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Posts Tagged ‘luggage’

She prepared her new year’s resolution in advance

writing down beginning and ending of things

and the reasons why she needed a starting over.

There is a luggage she’s tugging down the concourse

hurriedly outpacing the brisk walking of time,

meeting down in the alleys of strangers and guests,

with a  mask of smiles and warmth of handshakes.

She wrote words about her past life compiled to a book

for the world to read awaiting for her autograph signing

and a keepsake of empowerment how she made it through

hell and have been there when no one cared to witness.

 

It is another dramatic story rolling off the press

of another life written down for movies to gobble up

sparking another way for media moguls raking in profits.

She did not understand that her life became a playground

for dreamers and drifters praying for some kind of salvation.

When tomorrow will be another sorry day for someone

who can match up sympathy and the public adulation.

When she forgets about the time when reality is not

what she is on TV, but a flickering glitter destined not

to last another year. As fickle as the world spins around,

she begins another round of playing masquerades again.

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Today, I am enjoying my brisk walking in the sunshine, walking through the noisy and hurried crowd of departing passengers at the kerbside of the departures entry.  Then I pass by the arrival area.  There, the throng of people are  waiting for their acquaintances.  For their friends. For their families.

These are everyday occurrences here at the airport.  People come and go.  And the world is becoming smaller and smaller.  And airports are rigid entry points of security checking.  Of people being procedurally screened of their identities.  With a passport and a visa, notwithstanding a plane ticket for the journey.

I admit of my affinity to the idea of flying.  To airplanes. To uniformed cabin crews. To the view of the sky, the clouds, the islands and the sea in mid-air.  I like the idea of waiting in the departure lounges with the big sky framed by the window panes.

I like the sight of the apron and the runway.  I like the sight of airplanes parked  there at the apron with a number of lories.  I like the sight of the conveyor belts with luggages and packages lining up and circling around it.  Like expectant beings waiting to be picked up by its owner and carried through the trolley.

I look at life like that of an airport.  I consider, that, we are all passengers waiting for the flight with our luggages and packages, ready to be screened. May it be a booked flight with a guaranteed seat or in some occasions, on a waiting list .  A chance passenger.

I have never been a chance passenger.  I booked my flights in advance.

But in real life, I guess, I have been in many times, depended on chances.  A chance to be better. So I have tried and tried even if I fail most of the time.   A chance to be what I am destined to be. Even if I know the odds I will be facing is hard. 

A chance to be true to myself.  Even if people may have a different take on it, contradicting on my own.  A chance to love.  Even if I risk rejection, deception and hurt.  A chance to live.  Even if I face hardships and sharp detours in life.

I believe, we, are given the chance, to ride our airplanes.  To reach a destination.  But no one knew or can predict, how smooth or bumpy the ride might be.  No one knew what might happen in midway. 

But passengers, like us in real life, are  taught in each journey of safety instructions . Of aircraft features being explained.  So that  when things go wrong, we know of evacuation procedures.  We know how to survive.

It is up to us, how we  have understood.  It is up to us how we are going to put those learning into action. 

So the next time, when you had your chance to be in a flight.  Use every opportunity to make it better and enjoy it.  And be guided by what you have learned to make it right in life.  And if something came out unexpectedly. Don’t get stucked there.  Move on and take action.

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Seldom will I ever had the chance to talk to a beautiful mind.  Seldom will somebody can really connect you to something that stimulates your senses and make you stop and listen to what he or she might be saying.  These are special times and quite a rarity.

In a conversation to a new acquaintance, I am having a hard time cracking myself open and start a little chatter about something that of little importance.  I am so shy, unless there is something in this person that lightens up and usher me to strike a line, a joke, just to break the ice.

Something that tickles an interest. I must confess, making yourself interesting is hard, but it is a lot harder to be genuinely interested to somebody who is opening up to you for the very first time.

And I met this beautiful mind in a far-fetched place  somewhere in Fujairah.  He is a Syrian. His name is Wajdi. A simple man. No pretensions, contented of who he is. And though his present status would allow him to choose his friends meticulously, he would rather not. No prejudices of whatsoever. And I must say that he have this.  A beautiful mind.

When I visited Ann and there he was, interestingly fragile, is aloof at first. If not for Ann and Beth (Ann’s friend), the connection might have been lost somewhere. And how in the world that an Orthodox would comfortably mingle with a bunch of Filipinos like us.  I believe there would be some cultural clashes in between.

But wait, he doesn’t look like an intruder. He looks like a lamb who is not fond of complaining and whining about his life’s travails. When he talks about his country and his way of life, he can vividly describe it in words. It’s such a wonder  to imagine that you are seeing it first-hand in your mind like a map.  I never had imagined how he eloped some of the traps I have made during our conversations. This I intentionally do, just for the purpose of cutting short a probable senseless chatter, if the case maybe.

But amazingly, he would come up with a fresh perspective on a topic, and he can keep up with the task to make the conversation flowing and interesting. Then unknowingly, the hours would stretch longer due to the countless exchanges of  opinions and anecdotes.

Wajdi is not your ordinary guy. He is someone, who never eats red meat, shuns too much eating especially rice. He would just be contented of his Arabic bread with some unknown herbs on it. Though, in between his stories of childhood, it was quite clear to me that he is  used to this eating pattern. One time, I sarcastically told him, that he might end up as tasteless to me if I would be a lycan or a monster ready to devour him. And he would just smile innocently.

And on my last day in Fujairah, I told him that if I would be given a chance to bring him to Dubai, for being a good conversationalist with  his witty and intelligent arguments, I said, I would chop him part by part and put him on my luggage. And he just smiled there.  He nodded, and said that I can do so if I really want to. That was meant for a joke.

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