Little Things. #wattys2017

n o v e m

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                                "We can easily forgive child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." ~ Plato.

                         Life wasn't easy after we left. Mom had to take care of us alone, without the aid of her better half. She treated it like another adventure. But it wasn't. And she realized this late.It was the upbringing of her children. And she had to nail it. There was no turning back. Sometimes, I wish you got that mother. Then maybe you would have realized that it wasn't only you your actions were affecting.

                         I became everything for my mother after Lacey left us. I was her husband, her son, her mentor, her savior, her only family. I guess, she even despised my grandparents. And I guess I did too. Just to be with that stubborn woman. Because of a few things said, a few things done. Do I feel guilty? Yes. Do I do anything about it? No. But  I want to. But how?

                          She is going through a tiring mental battle. A battle which is between million thoughts and her alone. And I cannot help. No matter how much I want to. A cigarette not only affects the smoker, but also the beloved around that person. So I guess, me, being that small little six year old boy, felt the destruction caused in her mind while I was just watching her crumble. The same story today.

                       The world seemed to find me to pour it's troubles into. And I didn't mind, at first. I would do anything to help. But it's worrisome when it starts to strike you to the core. And then, you don't know what you are. And you love the person so much. So so much. You cannot say anything back to that person. Because you can't lose that person. That person is your life. Your everything. Your mother.

                      Mother started to develop a lot of hate towards things. The same woman who only saw beauty in things, suddenly seemed to find nothing in everything. Just empty darkness. She lost hope in everything, and knew that this was how it was going to be. She would find happiness in the small things I did for her, and that's about it. Nothing else seemed good enough for her. Even she wasn't good enough for herself. And least that's what she thought. So, I figured that if I was her everything, then I should never leave her. Just give her all the happiness I could. But is that living? Can I stay like that forever? Why do these questions seem so selfish?

                      Hate. H.A.T.E. A four letter word. So much emotion. So many hearts broken and so many lives destroyed. All because of this small little word. Sometimes, I question myself... How can you love someone who hates so much? And this same person loves you with ten times more the intensity? Heck! This person engages herself in a love-hate relationship with the people she despises too. How confusing isn't it? Do you feel this sometimes when you are caught up in such a dilemma? What do you feel? That weird taste in your mouth? That awkward tightness in your gut? That clenched feeling in your heart? If yes, at least you and I are not alone.

                     But every time, mother dearest, you smiled when I washed the dishes, or mopped the floor, or kept the house neat,, or did not question you my heart would skip a beat. Because I knew that I was more than enough for you. I was that safe haven for you, while you fought with all the might you had. You appreciated a few  small things I did. And that's probably why I get happiness from the little things in life. Because that six year old boy, was now with his mother, who was his everything. And struggled together. They limped hand in hand. They picked each other up together. They shared their highs together. They grew together. And it was right. Right?

                      The rattling made by the old dashboard of the truck is giving me headache. I pinch the bridge of my nose to reduce the pain. The low volume of the radio playing in the background. Diluting the loud silence in the truck. Harold's eyes glued onto the dimly lit road. I watch the trees passing by. It's still dark, considering its around 3 am in the night. The silhouettes of the trees swiftly vanishing as we passed them. After a while, you don't even remember them. They just stay for that moment. To complete that moment. Then, they disappear. So that they can complete someone else's moment. Just like my stick at the beach.. They just stay for now.

                      They don't really matter later on. Because we are living now. Thinking about that one sycamore tree that passed by a while ago does not let me enjoy the trees in front of me now. The next time I come back this way, on this highway, That sycamore tree will look different. Leaves gone. Branches fallen off. New ones grown. Things change. And mistakes seem to fade away to me. I tend to look at things differently.

                      Why don't you look at people like these trees mother? Why don't you just let things go? Why think about that sycamore tree when you can now enjoy this? This beautiful display of new gigantic trees. Why are you holding on? Why aren't you seeing the new beauty?Even if it is easier said than done, is it worth risking this tableau?

                       Today, when I picture my father, I know he isn't going to be the same. His kids were taken away from him, his wife left him, and he was left alone, to struggle with pretty much everything that was in his life. Without anyone. I hope he moved on. I wouldn't want to see him so sad. But he still wouldn't be the same. The city wouldn't be the same. Everything changes. Just like that sycamore tree.

                       We had a fellow village man who we would visit often. He was a retired man who decided to seek refuge from his busy town job. Frankie was his name. He was a painter. And he would paint pictures every day. And what was odd was that he owned only one canvas that he would reuse. And he would hang up that days painting outside his front porch. He would draw the same scenery. The village from the top of the hill behind it.Evrybody passing by would think that he would hang the same picture everyday.  But when you look closer, you will notice differences. Maybe a few animals, maybe a few people, a few small cars, or even the position of the sun would be different. Uncle Frankie once pulled me aside and said something that took me some time to understand.

                     "Son, every day is a new start. Even if that means that it has to be drawn on the same canvas." His gruff voice would take shape of profound shapes.

                       I guess, life doesn't need to change. You just have one. To make it large. And enjoying the now, makes those small changes. I guess, that's when you will finally be happy mother. It's true when people say that everything was much better before. But we have to make today count. We have to make 'now' count as well. Get the pretty picture?

                       I guess that's when you will be happy mother. I guess that's when we all will be happy. Right?

                                                                               Currently trying to control my sneeze,

                                                Wesley.

                                                                                       +++++
                                                                           
Time: 3:54 am (I think.)