A Day in the Life...

There was one fish story that brought me to the very ends of the world it seems, so far away that  running water does not exist and a paved road is an alien concept. My cousin King came to me on a warm day, the kind of day that my head is loose and every idea could grow and expand into some humongous concept. The kind of weather that the breeze is almost thick you could see them pass by, making you light inside and cheery. It was this cheeriness perhaps that took a bite into salesmanship, an amateur one that I realized later. "I am busy with some business prospect," I mentioned to grasp some talking points. King always seeks tutoring with his school assignments. " That must be a good prospect," he condescended. "What do you know about silk?" I asked. Perhaps he must have known some who could give me some idea. " Not much" he said. He seemed to know nothing. Bet that's why I was always ghost writing his report. "It's somet...

The sea is a monster, unbridgeable by midnight, mollusk skins and arms, Strangled upon itself, heaving its own breath, fearful by its own breathe, The day surpasses the dim-light, sharks and serpents alike, Bestows the Caribbean myth, of longing by a son to father, slave to hero, martyr to saint and Then thereafter. There is a great apology, to nature, which is life-giving, but bestows death upon its own might. The sea is a serpent, a vampire, a misunderstanding of nature. The dead arises, when laughter becomes whimsical, a longing emotion cures the sickness of doubt. The night arrives like a brisk man walking, headless with chains on his feet, Unable to flee, the breathe of the sea. It is a ploy! A warlock's gambit, or a man of science, that serenades through the dawn unperturbed by its own viscous flight, Such as a stream of ravaging water, from cliff to sea, from break of dawn, towards twilight, Like a lover’s cross, a woman’s tale and a war hero’s lament. And ...

You could fall in love in such tender ages this I realized when I stepped into first grade. Those feelings might have been merely infatuations. I was not sure. Nothing is so certain with emotions especially that of a child. I could always write "C-H-A-I-R" or "U-M-B-R-E-L-L-A" when our teacher instructed us to identify things on the board. That was how Julie chose a seat beside me. She was like a leech poring into all the answers I have got on my paper while I was always ever willing to share them. She was there with her angelic face looking perpetually it seemed at my paper. In such closeness, I could study the gentle features of her face, the wide-eyed girl who also happened to be a neighbor of ours although their house was far enough that she was not with the regular kids I play with every afternoon. Julie had a face of dolls my cousins used to play and she wore dresses like those dolls wore. With flowers and sunbeams in them embroidered like badges. Her ha...