Happy birthday, Sowmiya Sasikrishna On this special day, may your heart be filled with joy, love, and inspiration.As you celebrate another year of life, may you continue to explore the depths of mindfulness and self-awareness, just like your father teaches.#HappBirthday
The Vaisakhi festival is a joyous Sikh celebration of unity, renewal and vibrant community spirit.
Sophie was a young woman who lived in a small town surrounded by rolling hills and sprawling fields. She was passionate about traveling and exploring new cultures, but her plans were put on hold due to the outbreak of COVID-19. The lockdowns and travel restrictions left Sophie feeling frustrated and restless, as she watched her once-bustling hometown turn into a ghost town. One day, Sophie was walking down the street when she saw an elderly woman struggling with her groceries. Sophie offered to help, and the woman gratefully accepted. As they walked back to the woman's house, they struck up a conversation and Sophie learned that the woman was living alone, with no family or friends to help her. Mrs. Jackson was a widowed senior who had lived in the town for many years. She had outlived her children and her friends, and the COVID-19 pandemic had made it even more difficult for her to connect with others. Sophie was deeply moved by Mrs. Jackson's story, and she related to her own feelings of isolation and loneliness. Sophie had always felt like an outsider in her hometown, as she dreamed of traveling and exploring the world. She saw in Mrs. Jackson a reflection of her own struggles, and she was determined to make a difference in her life. Sophie began to visit Mrs. Jackson every week, bringing her groceries and spending time with her. They talked about their lives, their hopes and fears, and they formed a deep and meaningful bond. Mrs. Jackson became a source of inspiration and comfort for Sophie. She showed Sophie that even in the face of adversity and isolation, it is possible to find joy and fulfillment in the small moments of life. Mrs. Jackson was grateful for Sophie's company, and she encouraged her to continue to explore her creativity and find new ways to bring happiness into the world. As Sophie continued to visit Mrs. Jackson, she learned more about her background and her life experiences. Mrs. Jackson had been married to a soldier who died in combat, and she had raised her children on her own. Despite her hardships, she had always remained hopeful and resilient, and she had found joy in simple pleasures like gardening, reading, and spending time with friends. Sophie was inspired by Mrs. Jackson's strength and resilience, and she realized that she too had the power to overcome her own struggles. Mrs. Jackson's story showed her that life is a journey, filled with twists and turns, and that it is up to each of us to make the most of the journey, no matter what challenges we may face. In the end, Sophie realized that her relationship with Mrs. Jackson was one of the most meaningful experiences of her life. She was grateful for the chance to make a difference in the life of another person, and she was inspired by Mrs. Jackson's resilience and hope in the face of adversity. And although she still dreams of traveling the world, Sophie knows that there is beauty and wonder to be found in her own hometown, and she is grateful for the chance to live a life filled with love, laughter, and hope.
Choose to be whimsical! Treasure the things that make you smile. Your first time painting? Frame it. You don't even have to be good at it. You like collecting things? Be obsessed. Sometimes things can be valuable simply because you find them beautiful. They can be useless and breathtaking at the same time. -Jenifer
Jake and Fiona had been inseparable as kids. They were the best of friends and spent every moment they could together. They lived on the same street and went to the same school, and even ended up in the same class for most of their elementary and middle school years. When they were little, they loved to play dress up and have tea parties in the park, climb trees, and run through the sprinklers on hot summer days. As they got older, they started to explore their interests and passions more, and while they still had a lot in common, they also started to drift apart a bit. Fiona became really interested in art and spent most of her time drawing and painting, while Jake developed a love for sports and spent hours practicing and playing with his friends. They still saw each other often and would hang out when they could, but it wasn't quite the same as it used to be. When high school came around, they ended up in different schools and saw each other even less. They stayed in touch, but their friendship wasn't as strong as it had been. After high school, Jake and Fiona both decided to go to the same college, but they ended up in different dorms and had very different schedules. They ran into each other from time to time, but it was usually just a quick hello in passing. One day, they ended up in the same study group for a difficult class they were both taking. At first, it was a little awkward since they hadn't spent much time together in years, but as they started working together, they realized how much they still had in common. They started to hang out more outside of class and their friendship picked up right where it had left off. As they spent more time together, they started to realize just how much they had missed each other's company. They laughed and talked about everything, just like they used to when they were kids. They even started to do some of the same things they used to do when they were younger, like having picnics in the park and going on adventures. Before they knew it, Jake and Fiona were the best of friends again, just like they had been all those years ago. They were each other's support system and were always there for each other, through the good times and the tough ones. As they graduated college and started their adult lives, they knew that they would always be there for each other. They had come full circle, from being the best of friends as kids to drifting apart and finding their way back to each other as adults. They were grateful for the time they had spent apart, as it had helped them grow and discover who they were as individuals, but they were even more grateful to have each other in their lives again. They were a team, and they knew that they would always have each other's backs, no matter what life threw their way.
On the way home from school one day, Mom took us to a pet store just for fun. In a box beneath a heat lamp were the cutest little yellow ducklings, quacking away in their little duckling voices. We fell in love with them immediately. “Oh please can we get one?” we begged Mom. “Please please please?” “Okay,” she said, “BUT JUST ONE.” So we brought it home and put it in the bathtub. It was very happy there, swimming around and making its little baby quackles. But then I started to worry, “What will Dad say when he gets home from work?” (Sometimes Dad wasn't always happy with the decisions Mom made.) As it got closer to 5 pm when Dad's bus was going to arrive, I got nervouser and nervouser. No, that isn't really a word! I should write “more and more nervous.” Anyway, you get my point. By the time Dad got home, you can imagine how my stomach was feeling: like it was full of butterflies! Okay, so Dad got home, put down his lunch pail, took off his coat, and said to us, “What is going on -- you all look funny.” As in funny-strange. The four of us kids were happy and scared at the same time, and I guess it showed on our faces. “Ummm...Dad….ummmm...we have something to show you.” “Okay, what is it?” “Go look in the bathtub.” So he did, and he started laughing! “That little guy looks lonely,” he said, “he needs a friend!” We all jumped into the van and went back to Rodney's Pets & Feed and Dad bought us another little duckling! I named one Martha and the other one Petunia, after two of my favorite books at the time (George & Martha, by James Marshall, and Petunia by Roger Duvoisin). We four loved Martha and Petunia, and they loved us. They followed us everywhere around the backyard. In the late afternoons, we crawled around on the ground, hunting for stalks of their favorite grass -- appropriately named “duck grass weed” -- to bring them. They always quacked “happy, thank you” as they ate it. That's the thing about ducks: their emotions and their words are the same. Their word for “happy” is the same as the happy sound they make and so they pretty much tell you how they feel and what's going on with them. One day, Dad brought home a large fiberglass airline shipping container and he used it to build a little rectangular pond in the backyard. Now they had a real place to swim, and we had our bathtub back. Martha and Petunia would slide into the water, wiggle their tails and quack “happy, swimming” that told us that they liked the water. Sometimes we filled up the Radio Flyer with water and gave them rides around the backyard. I honestly don't know if they liked that so much, because I can't remember the sound that they made while we were tugging them slowly around the yard. But being good sports, they tolerated it. Those days back then felt endless, but in reality they were all too brief. It's a good thing to grow up with animals, which I was lucky to do. Martha and Petunia still live in my heart, and to this day in my mind's ear, I can still hear the sounds they made and what they were saying to me. About the photo: my twin sisters with Martha and Petunia and the Radio Flyer, in our backyard circa 1970.
As voices grow louder and louder throughout the classroom, Marie ignores them all. The nonstop chatter coming from her classmates does not interest her in any way. She has no friends to chat with at school. Instead, she silently watches as her teacher walks down the row, placing a paper on each and every student's desk. As soon as the paper is placed on her desk, Marie eagerly picks it up and examines it. Briefly scanning over it, it turns out to be a summer reading assignment. A forced assignment that required reading long chapters from books was not something that interested Marie, either. It was to be expected, though. Every year, summer papers for math and reading were given to students throughout their breaks. Although this particular assignment appears to be much longer and lengthy compared to all of the other summer readings in the past. Maybe it was because Marie would be transitioning from middle to high school, so it was trying to prepare her for all of the work she would have to do in the future. The directions are stated clearly at the top, standing out in big, bold font: Carefully select a novel of your own choosing, and write a ten-page paper on how it affected you and why others should read it. This assignment did not excite Marie. Not only did she not want to read any book on her break, but writing ten pages on top of it seemed boring. Now, Marie was definitely not much of a reader. She occasionally read some books in her free time, but these books were not school-related. The idea of the assignment being mandatory bothered her. And, of course, she did not wish to write 10 pages of words about whatever book she might choose. But this assignment is mandatory, and it has to be completed before the first day of the next school year, which would be the ninth grade for Marie. So I might as well get it over with and do it as soon as possible, Marie thinks secretly to herself. Her plan is to get all of it done soon, maybe even within the course of a week, so that she would have the rest of the summer to relax and do whatever she wanted. “Alright, class! I have just handed out a paper filled with the directions for this summer reading assignment! Make sure to have it done and ready to be turned in by the time next school year rolls around. And please, enjoy your summer!” Ms. Rochester calls out to the class, even though the volume is too loud for anyone to hear. As if it were timed perfectly, the bell rings, signaling the ending of the last day of middle school for Marie and her peers. Walking quickly out the door of the classroom, and then out the big doors of the school, Marie knows what her next destination will be: the public library. It surely will be the place to find an interesting enough book to write a paper on, meaning that she could get this assignment out of the way and have the chill, peaceful summer that she was hoping for. When she reaches the library after walking the two miles it takes to get there from the school, she heads inside and immediately feels a wave of relief. Stepping into the cold air, from the air conditioning inside, was a huge change from the hot and humid summer weather outside. It was enough to make someone sweat from just standing in one place. Focusing on her mission to find an interesting story for her boring reading assignment, Marie looks around at the headings of each section, and finally makes her way down to the teen area of the library. If anything was to catch her attention, it would be a book about someone her age. Maybe she would choose a fantasy book, about a teenage girl on an adventure. Or maybe she would go with something more puzzling, like a mystery book. Maybe it would be like the Cam Jansen series she used to read when she was younger. Maybe it would be a horror book, a thrilling story for Marie to uncover. Maybe it would be a book based on a movie. Marie walks through each aisle of books and quickly skims through the titles of each book, looking for just the right. . . “Need any help finding a book?” An old woman with gray hair asks. She flashes Marie a bright and helpful smile, which shows off her dimples. She looks so kind. “Um. . . yes, actually. I'm looking for an interesting book for my age. Do you happen to know any?” Marie asks and flashes the woman a kind smile in return. “Of course I do! There are some great books by many authors in this section right here!” She leads Marie to the previous aisle that she was in and points to a group of books. The woman starts grabbing books off the shelves and reading the summaries of the books. Suddenly, they all sound so enticing to read to Marie. She picks up more to check out. “I'm actually writing a novel myself,” the old woman tells Marie. “Really? What's it called?” “Books Are my Paradise.” Marie ends up grabbing quite a few books to read. Not only has she found the solution to her summer reading assignment and a new hobby, but also a new friend.
Before the covid pandemic started, I was a completely different person than I am today. And I think we all have it the same way. We've all been affected by this strange time. Was it good or bad? The answer is probably different for everyone. When we were announced for a two-week vacation, I believed it would really last two weeks. No one knew what was going to happen. And I really thought it will be just a vacation. The first few weeks were great. I took a break from all the bustle, and practically had days off. I didn't have to get up at six, have breakfast in a hurry and pour my shirt with milk and oats, go by morning bus amongst a bunch of people, and come home tired in the evening and get ready for the next day. I was enjoying nothing. I had time to eat, I slept until late morning, I did my job on short notice sometime between the fun, and the rest of the time I watched a plethora of Netflix shows. After about a month, I'm afraid I got tired of it. There was nothing left to look at, nothing was happening. On people's Instagram profiles, I've seen how creative people are. Yes, one started knitting, the other started playing the piano, the third started practicing yoga, the fourth started to bake healthy cakes, and the fifth started to fold kits. They were all supposedly discovering new beauties of this lifestyle. I didn't find those beauties. I tried the yoga a few times, but after a while, I didn't know why I was doing it. Why? No one will appraciate that. (at the end of quarantine I didn't do a single push-up) I tried to bake too, some zucchiny cream cake. Unfortunately, I burned the whole oven-it didn't quite work out and I don't like zucchini anyway. So I gradually went back to doing nothing. Every day was the same. Nothing new, except that the hero of my favourite show was killed, and, of course, came back to life the next day. It was dreadful. I was in room every day. And either I was lying in bed, on the couch, or sitting in the armchair. There was no one to make me laugh, no annoying classmate or talkative saleswoman. My days were so boring and still the same. I got up in morning, ate breakfast, ate chocolate, worked at the table, ate a bar of chocolate, worked, ate chocolate and watched Netflix and ate chips! Sleep. So I started spending my days on social media. I wasn't able to concentrate at online meetings anymore. I've been looking at terrible nonsense for hours. First it was Tiktoks with dancing, and it ended with strange people dressing their dogs in tailored sweaters, or better yet, frying Snickers. Yeah. That's where I ended. Why? I was looking for something interesting. I was looking for news, for something going on. I needed to know, that something is happening. It was like a drug. It was needed, but deadly. I was everywhere, in every corner of the world, and nowhere at the same time. Unfortunately, this gradually came to the conclusion that social media started destroying me. Everyone seemed to be so happy, they lived such a perfect life, something was going on with them, and I just watched. I was so jealous. Why my life isn't like this? I felt there's something wrong with me. I also haven't talked to anyone in months, no one cared about me, I didn't text my friends, nobody wrote anything. Like I don't exist. I disappeared. Every evening when the sun went down beyond the horizon I sat on the floor and cryed. I felt insecure and scared. All I saw was the dark. And came the philosophical and existential questions. I started to doubt everything... Will I ever get out? Will it ever be the same? Will I ever be able to have fun again? Does anyone else like me? Am I any good? Nobody misses me. Does my life have meaning? Does it all have some meaning? It was like inside a snow globe. It looks so beautiful on the outside. But when you're locked inside every day alone and every day is the same, there's nothing what makes life a life. And you don't know how to break the glass... But then, unexpectedly, they started relaxing the measures, and although I wasn't happy at all. I had to go back to my normal life. It was a big shock at first. I couldn't spend my day „normaly“. Luckily, I got used to it. And I realized one important thing. I realized that what we experience every day is our life. The meaningless little things. I realized how much I missed it. I now appreciate the awful wake-up with alarm, the breakfast in a hurry, and even the weird people on the way to work. It's fun, because every day is so different and interesting. I'm finally enjoying what I didn't realize before. I enjoy talking to a shop assistant in a store, a silly performance at the theatre, or a cold evening on the summer terrace of restaurant. So I have to rethink it... actually, I have to admit, there is one positive thing about the quaratine, it made me really start living. But still, I wish you only an "ordinary" life and no more lockdown.
My dream of being a private detective is the fault of Nancy Drew and, a bit more indirectly, my mother. I come from an avid family of readers, and my mother decided to pass this trait on to her children. Thus, when I was about six, my mother decided to convince—force—me to read a series she had loved when she was my age: the Nancy Drew series. While I was quite reluctant at first, meaning I fought tooth and nail against my mother, I had eventually given in. Sometimes I wish I had ended up hating the books, simply to avoid giving her the smug satisfaction of being right; regardless, I fell in love with those books. Nancy Drew was a smart, resourceful, tough, resilient heroine, and I devoured her adventures. While most kids spent their Saturday mornings watching cartoons or sleeping, I was begging my parents to take me to the library. I simply could not get enough of the rich and vibrant life of Nancy Drew. My deep love for Nancy Drew and her adventures culminated in my wanting to be just like her. So, I decided to perfect my detective skills. For instance, I decided to improve my shadowing skills—i.e. stalking—and followed family members around while taking notes. Sadly for me, their behavior was fairly mundane. Even so, no matter how dull I found them, I knew that a good detective must persist. This resulted in my developing a strong drive and determination. I began to grow restless, which is when it finally happened—my first case. I was beyond ready. So, at the ripe old age of ten-years-old, I decided the student had become the master. When I informed my parents of this, I was met with fake enthusiasm. Sure, their words said to have fun and be careful, but their tone of voice conveyed the truth. They did not take me seriously. Who would not take the four-foot-seven kid with missing teeth seriously? Clearly, I was a hard-boiled detective ready for whatever twists or turns my case might throw at me. This particular case came from a neighborhood friend, Drew, who needed help finding her missing ginger cat. Naturally, she asked me for my assistance. Ever the eager detective, I jumped at the opportunity. So, we set out on our bikes to canvas the neighborhood. After a while, it became clear to me that searching for clues on other people's property, or trespassing as some might call it, was probably not the best way to find a lead. Instead, we questioned potential witnesses and started with her mother. We asked her when she had last seen the cat, if her neighbors had ever had any problems with the cat, and if she could remember anything suspicious. To everything she said she did not know; however, I noticed she would not meet our eyes and kept fidgeting with her jewelry during questioning. I may not have known much about psychology at the time, but even I could tell that our questions made her uneasy. Unfortunately, interviewing our neighbors did not yield much luck either. They either did not know anything about her cat or thought we were selling something. After hours of interviewing and searching the neighborhood, I ended up looking on my own. It was then that I had finally found my first lead. Another one of my neighborhood friends told me that he spotted something somewhat resembling ginger fur through a hole in his neighbor's fence. As I looked for myself, I realized the animal was a cat that had a distinctive patch of fur on its forehead, matching the description Drew had given. I had actually managed to find Drew's cat! Unfortunately, I did not find her cat alive. The neighbor, in whose backyard the cat was in, was the owner of a particularly volatile pit-bull. Even from my obstructed view, it was clear the dog had gotten to the cat. With this sad information in hand, I realized I now had to tell Drew. I contemplated lying to her, but I knew that if it were my cat, I would want to know the truth. So, I rode my bike over to her house and told her what I had found. I explained whose backyard the cat was found in and described the distinct patch of white and orange fur on the cat's forehead. After I had finished telling her what happened, she was pretty upset, so I let her grieve in peace and went home. It was not until months later that I learned that the cat I found was not Drew's cat at all. Apparently, her cat had accidentally consumed rat poison that one of her neighbors had set out. Her mother found the dead cat and decided to bury it in the woods near our houses. Instead of telling her daughter the truth, she simply told her the cat had run away in order to spare her feelings. Though my first and only case turned out to be a complete bust, I never forgot the impact that case and the Nancy Drew books had on my life. I still have the curiosity and determination I fostered in those days. I owe a large part of my childhood to that teen sleuth and I will always be grateful to her.
It is beautiful day, a memorable one to you my dear. A reminder of how far you have come in your life and the great things God has done for you. Penninah, it is a more than a year since i met you at your work place, a memory that stuck with me to this very day. Through a flash back, your gesture of kindness and hospitality, touched my heart as you placed a sticker of your smile and warm aura in my mind. I found you so attractive and desired your affection.... only to learn that you were expecting a blessing of a child. Yes, my warmths deemed a little bit until i realized that my touching base with you was divine, natural and beyond attention seeking. A warm ecstatic feeling about you gave me the reassurance, a hope for your love and affection was rekindled, a hope to be part of your blessing Ethan and more importantly a hope to be part of your life. Penninah my beautiful love, today is special, not only to you but to me as well, it is a rare opportunity for me to be chanced to wish you a HAPPY BIRTHDAY. It is an opportunity for you to reflect on life and be thankful. This BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION is special not because it is an addition of another upon your life, but because it is an opportunity for you to look around you and see the good things God has done for you and more importantly his faithfulness upon your own life; --You have to be thankful for the blessing of Ethan and an opportunity for you to whisper to him how happy you are to celebrate your birthday when he is in your life. --You also have to be thankful for having wonderful people around you especially those whom God has place in your life to uplift your spirit when you are down, inspire you, love you and guide you. Knowing you has so far been the most heart warming experience of my life though we have not yet met to share in a moment of Ecstasy, something i am certain will happen. May you live to see more of God's favor upon your life as you age gracefully... Please take note: 1. "Some beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost." 2. "There are far better things ahead than the ones we leave behind." 3. "Stay youthful by taking care of your mind, body, and soul." 4. "Be patient and understanding with everyone." 5. "Humble's thoughts are; LIVE to LEARN to LOVE~" You are loved, you are desired, you are my warmest thoughts. -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY --
To all my friends, followers, readers, and reviewers. To all of you who got in touch with me in this year and to all of you who will read this. I wish you all the best for the holidays and many days after. I wish you to spend them with the people you love and who give you their unconditional love; surrounded with warmth, happiness, kindness and with no worry on your mind. Whether you spend them with your family, friends or alone, let them be full of all good things that make this life worth living. I don't have big plans for the end of this year. I will work on my book, read books from my huge reading list, spend time at home with my parents and my online friends. I like to keep it quiet, cozy and relaxing, doing things I like best, because books are my addiction. This passion keeps burning inside me no matter what time of day or year. My other passion is spreading kindness and compassion to and for those in need, especially animals. Even in times of celebration and holidays I will keep thinking on them, wishing I can do more for them to ease their misery and suffering. There are days when being a vegan doesn't seem enough, when I feel I can do and should do more like jump in the catastrophic fires that are devastating Australia and be a protective shield between devouring flames and animals and people losing their lives and homes there. And it's not only Down Under. It's like that all over our beautiful planet! Do you sometimes feel the same? Do you feel bad, frustrated and angry seeing our planet going from bad to worse as it spins madly toward the cataclysm, and those in power to make a change do nothing or ignore it? They have the power, yes, but they are not the only ones. We have the power too, you and me. If we do something on our small personal level, things will move forward. And if others join us, we can do bigger, greater things. We can change the world, I firmly believe that. So, why not start now, during these holidays? Why not end this year and begin a new year with small acts of kindness? It's actually very simple. Having a plant-based Christmas dinner or New Year's party can mean a lot to animals who suffer, and it won't cost us anything. It will open our windows to the world of new flavors and smells, the best ones being kindness, compassion, and empathy. Those are the flavors I enjoy for 18 years already and they feel so good. The best things I've ever tasted! You'd give me a great joy if you tried them too and let me know how you liked them. One thing is certain: they get better with time because the more we taste them the more we heal our planet. It's the best natural cure our Earth can get from us. And, to be honest, it needs it! Thank you for spreading love and kindness, thank you for having a big and compassionate heart. Thanks for all good things you will do for others in the last moments of this year and for good things you will continue doing in 2020. Hopefully, it brings us all many memorable and pleasant moments, happiness, good health, and great books. Much love and my very best wishes! BJ Source: https://www.bernardjan.com/single-post/2019/12/20/My-Very-Best-Wishes-with-Hopes-for-a-Happier-World
The world was mad at me, or so I had thought. My selfish mindset taught me the world had been waiting for generations upon generations to release its rage upon me. I became blind to the idea that I, of all people, was filled with ego. Through the moments I noticed this within me I felt as if I was allowed to feel this way, more than anyone. The universe knew every particle of my being, the good and the bad, and knew how to play my strings perfectly to slowly kill my thoughts. I was a robot. I self-destructed more than anyone and denied that it was me doing it. I procrastinated until I couldn't anymore, I grabbed things no thirteen-year-old should grab. Imagine what you will. I wanted boys to seek me, to pursue me. I still do. I crave the idea of having the slightest bit of attention and I break when someone does not laugh at my joke. I would break when things did not go my way and when there was no reason to break at all. The world was no longer the world I was in but much more of a living hell. I was burnt to crisp and would drive myself insane. I was broken and torn to pieces and I blamed no one but the universe. It hated me, it had to. My father would say things without thinking and it drove me to insanity. My mother was at work too much. I questioned my life too often. I could not imagine a future. I liked falling asleep but I could never do it right. Nightmares were less scary than the world I was living in. Happiness made me feel inferior, normal. I accepted the universe's destiny for me. I had it the worst. One day, another day, and another had passed. The sun began to shine and the moon would glow. My dog would lick my face and this time I did not push him away. My brother said hi to me first when he came home. I went to therapy. I described my life “as an elevator, rather than hills. When I get hurt I start at a floor and get shot down”. She understood me. I would go to the mall and play truth or dare. I spent cold autumn nights going to football games and Starbucks and to the new taco place in town. I found new music and I went to concerts. I began to give more hugs, take more pictures. I licked the snow, I made hot chocolate, and burnt my tongue way too often. I wore Christmas pajamas. I wore dresses to school. I wore whatever I wanted to wear. I held babies and played with kids. I smiled at strangers; Sometimes I would beat my anxiety and talk to them. Once I met a girl in the clearance section in Old Navy, she wants to go to space one day. Traveling made me smile, made me feel small. I was no longer the center of the universe, but an ant in the distance. Rollercoasters were never scary, but thrilling. I enjoyed the pit you get in your stomach once you fall from the peak of the ride, almost relieved. I noticed the feeling you get when you shave your legs and go under the sheets. The feeling of wearing clothes that were fresh out of the drier was a whole new world. I went to lakes and ran barefoot in the grass, the blades were soft and muddy feet were the least of my worries. I kept pennies I found on the ground. I woke up on time on weekdays and slept in late on Saturdays. I went to church often. I would notice the feeling of not being able to breathe from laughing too hard. The glisten in your eyes when you are so happy you could cry. I made new friends and rekindled hope with the old ones. I started putting my pieces together. I picked up my own broom. For months this period went on and I felt as if I had it the worst at one point; the ignorance I painted over my eyes blinded me. Months became the last few seconds of my innocence. I heard the door shut and my eyes opened to the ear-piercing sound of my brother wailing. I questioned him, “What happened?”, the question echoes in my mind to this day. Life as I had known it had ended, slowly but all at once. The climax of the fight scene, right when the last thing you would have expected was for the protagonist to get knocked down yet again. But that's when I realized- I wasn't the protagonist- or the antagonist. I was someone different in everyone's stories. But all stories come to an end. Esther's story ended, but she was still a light in mine. She was the sun that began to shine and the moons glow and the flickering of the morning stars. I suddenly realized that at thirteen, I thought it could not have been worse. I became a much quieter version of myself and fell back into pitiful habits I thought I had once lost. I hated myself for it. I was no longer scared of the future but stuck in the present. The sun no longer woke me up in the mornings, the moon was small looking and frail. The night sky seemed empty and the world was massive. Life was no longer living, but struggling to be alive. Feelings were no longer felt, but hoped for. Hope was fragile and small but still flickered in dark rooms. I no longer licked the snow, or wore Christmas pajamas. But: One day, another day, and another had passed. *in loving honor of Esther Morgan
Once upon a time there was a toad that lived in a pretty grass castle behind a small waterfall. The grass in his castle was thick and soft and of a lush dark green. There was never any sunshine at all inside the grass castle, it was always shady and fresh and that was very important, because our toad, like all the others of his kind, likes to have it wet and cool. The waterfall poured into a small pond in which the toad was able to swim, jump and splash to its heart's content. Sometimes he just lay down on a lily pad and let himself drift. It was a wonderful life, and the toad would have been completely happy and content if ... yes, if it had not been for loneliness! Well, there were newts in the pond and fish, and every now and then birds came flying to drink or take a bath, but the fish were not very talkative and the birds chatted in too high-pitched sounds that the toad did not understand. No, he clearly lacked the company of another toad. And that's why he often sat in front of his castle in the evening, behind the waterfall, and sang a sad toad´s song. Not far away, maybe a hundred toad-hoppers, from our toad and his grass-castle was another, much larger pond. It was dark and deep, and many toads and frogs huddled in it; and because it was so crowded and never quiet, sometimes one toad or another went a little bit away to meditate or simply to rest. And so it happened that one evening a she-toad heard the sad songs of our little toad from the grass castle. Oh, how beautiful was that voice, but so sad the song! It moved the toad to big, thick tears and she could not help it, she had to follow the sound, so she hopped off, first slowly and hesitantly, but then faster and faster, and it was not far, maybe a hundred toad hoppers, and she reached the small pond of our lonely toad. She looked around searchingly and croaked briefly and very gently. Our toad in his grass castle fell silent. Had not he just heard a soft voice? He dived through the waterfall and peeked out of the pond. Indeed! On the shore, on a flat stone, sat the most beautiful, most perfect being he had ever seen, with the strongest limbs, the longest tongue, and the prettiest warts imaginable! The toad was staring at the female, and she was staring at him, and then he ballooned until he was almost bursting and blew a very loud croak into the night. The female hopped quickly towards him, so he could climb onto her back, as is the custom with toads. Then they let themselves gently slide into the pond, and what they did there was covered by the darkness of the night.
