Would you?


Ritika has asked me to write a guest blog which is an honor, but it’s also terrifying! After all, she and I only know each other via our blogs, she’s young and I’m not-so-young, we live in different countries and, well, what if she doesn’t like what I write?

Okay, here goes!

If a blind, three-legged dog limped into your life, what would you do?

Would you caress the sleep out of his pale eyes?

Would you try to find out who abandoned him?

Would you ring animal welfare agencies to take him away?

Would you keep him, love him, look after him?

You would have to make some choices, wouldn’t you?

If a bird flew against your window, and fell to the ground unconscious, what would you do?

Would you pick her up and wipe the blood from her beak?

Would you put her out of her misery?

Would you take her to the vet?

Would you put her in a warm box and look after her?

You would have to make some choices, wouldn’t you?

When my beautiful husband got so ill that I couldn’t look after him anymore,

I had to organize for him to move to a nursing home.

The blind, three-legged dog warms my husband’s feet every night.

The bird chirps outside my husband’s window every day.

Not really, because they don’t exist except in my imagination.

I didn’t have a choice.

Koopy’s note: Even though we have never known each other outside of WordPress, Koops found a bloggy friend in Jules. Her words give so many the hope to move on and face stuff like a badass.

We are only as young as our spirits, J! And come on. You know I love how you write.

She even has peacocks! And geese! And lots of birdie rivalry that she shares with us. She is a big bright beacon for anyone looking for some light in the life.

Look at that pretty pea! 😀
… Yeah. I have a hing for pretty peas. Sorry.

She’s fun and smart and caring and funny and an awesome writer. Hop over, yes the rumors are true: right here!

We Are Young. Are We Strong?

Being young is scary.

I have goals in mind and I’m galloping towards them: sometimes fast, sometimes slow. But as I make my way through assignments and project deadlines and mind maps, it occurs to me that happening doesn’t follow the book.

The run to the finish line might just leave you a changed person. Heck, I’m sure it will.

Being young, I now realize, is primarily about discovering yourself and what you like. The last six words are the simplest in English language.

They take the longest to answer honestly.   

Being young is prioritizing. It is knowing whether Tuesdays would mean basketball games or an hour or two spent writing for a side job.

Being young is stopping the hell down for once, taking a well-deserved break and just thinking. All the quick one-minute maps you jot down and intend to follow on, maybe they do deserve a little sleeping over, hey.

Continue reading


Journeys: they come, they go

He hides pain in his eyes even as he smiles. But when you meet him, be sure not to mention I said so: he’d probably tell you I have a funny bone.

He wraps his lies around the truth like a bun over the hot dog, and hey, looks good. That split second when his eyes met mine, he seemed to scour the likeness of her face in mine. I felt his yearning for her heavy the air like dark deranged clouds pacing the blues, unsure of when to. It burnt in him

like coal: glowing and simmering with each ebb in the winds, with each whisper.

No fire then, you’d say. Look closer, it prances in the heart of the dusty white black stone that could have held promise in another world.

The mind torn around the edges like a page carelessly pulled off the spine of a notebook. And blank like one.

I saw him live and die in the ten minutes he confided in me. My insides sank deeper as he smiled. I recounted all the times we’d talked and imagined the heavy weight of unrequited love on his bones.

He managed to keep himself away from most of her, yet all of her was always with him.

I saw he was broken and it saddened me too.

A deep rumbling over my head, a trickle of the first rains down my cheek and I knew.

Life goes on.