18 May, 2010


"So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days, you can hear their chorus rushing past: IwasabeautifulgirlPleasedon’tgoItoobelievemybodyismadeofglass-I’veneverlovedanyoneIthinkofmyselfasfunnyForgiveme….

There was a time when it wasn’t uncommon to use a piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their destinations. Shy people carried a little bunch of string in their pockets, but people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by someone.

The physical distance between two people using a string was often small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string. The practice of attaching cups to the ends of string came much later. Some say it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the still-surviving echo of the world’s first expression. Others say it was started by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a girl who left for America.

When the world grew bigger, and there wasn’t enough string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the vastness, the telephone was invented.

Sometimes no length of string is long enough to say the thing that needs to be said.

In such cases all the string can do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person’s silence. "

09 May, 2010


When I graduated Uni, I dreamt of going to law school. When the time came to make the leap, I threw my letters of acceptance into the trash, vowing to move to abroad instead. While I dreamt of waking up in a charming studio near the Luxembourg gardens, application deadlines for teaching posts and graduate schools in Paris came and went. I wanted, yearned, craved Paris but, did nothing to make that yearning a reality. In my mind I was studying amongst centuries old literature in the dusty annals of the Sorbonne library. In reality, I was working a thankless job, wasting my days as a corporate slave in a city I hated though I had never explored it, surrounded by friends I deemed too shallow or naïve to appreciate my aspirations and dating men who I knew did not deserve my affections.

The fact is, I could have had anything I wanted. I could have lived in Paris, I could have excelled in law school. I put all my dreams on such a high pedestal that they remained just dreams, trophies of what I could accomplish. Meanwhile, my real life passed me by.

That’s the thing about dreams. It is imperative to have them but, dangerous to be consumed by them. I am glad I did not move to Paris or, go to law school. And, in any case, there will always be time for both. Neither were meant to be just yet…I know now what I truly want in life and what is important.

I am still a dreamer. The difference is, I live my life in the present now, working towards dreams of the future, rather than simply dreaming of the future.

And I have one person to thank for that. He is my biggest dream come true.


The intermingling of two souls, flowing unbidden and unclaimed, from one heart to another. A gentle touch of the lips, a lingering promise. A forceful aggression, a yearning, a taking and a surrender. Language void of words - a comma, a question mark, or an exclamation point. A whisper, a taste, a trembling.

An autograph of love.