true stories

Two sons and a father

He is a father not wanting anything other than a good life for his two sons. He is a father, not needing other than the love of his two sons. He is a father and he lives for no one other than his two sons. He is a father and he is good.

He is a seaman and he does not date anyone other than his wife. He is a seaman and he goes down on red lights district thinking about only his wife. He is seaman and he provides for no one other than the family he built together with his wife. He is a seaman, and he is good.

But no matter how much he aspire for the ideal; no matter how much he aspire for what is good, things will never enough. His two sons have grown shy on him. They have never been with him that long and they have grown independent from him. They have not seen him for quite a while to the point that they have grown too shy to show him their love. They do, they just do not know how.

Now they have grown, their need of a father transcends the material goods and financial support that he provides. Did he fail to give them that? No he did not, bu t I do not think that he thinks the same.

Will he stand up just the way each time he stumbles out of his left leg’s growing weakness? Only he could say. And I hope he would.

Broken pieces

She gave him everything other than her body. She gave him love, she gave him security, and she gave him happiness. Yet all he gave back were tears, lots of them.

She had grown accustomed of having him by her side. She had loved him too much that she could no longer let go of the feeling, she could not help not to long for him. Often she would cry out of feeling so helpless that she wants to be strong again, but the dejection is too strong that she could not shake the pain off.

She now stares at herself in the mirror and does not like what she sees. Her face had grown so down and lackluster, as if it is trying to curse her out of loving him too much and loving herself too less.

Maybe in time she will embrace herself in front of the mirror and she would realize how long her hairs have grown unkempt, how long her face has been unmade, how much tears her eyes have shed and how much pain she had tried to endure. And maybe in time he would finally stand up, comb her hair like she used to, she will put on her mascara and moisturize her lips with her balm. Maybe in time she would stand up, pick up the books that she scattered, pick up her life that he broke, genuinely smile and continue walking.

She would stand up again. But only she can say so.

Rain on his parade

He is bound for greatness, he thinks so. He breathes it, he eats for breakfast.

Life is a vicious entanglement of cause and effect. Tomorrow becomes today’s playground. Tomorrow becomes today’s certainty. It is not something uncertain but rather something that will happen because today was lived to fit tomorrow.

He is bound for greatness, but it seems as if greatness is not bound for him. He had grown to want success, but success did not grow to want him. He once aspired a life of achievements and accolades, but achievement and accolades aspired for somebody else, not him.

He lost. He had come close to retiring out of exhaustion. Exhaustion of thinking that he will never be good enough for everybody, exhaustion that his strength is not strong enough to tide him off the pain of failure and dejection.

But he will get up again. Yesterday he dreamt, today he wakes up, tomorrow he will live to reach it. Is he going to? Only he could say.
- -
once, they happy few, now, they, the lost Jews. The tranquility of security they once had, had turned into a war between right and wrong, strength and weakness, what must and what must not.

They will stand up and there is no better time for them to do it but now.