after life, part one

The first drops of rain started to drop on the windshield as Saleem started the wipers.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?” he said.

“Is this a bad time? Seeing as we’re both here, it seems a good time as any,” said Nabeeha, her eyebrow slightly raised. Nabeeha and Saleem had been married for three years. Their baby girl, Mariam, was snugly tucked in her car seat at the back. Both parents would sneak a glance from time to time during their car rides.

“I guess I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Not ready? You know this eats away at me on the inside.”

“It’s not easy for me either. I’m afraid for what this means. For our future.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I want to make this very clear, I love you and I love Mariam, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me too.”

There was a pause for a few beats, and both of them asked simultaneously, “Now what?”

“Hah. I don’t know,” said Saleem.

“That’s the thing, right. I don’t know either.”

They both turned back for a quick glance at Mariam. It didn’t last long. Their glance was interrupted by a horn sound that seemed to be coming closer and louder. A container truck came sliding at them sideways. The type of containers you see stacked on a huge ship, often carrying merchandise in the import/export process. The truck continued sliding, carrying the car with it, until it wedged the car in between a tree.

Nabeeha was unconscious, blood slowly flowing from her ear. There were no sounds of Mariam crying. Saleem maintained faint consciousness, a blur of realization. He fully intended to call out the names of his wife and daughter, but was unable.

Saleem felt the glowing ambulance and firetruck lights. He felt the commotion of the men outside. He felt the wheels of the stretcher used to carry him to the ambulance. He felt the ambulance wobbling on the road and the sirens streaming above. Then he too lost consciousness.

“Stay with us, buddy,” the paramedic said, “we’re almost at the hospital.”

remember

the fragrance of jasmine seeped
into my senses, jasmine molecules
through the vapour of this tea.
and it reminded me of the time
we found the tea. i remember it like
it was yesterday. the cool summer breeze
as we walked into kensington. or perhaps
it was scarborough town and a cool
winter breeze. the tea’s available everywhere
now, even walmart carries it.

but this cup, this vapour, this smell.
every cup of this tea will remind me
of you – every sip of it. well, not
every sip. that seems a bit much. but
certainly many sips. and probably not
every cup of tea. let’s be real here.
time will pass and my senses will be
distracted. who knows what they
will remember. who knows what they
will forget.

who knows where a memory may lead.

point of indifference.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but there is no big lie. There is no system. The universe is indifferent.

Don Draper from Mad Men

I took note of this when it was said during the show and was reminded of it recently when this Oatmeal comic surfaced upon the internet.

An indifferent universe – a comforting thought. But it isn’t quite true.

It is only in our hubris that we should say such a thing. It is not the prerogative of a rock to be indifferent. It is indifferent by default. However, the universe is diverse – as much as a rock is a part of the universe, so is all that is conscious. We are not simply in a foreign universe, we are a part of it. We are made of the same stuff. We are it.

I was also reminded of this by one of my favourite poets:

A man said to the universe:
“Sir I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”

– Stephen Crane

So yes, perhaps the universe is indifferent, but it is not always so. Ever cared for someone or something? Ever have someone care for you?

Hardly indifferent.

hope.

I don’t think you understand what the word hope means. It is not belief, it is not conviction, and it certainly is not a guarantee. I do not believe, I am not convinced, and I certainly do not make any guarantees. To hope is to wish, it is to dream. I wish and I dream, and so I am hopeful.

I am not a believer, I am a dreamer.

I dream therefore I desire – I desire, therefore I am.

your eyes.

if i could take away
that glimmer from your
eyes for a moment
and show you your
life again. what moments
would you revise? what
steps would turn their
tide? would you leave
yourself some element of
surprise? some unspoken sign?
some cryptic advice? given
a chance, are we not
all revisionists? odd defective
perfectionists? trying to better
all that matters to
us at the time.
what would you do
if i took away that
glimmer from your eyes?

a field of dreams.

I was flying over a city. Not in an airplane or any other mechanical device. I was flying over a city like a bird. I was in a dream. This dream is over three years old.

The city I was flying over was very clean and pristine. It was like freshly polished silver. I could feel the clarity in the air. The buildings were well built and pretty. I do make light use of the word pretty here, these buildings were pretty.

But this wasn’t all there was to the city. There was another part, one not so clean. It seemed like it was still under construction, or perhaps post-destruction. There was rubble all around and on-going construction. Flying over this part I could feel the difference in the air. It was part of the same city, but the atmosphere was different.

And in the midst of all this rubble and construction was a field of oranges. From a birds-eye view this field stood out so strongly, more than any other part of the entire city. One part of the field was filled with boxes of oranges.

I wanted to get closer to this field and had made the intention to land near it.

But this is all I can remember of this dream.