Category: fiction


 

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Most people are good at something or the other…. well not most but all of us have some or the other trait or quality that makes us different from the rest of the gazzilion people inhabiting mother earth. Some sing, some have amazing dance moves….some are orators and while the others are amazing leaders. We have a major list of abilities to chose from – politician, writer, poet, artist, ….from cracking knuckles as an expertise to body stretching. Abilities go from fun to freaky and awesome to ah-some.

So here I was… wondering to myself what do I have… what is it that makes me different from the other mortals. And you know what I found…NOTHING…ZILCH… no special abilities/traits which I can be proud of or which I can flaunt as a shining badge on my coat… a feather in my cap if you must say. I was crushed… disappointed a lot (trying not to overreact…).

All my life spent, all this time to myself and I have nothing which makes me “ME”. Anyone would be disappointed in the worthlessness of the scenario.

So my portfolio so far goes something like this:

  • Vital stats: pretty vital to share on internet
  • Appearance: can freak out at least 10 people simultaneously!
  • Relationship status: single (…for like forever)
  • Skills: unique ability to do nothing and possess no skills yet known to mankind.

Pretty impressive!!

As far as my mind can take me, I have always been this mixture of introvert and extrovert qualities. A very ordinary trait to find, I think… anywho. I’ve always have been a patient listener to all the woes of my friends in despair. Always there to help others in despair, yet mute when it came to me.  Now if I was patient or was the victim of being made the patient, is your choice of perspective. Moving on…. I’ve always been on the commanding and authoritative side of the table when it came to “Dusro ka problem solving”..Well mostly…

Determined to be the epicenter of all the practical, sane and genuinely heartfelt advice. When you hold such an important position in the society, that of giving advice, you expose yourself to threats,….. and I don’t mean rejection of advise or “oh shut up” comment kind of threat, but rather “I am gonna fucking kill you and drink your blood for the shitty advise you are trying to put through my nose right now!!!” kind of threat. Yeah!! I know.. tough job. Anyways as my brain came finally out of the comma which was induced upon it due to the never-ending “agony auntying”,

I so realized that I don’t have just another ability but rather I have a GIFT.

Yes! A gift, a unique ability…… ability to become the “LOVE GURU” for almost the entire half of the world.

Let me explain how before any one of the poor readers slip into a stroke. Well one fine day,(basically today) I was chatting with yet another so called friend, a person I barely know and who can practically bore me to death and should be put behind the bars for deliberately opening her mouth in public. So here I was talking to her, bearing another one of her agonies about how she is facing problems in her love life and is unable to cope up with her “needs” of keeping a constant tab on her boyfriend and failure to make him realize the depths of her love for him. Scary and puckish as it may sound I was forcefully exposed to the dilemma of not blurting out what I actually thought of her control freakery and was supposed to give her some meaningful advice. And to my surprise I actually did. The day after as I sat tic – tacking on my lappy I heard a ping on my IM and there she was… AGAIN!!…. I dreaded the thought of yet again being victimized to her torture… with all my might and culminating all the god forsaken quotes on friendship I’ve read and appreciated over the years I answered. After a brief chit chat and beating around the bush she finally decided to come to the point and even I was amazed at what she had to reveal.

To my surprise the advice which I gave her as a weapon for me to escape her grip rather than for her to use, was actually bearing fruit and this “boyfriend” in question was actually coming around.

And there I was, staring right in the eye of my GIFT. I’ve never been in an infatuation, let alone love….no standing (or sitting for that matter), dead or alive boyfriend &/or lover EVER…. And yet I know and understand others with their turmoil’s and troubles with relationships and the frills which come along. I was actually in full grip of my “agony aunt” psyche and have practically helped another person with a living and real relationship problem. Now that I think of it, this is not the first time it has happened, it has been happening since all the females in and around my age group have understood the concept of “boyfriend and affairs” and have mercilessly glorified it. I somehow remain at the same threshold like an old house standing in the middle of a multi-specialty township construction site.

I think you get the point.

So now what, what is the next plan of action of my brain who has slipped into yet another comma after the fact realization drill.

You must be thinking by now that yeah this chick has this weird hobby she calls her “gift” and that this time she has completely lost it with her writing thing…

You know what I just realized again about myself….

“FOREVER ALONE”

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THE WEMMICKS were small wooden people. All of the wooden people were carved by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village.

Each Wemmick was different. Some had big noses, others had large eyes. Some were tall and others were short. Some wore hats, others wore coats. But all were made by the same carver and all lived in the village.

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And all day, every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each other stickers. Each Wemmick had a box of golden star stickers Description: Description: http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSFVH5y5Uzt4oAQGmYPA2wtL0qLrcQqdQ0_vwzRy_s0odnjdhqGzw&t=1 and a box of gray dot stickers Description: Description: http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSYJCZaqjGiKH8NWtigkWMSd0IEN0mPZkXINGLNMELgLw8_PLiY&t=1.

 Up and down the streets all over the city, people spent their days sticking stars or dots on one another. The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars. But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots.

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The talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift big sticks high above their heads or jump over tall boxes. Still others knew big words or could sing pretty songs.

Everyone gave them stars. Some Wemmicks had stars all over them!

 Every time they got a star, it made them feel so good! It made them wants to do something else and get another star. Others, though, could do little. They got dots.

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Punchinello was one of these. He tried to jump high like the others, but he always fell. And when he fell, the others would gather around and give him dots.

 Sometimes when he fell, his wood got scratched, so the people would give him more dots. Then when he would try to explain why he fell, he would say something silly, and the Wemmicks would give him more dots.

 After a while he had so many dots that he didn’t want to go outside. He was afraid he would do something dumb such as forget his hat or step in the water, and then people would give him another dot.

 In fact, he had so many gray dots that some people would come up and give him one for no reason at all.

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He deserves lots of dots,” the wooden people would agree with one another. “He’s not a good wooden person.”

After a while, Punchinello believed them. “I’m not a good Wemmick,” he would say. The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a lot of dots. He felt better around them.

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One day he met a Wemmick who was unlike any he’d ever met. She had no dots or stars. She was just wooden.

Her name was Lucia. It wasn’t that people didn’t try to give her stickers; it’s just that the stickers didn’t stick.

 Some of the Wemmicks admired Lucia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star. But it would fall off. Others would look down on her for having no stars, so they would give her a dot. But it wouldn’t stay either.

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That’s the way I want to be, thought Punchinello. I don’t want anyone’s marks. So he asked the stickerless Wemmick how she did it.

It’s easy,” Lucia replied.

Every day I go see Eli.”

Eli?”

Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with him.”

Why?”

Why don t you find out for yourself? Go up the hill. He’s there.”

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But will he want to see me?” Punchinello cried out. Lucia did not hear. So Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as they scurried around giving each other stars and dots.

It’s not right,” he muttered to himself. And he decided to go see Eli.

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He walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big shop. His wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as tall as he was. He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top of the workbench.

A hammer was as long as his arm. Punchinello swallowed hard.

I‘m not staying here!” and he turned to leave. Then he heard his name.

“Punchinello?” The voice was deep and strong. Punchinello stopped.

“Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you.”

Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman.

You know my name?” the little  Wemmick asked.

“Of course I do. I made you.”

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Eli stooped down, picked him up, and set him on the bench. “Hmm,” the maker spoke thoughtfully as he looked at the gray dots.

Looks like you’ve been given some bad marks.”

I didn’t mean to, Eli. I really tried hard.”

Oh, you don’t have to defend yourself to me, child. I don’t care what the other Wemmicks think.”

You don’t?”

No, and you shouldn’t either. Who are they to give stars or dots? They are Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn’t matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special.”

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Punchinello laughed. “Me, special? Why? I can’t walk fast. I can’t jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?”

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly.

“Because you are mine. That’s why you matter to me.”

Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this – much less his maker. He didn’t know what to say.

Every day I’ve been hoping you’d come”, Eli explained.

I came because I met someone who had no marks,” said Punchinello,

I know. She told me about you.”

Why don’t the stickers stay on her?”

The maker spoke softly.

Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think. The stickers only stick if you let them.”

What?”

The stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love, the less you care about their stickers.”

I‘m not sure I understand.”

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Eli smiled. “You will, but it will take time. You’ve got a lot of marks. For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care.” Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the ground.

Remember,” Eli said as the Wemmick walked out the door, “you are special because I made you. And I don t make mistakes.”

Punchinello did not stop, but in his heart he thought, I think he really means it.

And when he did, a dot fell to the ground.

True it is, isn’t it??

Go find time to meet your creator everyday and slowly, slowly you will find yourself going through the process of purification …and finally one day…you are all clean…resurrected….

 People will keep giving you names, labels and theories…but what matters is, Do you believe in it?