Tag Archives: miracles

If There Was A Way To See The Future, What Would You Want To See?

We are all vulnerable.. susceptible to it. The dread and anxiety of not knowing what is about to come the very next second. Each night, even though the thought never clearly crosses our mind, we heave a sigh of relief that the day has gone by without any hassles. Each night, after a long hectic day of unpreparedness of what is about to strike us the very next moment, we are grateful that we have managed to get through the day. The future, the very next moment, the very next day- all of them hold our wildest hopes. They hold the possibilities for a myriad miracles that can change our lives. And in the same breath, they hold our deepest fears. It worries us every night that what if something bad happens the next day? What if the things we’ve been running from suddenly spring out of nowhere? Do we fall back on the things we’ve known? Or do we face them head front and fight our way through? Or do we take a step back and drown into nothingness?

We spend our whole lives worrying about the future, planning for the future, trying to predict the future. As if figuring it out will somehow cushion the blow.

What if.. what if.. there was actually a way to see the future?

Wouldn’t you want to know about the people who’ll stay by your side when you breathe your last?

Wouldn’t you want to know about the glorious moments that await?

Wouldn’t you want to know if you have a chance with the boy sitting next to you in the cafe?

Wouldn’t you want to know if every tear and every pain that you survived was worthwhile?

Wouldn’t you want to know where life would lead you?

Wouldn’t you want to know about every significant thing that happens in the future?

Wouldn’t you want to know the perfect answer to “Where do you see yourselves in the next five years“?

Wouldn’t you just want to know?

Instead of living in the dark, wouldn’t it be pleasant just to see a glimmer of what is about to arrive?

If there was indeed a way to see the future, I would want to know if I would be standing in my kitchen, looking out through the window at the vast expanse of the ocean, while stirring a hot meal. I would want to know if I would be smiling then. I would want to know how my heart feels. I would want to know if the ocean still sings. I would want to know if I’m alone, humming in the rather empty house, all to myself. I would want to know the person who would be calling on my phone at that very moment.

If there was indeed a way to see the future, I would want to see the course of my life. I would want to know every speed breaker I’ve managed to cross. I would want to know of every dark day that has changed my life. And I would want to know of the brighter days I will have.

If there was indeed a way to see the future, I would want to see my wildest hopes carrying me through. I would want to know of the miracles the future holds. I would want to know how bright the sun shines when I’m eighty. I would want to know if I would someday drive down a long, long road.

If there was indeed a way to see the future, I would want to know of the sunsets and sunrises I wake up to. I would want to know so much more.

If there a way to see the future, what would you want to see?

Of Twisted, Random, Crazy Tales

During Christmas nights, when the moon was high up in the sky, she and her children would sit near the window above the fireplace, their noses pressed against the mullioned windows, waiting for Santa and his reindeer to fly through the dark winter sky. Halfway through the freezing night, their mother would find them fast asleep on their beaten leather couch, their lips curled into smiles and dreams fleeting in their little hearts.

The mornings that followed Christmas nights, they’d sigh and grumble for having fallen asleep so fast. Perhaps, Santa visited them then, they’d reason. Their mother would be standing near the corner, listening to their every talk, feeling pangs of burning pain running down her heart when she revelled in their infinite hopes. Her kids never had any gifts. They didn’t have proper mittens and sweaters. They never had pies for Christmas desserts. Yet, they would never blame Santa. They would never question his existence. Every Christmas they went by, they would take the blame on themselves.

“Santa left perhaps, when we blinked!” and “Santa didn’t visit us perhaps, because we haven’t been so good this year!” They would tell each other. Dreams never died in their eyes. Hopes lit up in them with each passing day.

“Ma,” they happened to ask one night. “Have you ever seen Santa Claus?”

What could their mother say? Her heart broke in sorrow. How could she tell her kids that she didn’t know if Santa did exist! How could she tell them that the fairytale they look forward is a mere illusion! How could she tell them the things that could only bring pain?

“Yes,” she lied.

And every Christmas after that, she watched them wait.

Until one Christmas night, when they had no roof over their head and starved. The night was vast. Snowflakes covered them in its snares. To the occasional howl of a street dog, they slept. Santa was forgotten that night. When hunger scratched their poor bellies and tears dried against their cheeks, suddenly the fairytale they had dreamed of for so long, metamorphosed into a painful reality. They realized, with a heavy heart, that the fairytale was gone. The freezing winds, the lonely streets, the hungry groans – how did they even dare to think that their life was going to be a fairytale?

“Ma,” they asked again. “Does Santa exist?”

“Yes,” their mother lied.

They slept without any food. They slept to racking shivers and mumbles. They slept without waiting for Santa. In the back of their minds, they knew they wouldn’t wake up again for another Christmas.

When the morning arrived, they found themselves in a warm house, next to the fireplace. Lavish breakfast awaited them. Without a bother, they ate and cried in joy.

Santa was remembered again.

“See! Santa gave us this, Ma,” they cried in giddy happiness.

Their mother nodded in agreement.

“Ma, Santa does exist, right?” they asked for the third time again.

“Yes,” she said. Only this time, she didn’t lie.

Of Fairies and Godmothers and Princes

Dear Whoever-Is-Reading-This,

There’s a thing about Disney movies. They are real. Fairies, godmothers, princes and mermaids do exist. At the stroke of midnight, somewhere in a forgettable corner of the world, a prince finds a glass slipper. The mermaid finds a man and falls in love. A frozen land is gifted with the magic of sun rays and glistens in gold.

But there’s a thing about us – we are natural pessimists. The dark haunts us instead of the light. Instead of believing that we may fly if we have a million balloons attached to us, we mentally remind ourselves that it is impossible. Who told so? Why do hot air balloons fly then? You’ll say, it’s different. You’ll probably start explaining me Archimedes’ principle.

And this is where we stop believing in miracles and magic. We tell ourselves that real life can never be a Disney movie. So when the prince finds a glass slipper, he starts blinking so hard that he almost loses his vision. When the man sees the mermaid, he suddenly wakes up. And when summer comes, we talk about science.

But what if, what if, all this is magic? You and me? What if we hold magical powers but fail to realize that? What if we can fly but we’ve never tried because we are not willing to take the risk? What if all we see is not real, but all that we dream is? What if the lives we live in the day are a dream, and the ones we spend sleeping is actually our life?

Probably, the biggest difference between us and Cinderella and Snowwhite and Elsa and their fairy tales and our un-fairytales is the fact that they believed in miracles and magic, and we don’t.

Sincerely,

A Lost Little Girl