well. And of course like all great things, this was a great thing too. I was happy and more importantly the couple was happy. The groom and bride are deaf and mute and ever so beautiful. They are lovely together and separate like sugar and tea.  I love that. I think sometimes in the rush of things to come, to plan, to proportionate, to wonder, we forget that miracles exist. I remember speaking to him once, using the little sign language and alot of paper to articulate my words that if he was seeing someone. And in reply, he confessed: ” I don’t know where to look.” And now a few years later, he’s a husband to a beautiful person, and I wonder back to that conversation; little miracles do exist and happen all around us. They come into our lives in different forms and wander about trying to catch our attention, and more often then not we miss them.

As I approached the couple to congratulate, I gleamed my large toothed smile and thought…oh how oh how could words possibly escape me.

home

As renovations of the halls begin to end in our building, I sigh. Here we are beginning to start packing: we’re moving in a week or so, I haven’t kept count. 

The halls look wonderful, clean and sterile, the atmosphere of the hospital I visit everyday is reminded to me. I laugh; what irony, I work in one do I have to really live in one too. But these are just the hallways, not the inside of my home. Welcome is here, love is here, comfort is here. Its not a palace by any means. But there is the essence of our past in every dust bunny, every scuff mark. I’m not painting a pretty picture here.

But does it matter, I love this place. It faces the soutwest and the evening sun sets like a bonfire during an ecilpse. Often at times believeing I can take a photo of this, have I stood with our non-digital 24 roller. At 12 that seemed plausible, the sun should look perfect in this. I was misled. The photos were all smears of colour with dark spots everywhere. The parental unit scolded for what it was worth.

Now digging up those wishes to capture the western sun startle me. I look over it and wonder where I was to be standing here. The window is here, the western sun still sets ablaze the periphery of the earth, but sadly or unsadly I have changed. Isn’t that the honest truth? I will miss this place. It has seen all my greatest joys and failures. I have spent close to 12 years growing up here. I have changed as a person, but my essence still exists.

So wherever the sun exists, I will look up to it and imagine those colourful photos, me and my home.