Intense emotions
Love
has so many shades to it. From fleeting
butterfly kisses to raging infernos that are poised to consume you.
If
love can be that intense, hate seems so akin to two peas in a pod. Almost a negative and a positive. Both need to be there to generate that
electricity that compels you to experience the heights of a deep loving emotion. At the same time the corrosive, explosive
feelings of hate that can rip your insides and shred your equilibrium.
I
think everyone has these feelings. Some
sew-saw through the journey, while others experience it depending on the
circumstances.
If
you visualise the two emotions I would say it seems like a fluffy teddy bear
being strangled by an anaconda.
It
all depends on the personality of the individual. The choice you make to explore, encourage and
nurture love or let hate become the overwhelming factor.
Both
have far reaching consequences. Love can
clothe you like frosting. It settles on
your face, decking a smile, showing the joy that twinkles from eyes that peep
right out of your soul, proving to be
windows of the heart.
Hate
on the other hand shrouds you in darkness.
It twists your thoughts, pours acid into your soul, while you sew random
boughts of viciousness.
Most
often it happens in different scenarios, but the challenge is when both collide
and concern one person.
When
love struggles to keep treading water, while hate is just over the invisible
border.
Hate
seems to be more powerful, it wreathes, jostles, pummels and tries its best to
be the stronger contender in the ring of life.
The person who looks with eyes of love, most often sees beyond the
horrific circumstances that most often encircle the situation.
Which
one would I choose when life comes to that cross road. I think love has the power to slay hate and
cut it at the knees before it can stand up and take its place in the ring.
Love
conquers all while hate forces you to stand alone.
By
Nirmala Paiva
13,
January, 2012
My Point of view
I
lay relaxed on the side of Raymond’s desk by the window. His study was cosy. I gazed out and saw the Na tree stretching in
the morning sun. I admired her leaves, a blushing pink to maroon, tender green
and boughs of darker green. Na always stood out flaunting her array of
colourful leaves. I wondered what would happen to her when it was time to make
room for another like her. Would she be
used for furniture or would she hold up the roof in some ones home.
I
thought of the time I stood on the fringes of the Singharaja. My satin streaked belly was always in great
demand. I knew my siblings had all been
used for elegant cabinets turned out in Moratuwa. I was special an HB2 pencil.
Raymond
my boss was an architect. I was the one
who helped him to draw to life those nuggets deep in his mind into major
projects. I would have to wait patiently
as he first flipped me this way, then that way, dragging my face across a white
hard sheet of paper. I enjoyed being in his capable hands. I didn’t mind the doodling. This went on for days. Then he would drop me with a thud and ouch
how come he did not realize it hurt. I
have my feelings. I needed some care. I
did not want to chip my point. Did he not
know I like certain types of textures. I
performed best on hand made or dung paper.
Did
I actually say that disgusting word? But
I could see a pile of pink edged mauve paper with petals pressed into her
corners. Dungo was very elegant. Handmade
I overheard him saying. He used that
pack only for special occasions when he wrote to female clients about the
description of his plans.
I
had this secret longing to feel Dungo’s presence.
I eyed her quietly sprawled in the bottom tray.
Did she not know that I wanted her to come out? I wanted to trace her uneven lines and the
petals softly folded on the edge. I
sighed. When will this day come?
The
sharp breeze from the window pushed me and I quickly rolled over to her side.
Would
she see me? I came to rest by the tray with a click. Did I look alright? Was my shiny blue and black attire appealing
to her?
The
lamp shade sniggered down at me. He had
a light in his head so everything was obviously clear to him. I could feel him looking down at me
disdainfully.
Then
suddenly a gust of wind as Raymond’s son abruptly opened the door and dashed
over to his Dad’s desk. He was on his
mobile. “Hold on let me grab a bit of
paper and jot the message down.” He
riffled through the trays and gosh he pulled out one of Dungo’s swaths of paper. I held my breath. I hoped my telepathic thoughts would get to
him. “Come on I can do it for you.” Yes yes, he picked me up and then as he
held me over Dungo I knew that moment had come.
He held me firmly and wrote in swift strokes. “Tell her that my point of view is far more
effective and should drop the other option.”
I
finally knew what she felt like. She was
perfumed in a sort of Jasmine. I
drowned. My face rubbed against her and
she felt kind of skinny because it was not petals but onion skins. She still felt good. She had a sort of mystery because she was not
even, but all full of nodules and streaks.
I
smiled at her. My voice came out in a
gush, “you have such an interesting skin.”
I
suddenly felt unsure of myself. Just a pencil.
She was sophisticated. Then I
heard her say a voice that did not match my expectations, “that may be your point
of view but your blunt approach is not acceptable.”
Take
your face off mine, I prefer Parker his expressions are in quink and he cannot
be altered like you. Whenever a bit of rubber falls over you, you willingly change,
that makes you the fickle type.”
“No
sir, get off my page.”
I
heard the lampshade snigger and my world went black.
By Nirmala Paiva
12th
March, 2012
This World is for Geeks
It’s
a new language. Wi-Fi, wireless, iPad
and iPhone were never in our oxford dictionaries. Yesterday we knew a mouse that ate just cheese,
but in a flash the game changed through cyber space and the future today is
obsolete.
Technology
has linked people, bringing communication to such a peak that a catastrophe on
one side of the globe is worldwide news within a few minutes.
How
come this has not been reflected on all those who use these millions of gadgets
that have been produced in a billion dollar world.
Though
communication brings us all closer and closer, the human race seems to grow
further and further apart.
Sit
at a coffee shop and you will find lovers filled with excitement over a new iPhone.
Eyes
aglow from the reflection of a screen rather than from heated emotions. Fingers
swiping rather than clinging together, music throbbing instead of a thumping
heart, while the ring tone is calypso. So close and yet, the information highway
is the invisible dividing gulf.
An
SMS seems quicker than raising your head and telling your colleague sitting
next to you that there is a meeting scheduled for the next day. A cold text
message now takes precedence over the warmth of a human voice.
Our
techy world brings isolation and loneliness which in turns breeds depression.
Love
affairs in chat rooms with faces that float through face book, but actually
don’t resemble the actual person behind those keys.
How
can one discern the truth? Yesterdays
chat with an exciting young man, was after all a transvestite who is over 60.
Now
technology has its menacing side to it.
You could fall into the clutches of a child molester or a human
trafficker.
New
task forces are being formed that train cyber police to catch the hacker and
the man who leaks out confidential information to the world.
Nothing
is secret or predicatable anymore.
An
executive sits at her computer and strikes a hit, rediscovering a boy friend
she had during her school days. An
exciting tirade of messages float across the oceans, slicing through
insurmountable barriers. An innocent friendship spirals into an illicit
romance.
They
are both in their late 50’s. Excitement
mounts as skype messages and SMS get entangled in reminiscing and coy moments
of yesterday.
Meanwhile
on the other side of the globe a hacker creeps into that very same page.
The
hacker now has valuable but explosive material in his hand. The power is all his as he makes that fatal
call to the old boyfriend’s wife in the drama.
He tantalizers the furious wife with proof of a torrid
relationship. He bates her and demands a
US$ 1,000 for the incriminating material.
Money changes hands and the e-mails describing the emotions evoked as
they walked down memory lane are now in the hands of the cheated wife.
Confrontation.
Denials. Arguments. Bitter venom. A 23 year old marriage lies in shambles. Grown children watch with horror and disgust
as their parents tumble into yet another statistic of failed
relationships. The marriage is no
more. The fabric of life is torn
asunder.
The
ragged boyfriend sits in front of his skype.
Her name is wiped off his screen but the episode is scorched across his
heart. A cyber explosion. He turned into a mouse, while he sits alone
in the glow of his iPad, minus a spouse.
Are
you a victim of technology or a high tech communicator?
By
Nirmala Paiva
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