Imagination`s Cooking . . .

I actually wrote a scenario that`s been in my head for a while. Please, don`t ask me why. The words came, and I obliged them by writing.

"If your mother comes in here, and sees you, believe me, these patties are not the only things that will be frying in that vat of oil."

She said, smiling, as he nuzzled her neck and slid his arms around her. She turned and looked at him, in awe as always, at what she had done to deserve a man like him. She slowly reached out and smoothed the stray swatch of hair that had fallen on to his forehead, lending him the mischievous look of someone who was not afraid to get their hands dirty, in the worst way possible. As she looked into his eyes, she felt her body tingling, his hands exerting subtle pressure to bring her closer to him, letting her feel his strength, and gentleness, as he bent his head lower to kiss her forehead.

"I don`t care who comes. I`ve been working all day, I`m tired, and I`ve missed you."

Her breath caught in her throat as he kissed her ear, tracing the rim with his tongue. She arched into him, knowing that any protest would be futile, as even a minute away from him seemed like a lifetime to her, lending a ring of truth to his words that she could not refute.

"I know. I`ve missed you, too."

She rested her head on his chest, feeling his arms tighten around her, hearing his heartbeat strong and sure. One of his hands came up to stroke her cheek, lightly grazing her skin, until she lifted her head and looked at him inquisitively.

"When will you finish?"

He asked, impatient as always to have her to himself. The feel of her was far too much to resist, making his breathing deepen, and his eyes darken with the passion he felt.

"I`m actually almost done."

She said, pushing at him to release her so she could complete cooking.

"If you keep up with this, there`ll be no dinner, little boy."

His voice turned husky as he bent and whispered in her ear,

"I don`t mind. I`m not hungry for food, anyways. What I have in mind is dessert."

He felt a tremor run through her body as a blush covered her face and she buried her face in his shoulder, trying to recover her equilibrium.
Turning in his arms, she picked up the spatula, and began frying, only the trembling of her hand betraying her unsteadiness.

"You must let me finish, or your mother will have my head, as you well know. She gets miffed if the work isn`t done, especially that which has been asked of me."

He kissed the nape of her neck, breathing in the scent of her, tantalizing and fresh at the same time.

"I thought you two were getting along well, now. Or am I mistaken?"

He felt her chest rise as she sighed and turned to look up at him over her shoulder.

"I suppose you could say that. It`s not as though she`s chomping on the bit whenever she sees me, but there definitely is a level of, well, distaste that still baffles me. I`ve come to expect it now, and her small kindnesses are enough to get me through the difficult moments. And she IS trying. What more could I ask of her?"

The wistfulness in her tone belied the cheeriness she was evidently trying to make him believe she felt. As he rested his head on her shoulder, he thought back to when he had first been told by his mother that she was arranging a marriage for him.


"Mother, don`t you dare do anything of the sort. You know what my opinion is about that, and even if I were inclined to listen, and agree, there is no way that I would say yes to the type of girl you are planning to choose for me."

The cold gleam in her eyes was at parallel with her nature. He couldn`t recall one moment in his childhood when he`d felt comfortable coming to her with any problem. She had always glared at him, told him to be a man, and stop complaining about his feelings or problems, passing it off as the one trait that every woman despises in a man. He still hadn`t lost faith in the business of motherhood, or the belief that not all woman were like his mother, but he did know, that any female who she approved of would have to have the same dragon-like nature she did, and surviving the rest of his life with a woman like that was not something he intended to do.

"Well, I haven`t really asked for your opinion, have I? Her parents are bringing her here, as they adhere to old Indian tradition of the girls’ family proposing. Have a care to be polite, and I daresay, it won`t kill you to pass a once over on the girl. You can say no if you like."

"If you think for a moment, that I will agree to sit here, and be ogled by the parents of a little chit, who for all purposes, has never even heard of my name, or stepped outside the house, you are dreadfully mistaken, Mother. You may talk to them, tell them I am busy, and send them away."

"I didn`t want you to sit out there under duress, but you`ve forced me, so you should know that your Uncle John arranged for this family to come see you, not me. Her background intrigued me, which is why I wanted you to meet her. There is no pressure on you to marry today. Just meet them".

His fate had been sealed. The old crone knew that he would never say no to Uncle John, the man who had brought him up like a father, and still treated him as though he were the little toddler who ran to him for protection from the monsters under the bed.

The doorbell rang, and he stiffened as he realized the family had arrived. His mother had briefed him about the mother and father, but the daughter was a mystery he was evidently going to have to figure out for himself. Higgins opened the door and ushered the family into the parlor, then came to him to announce their arrival.

"Set a tray out for them, and tell them I shall be there with the lady momentarily."

His mother arose and came to him with her usual business like walk, never imbuing herself with the slightest hint of softness or tenderness.

"Come along; let us get this over with before you snap my head off."

As they entered the parlor, he was surprised at what he saw. The parents, whom he had wrongfully assumed were going to be stiff, and without warmth, akin to what he himself had seen growing up, were sitting side by side, smiling, with their hands clasped, as if, even after all these years, the touch of those fingers still brought untold pleasures.

The father rose, and came to him. He held out his hand, and gently clasped the one he gave with the other. The twinkle in the older man`s eyes was clearly telling him that this was a man who was not afraid to have fun in life, a trait that he had not believed that parents had.

"It`s nice to finally meet you, son. I had heard of you, but one can never take opinions to heart. You must see the truth for yourself, especially in matters such as these."

He noticed that the father had immense love for his daughter, as he praised her, innumerable achievements, which included, none of the usual pursuits, but conversely, what society would deem frivolous activities. Apparently, she loved to take long walks in the woods, write, take care of stray and injured animals, horse ride, and she hated attending any London events. He was intrigued despite himself. He had never heard of a woman who didn`t like kitty parties, and he wanted to see this anomaly for himself. He wondered how to ask the father the reason for her absence without seeming too forward, but he solved the dilemma himself by saying,

"I told her that she should at least come in and say hello, but she was much more interested in the nest of kittens that seem to have made a home in your shrubbery. I wouldn`t be too strict if you had any inclination to go and see her. I`m sure the both of you can manage without parental supervision by now."

He smiled at the older man`s intuition and gratefully inclined his head for the reprieve. As he got up and made to head out, he heard a female voice, and froze in his footsteps. The husky laugh shot down like a bolt of lightning straight to his feet, and he felt rooted to the floor, all his senses hungry for more of that voice. Good Lord, if just her voice could have such an effect, he wondered what the rest of the package held. As he made for the front of the house, he paused and took off his coat and cravat, and rolled up his shirtsleeves, so as not to frighten her and put her on her guard.

She laughed and nuzzled the kitten`s soft fur as she lightly mewed and made to claw up the front of her vest. Although there was not enough power in the young darling`s paws to successfully climb, the claws were sharp enough to inadvertently pierce the skin. As she lifted the kitten to her bosom and cuddled it, she became aware of a still figure, leaning casually against the side of the house. He couldn`t have been more than 30, with broad shoulders, a well-built figure, and a chest that tapered to a lean waist, and firm legs. He was clad in black pants, and a navy blue shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up, displaying forearms with a liberal dusting of black hair. His eyes were the color of midnight, with heat and curiosity mingled, warming her down to her toes. She became aware that her breathing had deepened, the kitten cuddling closer as though sensing the turmoil the stranger was causing within her.

"Have you come to see the family, or apply for the position of the gardener?", he drawled, managing to make it seem as though she was nothing of significance, and whatever she was doing here, must be of harm.

"I apologize for upsetting anyone, which was not my intention. I saw these darlings as I was entering the house, and I begged leave from my father and the butler to see them up close. I did tell my father to make my excuses to the master of the house, but apparently that hasn`t been done. Have you been sent out here to get me?"

He laughed, a sound so rich and deep throated that she felt as though it resonated through her being. His voice was a deep baritone, almost rough in its endearingness, and flavored with a slight brogue, making her skin tingle in unusual places.

"No, I haven`t been sent to get you. I wanted to see you, as you apparently found kittens more important than people, and I was curious as to what sort of person would have such, odd but ingenious preferences."

As she looked up, she started to realize that he had been walking towards her, and now stood directly in front of her, smiling with ease. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he was much taller than she had originally thought, close to 6`3.

"Who are you?"

"My name is _ _ _ _ _ _, and I am apparently your suitor.

She gasped and moved to step backwards. She felt her foot catch in a bramble of weeds, and before she could fully contemplate what was happening, she was hauled up with a strong arm, and caught against a rock solid chest. She looked up in to the face that was far too close to hers, and almost melted as she saw the concern there. He smoothed a hand over her hair and forehead, urgently asking her if she were ok.

"Tell me your name, love. I can`t go around saving anonymous maidens in distress."

She chuckled, and said laughingly,

"I`m sure you enjoyed that, you scoundrel. What a wonderful way to make a first impression on a lady. My name is _ _ _ _ _ _."

"I`m going to tell you something, and I don`t want you to become frightened, but I thought I should let you know now.

"Alright. What is it?"

"First of all, I`m going to marry you, and secondly, if you don`t release your death grip on your darling, she`s not going to remain your darling for long,”

He said, smiling with roguish charm and firm intent. She looked up at him with her mouth gaping as she realized he was utterly serious. She pushed against his chest as she silently demanded that he release her. He quietly looked at her and shook his head negatively as he bent his head and whispered in her ear,

“I`m going to kiss you now, and I suggest that you try your hardest to push me away, as I`m not inclined to let you run away from me that easily.”

Cliché or Not?

It may be cliché of me to say, but although it is true that I do believe whatever God has in store for me in my life will be much better than what is currently here, or what I believe to be the best for me, it still stands that the thought is never far from mind which raises the question of how different my life would`ve been if this man had been the one who I was getting married to. How would my life have been that I would`ve been able to talk with him freely, and let any feelings for him develop to what they could, and let him know precisely to what depth I can love when pushed to it?

I wonder what would have happened if he had waited, and my parents had said yes to him. Would I have been happy with a man like that?

Oh, to say all the things he makes me feel out loud. To tell him that he makes me shiver from my head to my toes, that I dream of him holding me, never letting me go, that I feel like when he looks at me, everything changes, and I become almost ethereal. Were that it was possible, but he is not the man for me. I hope, dream, pray that the man who agrees to hold my hand for all eternity loves me. That he wants to hold me, and when I look at him, he knows what I ask for. When I wear one of his shirts, he smiles and gathers me close, and whispers to me what I am worth to him. I hope that when I am in the kitchen cooking for him, he comes from behind me, holds me around the waist, rests his head on my shoulder and teases me until I`m blushing and breathless. I hope that when he sees a tear in my eye, he kisses it away, snuggles me in the warm confines of his embrace, and refuses to ever let me go, allowing me to feel the strength in him, the safety of his touch, and the truth of his love. What is it that forces me to go on in this way? I feel as though I wait for something that is, well, not part of this world anymore, that I await a fairytale life which has not agreed to make it my way. I know not what force of nature compels me to write on and on, without stopping, without waiting, without thinking.

But all the same, if my fate is to hold something less than my dream fellow, if my fate is to be a test of sorts, then I will happily accept that life, knowing that there is some betterment in that life than the one I dream of.

Whatever you have in store for me, God, please, let it come soon. I am becoming impatient. My heart overflows with love for someone whom I do not know. Bring him soon. I await eagerly.

Wake Up!

Do you think the reason I haven`t made an issue of the loan is because it hasn`t precisely sunk in yet that I am actually carrying a loan that will, at the end of the time amount to somewhat around 60, 000 Canadian dollars? Wake up, love. You will have to pay this off on your own, and before you have a family, since after that the loans will pile up without any problem. When`s it going to happen? How?

To be true to my nature, the answer would have to be, I have no idea. But have a bit of faith. We`ll figure something out. We almost always do :)

I Need You

I realize that what I say maybe rightfully misconstrued as blasphemous, and in all fairness, it wouldn`t be wrong, but that isn`t the point of what I am about to reveal. `Tis only to make clear the depth of human dependability, and to show that we are such weak creatures, that we cannot live without a partner. No one can live a happy life alone. There must be someone to share your hopes and dreams, your sadness and your bleak days, your euphoria and your anger. There must be someone who will hold your hand and tell you that there is no one who will ever be able to hurt you as long as there is breath in his body. Yes, I do think this way. I know from outward appearances, I attempt to look very strong, but `tis not true. I need you.

More Venting?

Did anyone hear me asking to be made into this self-sufficient machine that requires no assistance from anyone, save God? It isn`t my fault that you turned me into someone who isn`t concerned with appearances because her main concern in life is to see that what is needed is done.... I suppose it felt wonderful to yell at me when I went outside to get a BOTTLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you have a - - - - - - problem with the way I get the shit done, then get your darling boy to do it, why don`t you?! Why me?! And then you expect that I`m going to follow all the rules of decorum required to fulfill the criteria which enable one to live here. What is it that you want? I can easily grab 10 pants from home, lose enough weight to look alright in them, and stop wearing shalwar kameez altogether. It wouldn`t be difficult for me, nor would it be uncomfortable. But that`s not what you brought me up to be, and that`s why I`m not like that. But why are you irritating me so much these days?! Let me be who I am. I have to go to university and be something else altogether, anyways. The axis of tilt of that place is about to change, but what am I supposed to do when you impose those same restrictions on me within our four walls? Don`t go outside, don`t do this, don`t wear your lab coat open, don`t do that. You openly tell me that you used to wear pants shirts without a problem, and do everything else that I don`t even think about, let alone actually do. So what is it? What am I too much of? Bold, strong, different? Yes, I don`t want to be a pathetic little girl, waiting to be taken care of. I want to get my stuff done myself. I want to feel like I`m making more of a contribution to the world, then just sitting and looking pretty. God, and making me into one of these, sheep, these cyborgs is the greatest punishment that you could give me. But it doesn`t end there, no no. I`m sure there`s more. Just wait for it. It`s the 19th today. Just wait and watch please.

Unveiling? - October 18th

It could be called, and most probably is, a childish thought to dream of he who has not come, but what am I to do when he has the ability to dominate my thoughts night and day? He never leaves my dreams, my feelings, my heart, my mind. He`s always there. He owns me. Every heartbeat is now whispering his name. I hate feeling so vulnerable, but that theory that my mother had? The one that says that every woman is weak when it comes to a man, her man? Well, as much as I`d like to deny it, it`s true. He occupies every waking moment, and he owns my dreams. Why then, does he not show himself and save me the torment? How long must I wait to be safely ensconced in his arms? I feel as though the moment he arrives, I shall feel as if something in me is liberated, something that is chained up right now, and begging for release. Being cold and indifferent, and attempting to be invincible is not hard, believe me. The only hard part is hiding your true nature. That part of you that you never let out, because once you release it, your biggest fear is that it won`t agree to go back, and it won`t let your safer nature cover for it. What is one like me supposed to do when every sane thought is yearning for this unnamed fellow who refuses to show himself and remains behind the curtains, waiting for God`s cue to make his Grand Entrance?

Enlightenment - October 15th

`Tis not too long ago that a thought struck me a while back that had not before. I`m not sure if it`s just me, or it truly has happened. I suppose I should ask someone who knows me well, however, whomever I ask would most likely either not tell me the truth, or give me a very watered down version of the truth which I so desperately require. I seem to have just realized that I am to turn 23 years old, and I have yet to seem it. Perhaps the reason I feel like such a misfit is because I am, and despite how much that SHOULD bother me, it doesn`t. I don`t mind sometimes acting womanly, and smiling quietly, while doing what is asked of me without any facial expression, but who can accept that as a way of life?

Yes, I accept that growing up is an inevitable process, and as time passes, more is expected of me than ever before, but what is that compared to a happy life? One where, despite going against society, I`m still happy?

I suppose it would be to my credit to listen to my mother and remain reserved around guys, but I can`t be that way! I hate pretending that I don`t want to say hi to my friends, or that I don`t care about them, just because that attitude of mine would impress them!

What is the point of impressing these guys when, for all I know, God has planned my marriage to a gentleman who lives on the other side of the world, has never seen me before, and is taking our impending marriage on complete faith, just as I am? I hate feigning helplessness when it`s only going to make me miserable. What is the point of doing something that is going to make everyone happy, but me miserable? Sooner or later, those feelings will jump ship and land on my parents` shore. Making up the lies required to convince them that I am alright, and that nothing in life will pierce my armor will consume much more than just ignoring people will, and yet my nature rebels against the latter as well.

I pray for enlightenment, for the strength to get through these two years with the same nature I brought into medicine. It is not fair to have to change yourself to fit in. I won`t. I refuse. Accept me this way, or else change yourself. But leave me the hell alone.

Midnight Rambles - October 8th

I sat quietly today and wondered. There was no room for words, or loud, speaking sobs. Just soft tears, as they attempted to roll down the crest of my cheek. but got no further than my lashes. I couldn`t, you see. Let them out. It would be too difficult to say no to the others. So I had to say no to all of them. And no, not just the tears, but the emotions that threatened to burst through their confines and come yelling to the world in my defense, the hurt and bewilderment, I couldn`t, perhaps can`t, explain. Can`t relate to anyone. The pain, the confusion, the utter chaos, must remain within me, swirling and leaping within the boundaries I allow, never further than what I, myself, can control. More and more, I find myself hunting for an unnamed peace, fulfillment, which I seem to require with increasing urgency. A sense of disquiet steals over my being. Though, mistake me not, what I said before stands, but at those moments when I`ve been pushed to the limits, or what I believe to be the limit of my self-control. I may be wrong. It may be that the limits which I assume to be close knit and unexpansive are actually limitless, and I underestimate my own control. Seems to me though, `tis better to underestimate oneself, then to over-estimate, and fall flat with a much more painful and loud splat then would be heard upon falling due to underestimation.

I despise what I cannot understand. I cannot understand myself. What does one do, when the soul cries in desperation for salvation and peace, and the one person who it can cry to, the only person, is he who cannot help? I do not doubt, however, that everyone experiences such moments, and they pull themselves through. Inevitably, the distress, the raging fear, anger, and desperation will fade, and all that will remain is a distant memory of this night, a night when control could not, will not be found. I reiterate what I said before, just so the point of my midnight rambling becomes clear. I`m tired. Just, tired.

`Tis no doubt childish to constantly call out for someone, whom, for all I know, may not exist. But faith is one thing I do not lack, which is the precise reason why, despite all the anxiety, I still talk to "He Who Has Not Appeared". I shall not lose hope.

As the day surely comes after night, so you will surely come. As my reward, or my punishment, as my walking stick, or my shackle, as my companion, or my torturer, I await to see.

Musings - September 9th

I was going to say that not writing, or the reason behind my "leave of absence" was vexing, to say the least, but perhaps that word is too emotional. It`s more, a source of confusion than anything else. I don`t know whether it was, is, for better or for worse that I used to write with such frequency and have now come to a standstill from which I don`t anticipate a return anytime soon. I love writing. What holds such appeal in it for me is as of yet a mystery, but it seems to soothe something inside me, mend some broken part, that though I don`t know exists, has a dire effect on my capacity to face life. It relaxes me, lets me see the world through new eyes, those which haven`t yet been tarnished by the fog of greed, lust, anger, jealousy, and hate. I suppose writing soothes me even more than music, though precisely what about such a simple act makes me feel so at peace baffles me more than those who may read my musings. I don`t write for anyone, or about anything specific. Just the flow of the words on the page, and the sound of the keys as they type out the thoughts of my heart and mind seem to put me at ease. I can`t imagine ever being taken away from this. Ever NOT allowing myself to express life through this medium. All those thoughts about the turmoil that I feel at times ; when all that chaos has been somewhat organized through words, I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my chest, and in some bizarre, inexplicable way, I can breathe again, and the constricting pressure that was keeping the very essence of life from me has been pulled away, or at least, been eased. I can then interact with everyone normally, and allow them their petty pleasures, those from which I feel no amusement anymore.

I have better things to do in this lifetime than handle pain and disagreement. I feel as though I am a hypocrite at times, but I do not act like them to fit in. I am who I am, and my friends try to accept me, even though criticizing my way of being is a ceaseless source of pleasure for them.What can I do at moments like those but to allow them their fun, so that afterwards I do not fall pray to the cruel ribbing that I know they are so very capable of. I don`t know to what I owe the quirk that has befallen my nature, but I am thankful to God for making me the way I am. Hurting people, giving them the slight, these are all things that I am not able to do without my conscience weighing me down heavily enough so as to crush me. In moments like these, rather than pride myself on what I have accomplished, I run to fix what I have broken, to right what I have wronged. Though, to make myself sound like an angel would a gross exaggeration, and to believe I have no flaws, a great misconception. I cannot abide by cheats, fraud, liars. They are abhorred by me, and those who attempt to undermine me by any dishonest tactic shall not remain a part of my meager existence by choice or necessity. I deserve to be respected for who I am, as I respect others for who they are, the way they are. I am not the person who takes any animosity lying down without some form of retaliation on my part. Which form that comes in is something I cannot say until the precise situation arises, and I am forced to act.

Life is no longer a simple walk in the park. It has becomes a maze, with a series of twists and turns so intricate and complex, that getting through it at all is a challenge worth living for. Coming first is no longer the issue. Living to see the end, that is something to hope and fight for.

`Tis past dawn now, and a new day has arisen, whether with open arms, or a new fight is yet to be seen.


Welcome!

Vent, Precious Soul

At the moment, the biggest problem is for me to figure out precisely who it is that my temper is directed towards. It could be him, her, both (some warped combination of the two that I myself cannot explain) or neither, meaning that it is something that happened before, and these two have presently become the most convenient outlets for me to vent at. Life is never a walk in the park, but the moments when it becomes a climb up Mount Everest, a couple of swear words will always make their way into the equation as a delightful prelude.

I despise my anger towards everybody, my cynicism, my sarcasm. But despite all I do, there`s nothing more than to hate, indiscriminately, until all anger had hopefully dissipated, and all that is left is the hollow shell of what fury made. My anger shall not be reigned in, nor shall it be tamped down.

If bias was a crime, I`m sure we would be in jail by now for all the bias that we produce within society. The pain that this boy caused me is, although oblivious to him, completely open, and more so painful to me.

When a person is at the end of their wits, and they have no patience left in their mind, body, or soul, normally, a sane person would not ever attempt to reason with you at that time. However, my shoulder, my family, to be exact, is not completely what I would call sane. To say the obvious, that then means that I don`t view myself as completely well-equipped. I suppose that quirk is what allows me to see through others` facades so quickly.

And then there are times when people come and say things that not only irritate me to no avail, but they also goad me into saying something so sarcastic, that there is naught the other person can do other than almost crying from the satirical whiplash. Though at the time, I may feel either remorse, or a grim delight, later, it most always is a well-deserved comment that they were on the receiving end of, and it serves to remind them that I am not a pushover. It is, in its own twisted way, a blessing.