like pouring rain

(Source: nadiadias, via jessicainwonderlandx)

miniverse:

It said,

‘To love, is simple. All you need to remember is that each person, each and every one of them, is someone’s child. The tiny toddler on twos for the first time, wobbling as they try to make their way around this life that they are living for the first time. All that they want is to be loved, to be accepted. No, they do not need your extended hand, they will manage fine on their own. What is more, they do not need your opinions and judgements. They do not need you deciding for them.

Flowers do not grow wrong, and neither do children, if you let them. Each has their own heart which is the best guide they have. The kindest thing you can do is to respect that, which in return, you would receive.’

  Madam Lowder jumped when the red pen fell out of her hand with a thud onto the table. What she had just read had consumed her attention until she hardly even noticed that the sun’s rays had pushed aside those bored grey lurking clouds to pour itself upon the land. And if she were honest with herself, she could not quite believe that Harea had written that. Harea, that girl with pigtails and dull grey eyes, who got her nerves worked up every time she raised her arm in class. Madam Lowder knew that she should not be bias, but there was just a thing about that girl which irked her.

  Now she wasn’t so sure. ‘The tiny toddler on twos for its first time.’ That was the part of the essay which had gotten to her the most, straight to her heart the way the prick of the twig felt when her cousin Josh pushed it into the pink flesh of her arm. She mentally pushed her way through the fog that shielded that faraway memory, and at the same time, lifted the bunch of similarly-grey hair, which had fallen forward and obstruct her sight, to tuck it behind her right ear. Her eyes stared straight ahead into nothingness, but she was seeing. She wondered how she who had never needed glasses could not see properly, kindly. Instead, she had allowed the droplets of judgement shroud around her until she didn’t even realised that she dwelled in a constant fog.

  The clock struck five. The teacher had her handbag in one hand and a few extra books in the other as she walked out of that square of a room. Her steps were slow, as opposed to the hurrying ones to nowhere she usually took. Doing so, she managed to acknowledge the nods of the young flowers as she went through the usual path through the park. 

  She looked up. There was a figure just slightly ahead of her. Familiar pigtails bobbed up and down against the girl’s back. Harea. Quickening her steps, Madam Lowder brought herself up to the girl and matched her pace with the latter’s. Harea looked up, a little startled. 

  ‘Nice piece of work you did yesterday,’ Madam Lowder spoke. Those grey eyes that had been deemed dull darted to the ground, two seconds before they came back up again to reach into Madam Lowder’s old blue ones. Harea smiled. ‘Thanks,’ she said. Having the first real look into the girl’s eyes, the teacher realised that there were actually shards of green in them. Like pieces of crystal embedded in stone.

  While she still wondered how her student had came up with those bits of wisdom displayed in the essay, Madam Lowder made small talk. And while the girl replied with sincere politeness, her teacher looked at her against the background of flowers. Coloured and fresh. The sun warmed comfortingly all around them, in contrast to the usual gloom the older lady had almost always walked in. And through the light conversation, a thought floated up in her mind. Was Harea the sunshine, or one of those flowers? 

  It was too silly a question to actually ask the girl, if she would’ve even understood what her teacher was trying to ask. But it wasn’t necessary, because the next moment, Madam Lowder knew that the answer didn’t matter. Harea wasn’t really the sunshine, nor was she a flower. Harea was just a girl. However, the teacher had obtained something from her. She had learned to allow the light in and walk out of the fog, for she now knew that those beams encouraged growth. Now all she had was to watch her garden bloom.

❞

miniverse:

  It was a trudge back home. She happened to look up and saw the new leaves of spring, bursting green against the sky. The bags on both sides weighed down her arms, contrasting against the lightness she saw above. Her foot put itself in front of the other as she made her steps.

  Meanwhile among the clouds, a thousand pixies danced on their toes marking the trails their tiny feet had kissed. It was these spots that she saw from below, and the wind in her ears their soft laughter. 

  ‘Come up here,’ they beckoned in-between movement. For a moment, she had closed her eyes and she heard them. ‘It’s heaven up here.’

She knew it was, oh, she knew it must be. For their spirits were light and their breaths were laughters. 

  But then there was a pull in her muscle, and in a flash, she was reminded of those bags she was carrying. Her heart fell, and apologetically, she told them, ‘I can’t. I’m afraid I can’t join you up there for these bags are mine and heavy they are indeed.’ 

To which they replied, ‘You’ll have to drop those. They have no place up here.’

But she couldn’t. How could she, she thought. She had obtained them, earned some, along her long journey. They were hers! How could she just drop them!

  The leaves still bristled and she still put one foot in front of the other. The longer she’d walked meant that the closer she was getting. Suddenly, she paused. ‘Getting to where?’ a voice in her head asked. She had always thought of getting that place, imagined it; and now it was projected sharp and clear right before her. There was one thing though -her bags wouldn’t be allowed through either. Like checkpoints at the airport before you are allowed in to the departure lounge, except that you couldn’t bring any luggage in at all through this one. She took a very long pause and turned towards the sky again. 

  So, was she just trudging through life bearing those burdens of histories she claimed as hers? Was she just waiting till she reached the end only to realise that she had to, after all, still put down all those she had so faithfully carried all along? What about those joy-filled winged creatures? Maybe she could join them there; maybe it was the same destination they reached except that they chose to fly instead. Oh, wouldn’t it be nice if she chose the same!

  And somewhere along the lines, it was probably someone who had told her to keep her hold on those. Those flimsy single-use plastic bags which held what she thought was hers, but only for temporarily so. 

  She realised that really, she could collect them again. There had to be faith that they would come in times needed, and after they no longer served, she really ought to let go so she could pick up better ones which suited better. How would she be able to get the new ones if she kept her hands perpetually full?

  And it was like the clamps sprang open. Her fingers widened as she, gently so for she could not bear to do it in any other way, let go of her belongings, watching them land with a small thud by the side of the road. Again, she closed her eyes. She took in one big breath, feeling the currents stir around her. When she opened her eyes, she was above ground. She really was. 

  A chorus of pixie laughs came towards her and swirled in a magnificent hurricane and she realised that together with it came a newfound courage. After all, the pixies had made a billion tracks. Someday, she could look back at the new ones she made and connecting those dots, she would realise that they had brought her exactly where she was to be.

lolita on Flickr.

jax-wilson:

Secret garden; a passage in time

(via fide-et-amore)

where shouldn’t i go on Flickr.

sparkler on Flickr.

anne boleyn on Flickr.

(Source: lovequotesrus, via ivediscoverediminlovewithyou)