In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fear Factor.”

Of never getting my story across.

My only fear is that it will always remain unfinished.

The rushy words inside my head are now throbbing inside my stomach and they pinch my feet. They’re not just Saussurean representation of sounds and images, they’ve already connected and formed a tiny terracotta army. Sometimes, I can hear them. Their slow march grows inside my ears before I go to sleep and sometimes even when I am dreaming. ¬† When I awake, I try to grab them by their tail and ‘pull the story back trough me’. For the past months it managed to get away from me. Hiding behind everyday’s tumult I have rapidly created the perfect comfort zone with sharp edges. Sometimes, I would hit myself against them and the sweet pain of writing again emerges…for a while. But there are times when I bleed, continuously and I do not die, instead, I feel free like floating on top of the world. Vertige, you might say? Perhaps. Yet, I am enjoying it.

This is my promise to myself: from now on, not a day shall pass without continuing my story. It is my destiny, or less fatalist, it is who I am. And I owe it not only to myself but to the One who has put this in me.

We are all here for a purpose. The others are awaiting to see our light. Sit under the tree of inspiration and make room for your story to flow. Freely.

Make this year the best story of your life!


The remains of those days


It has never been that green before, or at least, she couldn’t reminiscence.

The hills, the trees and the grass felt fresher as they vigorously bent under the salty breeze. One of the perks of living on the coast, she thought. When did all this become so foreign to her? After all, it was the place she’d spent most of her life chasing the crisp blueish breeze that led to no other place but her favorite hide out: a gray and gold mix of slightly pebbly¬†covered sand line, where seagulls often came down and built some nests against¬†the harsh wall of the cliff. Ten years later, and this still was her spot.

As a child, she simply ¬†loved to just zone herself out from¬†the rest of the world, often too noisy to hear her own thoughts. But there, she could think, she could cry and she was free to scream her lungs out if that was her wish. No one there to judge and no reason to confine herself to customary laws – just a bunch of stiff necks, as her friend would nicely put it. Exhaling, she was now one with the shore, as she could feel the wobbly pebbles beneath¬†her feet, as she slowly rocked them. Damp and salty – this was the smell that brought back memories and that made her feel as if she were still a child. It was amazing how one simple breeze can take you back to the past as if nothing had ever changed. By this time, she would have heard her mother’s voice, generous and slightly worried, calling her back for supper.

She opened her eyes.

Now the gray rising tides had found themselves mirrored in her eyes – humid and sad around the corners. Then she realized that things did change and also, that this was the reason why she’d never been able to pull herself together and come back home. The entire coast was impregnated with her mother’s image and smell. Because she loved so much being near the sea, her mother would always smell like the breeze: warm, salty, crisp. Especially in the night time when embracing her good night, mom’s¬†touch was soft and invigorating, sending away all the bad dreams – oh, how much she craved that reassuring touch. That place was her mother. Now that she was no longer there, things would never be as they used to, that is, never complete. However, this did not mean that turning back on her heels and leaving was the safest or sanest thing to do, she now realized, as at that time she thought it was.

This time, she would stay and let her memories invade her.

And the most surprising thing, she had never felt so close to her mom as she did now.




Naked Secrets


We walk past each other on the crowded streets.

Sometimes they’re empty, the town’s deserted and our paths would still cross. Sometimes, I wish I knew what was¬†hiding behind those sad, deep eyes. ¬†What are you hiding? The same things that I do? Or, perhaps we’re all keeping the same secrets, safely sealed deep inside.

So many times I wanted to talk to you, grab your hand and steal a few moments of your hurried pace, always marching towards an unseen destination. Sadly, you do not even notice me. We walk the same way, everyday, we trot the same streets, we live in the same building, still, you won’t know my name. Once, you looked at me and I was afraid the look in my eyes would give me away; but you continued your journey. Then, I wished for something I never did before, I wished that I could read your mind and eagerly waited for you the next day. At the same corner, where we always passed by each other, I could see you approaching. My heart was¬†pounding – it was a sort of unreasonable joy, I believe¬†that’s what it was. Now it was going to be different, I knew it. This time, you would¬†raise your¬†head and our eyes will meet. The reciprocal sadness would connect.

I could sense your smell approaching me and there you were. Your thoughts, all those feelings that were rushing through your head pierced me: remorse, regrets, sadness, nostalgia, anger and everything else cut into me so deep, now I was bleeding. Our eyes never met and you were soon but a distant shadow, resting at the street corner, before the lights would change. I called you, on your name, hoping you would turn back and reach out a hand. My being was unable to utter yet another sound and slowly, I painfully managed to drag myself towards you, before the lights would go green, I had to make it. I desperately tried to cling on to the other hurried feet, but neither did they seem to see me, nor to hear my cry.

Finally, I reached you.

But you did not seem to be on the run anymore. Neither it seemed that you still avoided me, because now our eyes met. The knifing pain I was feeling, the desperate cries inside of me, the bleeding wounds … they were all there, imprinted on your face and transfigured body.

‘I give up’ you said. ‘I can no longer escape you.’

‘There’s no need to’, I softly whispered, ‘I am here now’ as I slowly started to fade away.

It was me, your wounded, once passionate heart, you were running away from; the amass of feelings you shut yourself away from. You could no longer do away with me. From now on, I am you.


Confessions of Procrastination


When did we stop appreciating the simple, surrounding and all over us things in life?

Today started with an urging desire to re-connect with the nature, no matter how old, Romanesque it may sound, I felt drawn to Madre Earth. Perhaps it was the incredibly sunny sky with no clouds at the horizon, but all I could do for almost four hours and half was grab my girly, cheesy book recently acquired and drag my still heavy from sleepiness body, all the way to the back yard. That‚Äôs the great thing about these houses: separating, quite-tall fences that kept the greener grass out of sight. As I was lying in the strong sunshine, still in my jammies, and with my inmanquable grande Starbucks mug in one hand, I immersed myself in the reading. It was a darn good day for tanning at the beach, but due to low cash income I had to postpone that for the weekend when my weekly pay would also kick in so maybe I could also afford to go and grab that gorgeous swimsuit I couldn’t help but obsess with, ever since I‚Äôve seen it in¬†Accessorize. And maybe some new, fancy flip flops that would match the swimsuit. Okay, this was the reason why I had not been able to set¬†a¬†quid aside for dark days in my savings account.

Ahh…the smell and sound of the sea, how much I miss that!

Nonetheless, my days as here¬†were soon to be over and I was finding myself, once again in the job hunt again. One of the perks of working for Molly was that on some days I would have the house to myself, the whole big and quiet house to myself. The mere peace and quiet was so refreshing that going out was not even so attractive any longer. Well, beside the laundry I had to do and the slight tiding up of the house, I was free to be myself. I did miss the boys in the first 4 to 5 hours but afterwards I was finding it so stress-free to be able to keep my stuff where ever I wanted without worrying that ‚ÄėOh, if I put that there, baby Tyler might be able to grab it and unintentionally smash it maybe‚Äô or ‚Äėif Marc sees that, he will definitely bombard my day with incessant questions about its existence‚Äô. Oh no, do not get me wrong, I totally love the kids, just that sometimes, they could be a handful.

Thrown back into reality, I felt kind of light headed, so I decided get back inside and have some lunch so that the rumbling noise coming from my stomach would finally stop. Which was normal, once I saw that I had been up for the past five hours and hadn’t grabbed a bite at all?

Afterwards, I have decided it was high time I wrote that general, multi-purpose whatever cover letter ‚Äď oh, I REALLY TRULY HATE writing cover letters. But this time, I knew that was no more time for procrastinating so I hurried to open up my e-mail, check latest updates from friends and perhaps watch an episode or two maybe of my currently favorite series.



Let the Storm Rage On


Fear enslaves the soul.

It keeps it trapped from the world outside and so, it slowly dies.

A life filled with fear seems an unacceptable concept nowadays. Look around, everything seems to be danger proof, the perfect society for the individuals to be themselves. Or so we like to believe and proclaim. Stories of people who, apparently,¬†hold the key to success and have made up a reputation for themselves are the role models that escaped their fears. We look at the magazines covers portraying accomplished caricatures. Yes, caricatures. The exaggerate boldness and¬†almost unseemly satisfaction printed on their faces. How will the ordinary social animal, the middle class working man ever climb up to that? Aren’t they human just like the rest of us? Then how come we are still struggling and nothing changes? I believe that the answer to that is quite simple: confront your fears.

We are way too scared of what the others may think of us if we took the situation in our hands and take some decisions that according to them, ‘do not¬†represent us’. Truth be told, how could they possibly know what does represent us? Nobody truly knows how much you struggle or what kind of sacrifices you¬†are willing to make, just to¬†live up to the expectations. Thus, no one has got no right to judge, not even those we call our friends. Unless they are going to be there when you need them, not worth considering the destructive feed back provided.

Just let it go. Simply put all that behind you.

My role models are Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King just to name but a few, people who conquered their fear, who stood faithful to their beliefs, and fought till the end for what was right, not just for them but for everybody else’s right to freedom from a life in fear.

I personally, made a promise to myself, that no matter how¬†painful or how rough the patch I find myself on, I will not give in to my fears. I may cry, I may stumble but I will find a way to stand up again. I know I will and I also know that the more I try to have full control of what is going on in my life, the less chances there are to succeed. This year I learnt to let it go and to have faith that all things do work in our best interest. Mistakes, failures, heartbreak … ¬†you name it, they all can’t but push me forward, audaciously.


in response to –¬†http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fearless-fantasies/

The Final Touch


She closed her eyes.

Suddenly, the colors came to life and the voices in her head went quiet.

Now it was just the wind that vividly spoke to her and guided her hand on the canvas. For some reason, whenever things became too much to bear, this would always help her see the whole picture clearly. Although she was not an acknowledged painter, it was a way to calm down and find some answers.

Today it was a day not like every other day, for she knew that it won’t be long until she would need to move once again in the past six months and also find a way to sustain herself. Two more weeks and that was it, a new home and a new job awaited. These feelings were¬†not at all unfamiliar, she had felt the same way¬†six months ago when she packed her bag and left her home in search of a new life on the great island: alertness, fear and anticipation. All these came rushing back and she was aware that there was no way out but to confront her fears and to have complete faith¬†that her life was still on its way of finding itself. She exhaled – ¬†it all seemed even more complicated now, once the dark, deep, earthy colors filled more than a half of the canvas.

Once again, she closed her eyes and decided that this time she was willing to reach deep within herself and bring it all out. After all, this was no un-walked crossroads she was standing at, but the very core of the leap of faith she had taken a little¬†time ago. So far, everything seemed to be falling into place: finding a new home, new job and friends without even stressing out too much. It only happened that the first two on her list were on a temporary clause and she had still made it through. Perhaps that the most amazing thing since she’d been there, were the people that she met who had been nothing but more than willing to help a total stranger fit in and find her¬†purpose.

And so she did. She had found it. She was now ready to fully follow her vocation and make a living out of it. It was just a matter of a totally worth sacrifice for a couple of months but then, once that would come to and end, she will be able to enjoy the fruits of her commitment. Besides, she was not all alone in this world, as she knew that her sister would also return and they could be there for each other.

The picture had become clear now – it was confidence the missing color, and apparently, the final touch on the canvas.

Once you know you are where you’re supposed to be, you will feel that with all you heart, and nothing and no one can stop you from becoming who you’ve been searching to be – that is, to fulfill your calling.


a response to –¬†http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/frame-of-mind/