The New Year Resolution

Every year we promise ourselves to do something different, something almost impossible for our minds to imagine, and we try to push ourselves too hard just to give up.

We often end up blaming ourselves for not being competent enough, not being smart enough at times, being a jerk, being too kind and foolish to let someone else take over our wheel…

Let’s try something different this year. Every night before you go to bed write down one thing you did earlier that day that you were proud of. It may be something simple as helping someone cross the road, an instance where you stood up for yourself, something new you learned, or something you said that made someone smile.

At the end of the year, read through the pages, and I promise, you’ll be amazed at the incredible person you were which you’d probably never known before. At the end of the year, you’ll have a notepad full of things you can be proud of.

Bad stuff? No, you would have probably forgotten them, and even if you didn’t forget them, hey come on, you have another notepad full of fresh pages to start again, to set things right, another new year…

Wish you all a Happy New Year. 

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar

The Invisible

"Is invisibility, a hoax, or a scarcely known truth?" The insatiable mind skimmed through the forbidden grimoires in pursuit of the answer.

After few hours of research, e-books, and few cups of coffee, the question untwined, the answer revealed itself. Invisibility was achievable.

Although the rituals of magic, with its unconfirmed ramifications, could render a human invisible, I demanded a simpler and pragmatic solution. 

[Photo credit: Dogma et Rituel de la Haute Magie ]

Silent contemplation often unknots the serpentine codes of life. 

Life revealed another one of its secrets - being invisible was not difficult, rather unexpectedly unsophisticated.

I learned that invisibility was never a gift meant for the chosen one, rather bestowed upon the one who is not the chosen one. 

Pertaining to my observations and experiments on my social life, invisibility occurred to me as a collateral phenomenon. I discovered that the quickest and safest method to summon the deities to grant me the cloak of invisibility was to demand the truth. 

Truth - the sharp tip of the spear they fear. 

I noticed that I could walk past people without being seen. I could speak, without being heard. I could touch, but I could no more feel the moist warmth of my own breath. I was alive, but never being more dead. I was invisible.

I could sit and watch people pass by, like a child curiously watching the ants march pass by; while the ants paying no heed. Like watching the river flow; its water unperturbed by my touch. I could be there, and not be there. I could be the living present, and also be the long forgotten, ludicrous, dead past. I held the cloak with pride, and exclaimed in the silence of my heart, "I am invisible."

Demanding the truth, I understood, would only cast me into a pit of loneliness. 

Sometimes, we have to let the angst of our fair doubts, consume itself. It's what the world wants, and what the world has turned into. It likes to bask in the dirt of lies and choke itself with the filth of deceit. 

And so, I choose to be invisible, to them, to this world...

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar

The Lighthouse

As a child I always wondered how a lighthouse worked. To me, it was a giant man, the unswerving night guard, the host to the ghosts and goons, the unselfish tower of hope... the living yet inanimate pile of rock, it hums to the songs of joy of the fortunate sailors, and mourns with the sorrowful ode of the ocean.

[Photo Credit: hdwallpaperbackgrounds.net]

The quiescent mysterious monument, unequivocally, had some strange connection. As if it were to say something in its subtle hum, with its outreaching light that tears through the heart of darkness and reaches the undiscovered stretches of the unknown seas.

Perpetually watching the undulating sheets of the ocean, looking for the hopeless and weary, guiding them out of their lamentations, its purpose pushes it to live a thousand more years every time the callous sea storms command it to collapse to the earth; he is not impervious, he is not invincible, he is not perfect, but driven by the faith that he cannot fall. His foolishness invigorates him that he, simply, cannot fail. He cannot succumb to the weakening waves fervidly shaking his foundation; so madly me believes.

Has he not heard them swearing? Has he not bled enough to the sharp spears of derision and hatred, and that of jealously? Has he not felt disgusted in the piss of disdain pooled around his feet? And, has he not overlooked the multitudinous deceptions that were hosted under the shadows of his own oblivion? He has, yet he is unblemished and rooted. It stands unwavering in the midst of it all.

The lighthouse, with its loud existence but silent deeds, perseveres to be the imbecile it is destined to be. It can never expect a visitor's solicitude, for solicitude has long been ostracised and is incongruous for the present it rots in.

It can never fall, for the burden of its curse makes it unshakable, and the rhythm of the ocean waves let it sing...

In the darkness, past the midnight
Alone I stand, the fearless knight
Courage my spear, lantern of hope
Anchored my faith to a burning rope.

"Oh look, the purposeless pile of stones.
Worthless construction that stands alone."
"No wait... Ed, it's a piece of art."
Look beneath, there's a beating heart.

Dawn to dusk, till my chains rust
I ought to fight, till I turn to dust
Until the bricks betray and fall apart
Until my light's lost, the soul departs.

I will be the uncomplaining shelter till storms pass by
Shake off the dust and leave without, a goodbye...


Alone in the darkness, it stands firm - The Lighthouse... because sometimes it takes a lifeless to teach the living to how to live. Sometimes, a cold unemotional rock is also an epitome of perseverance.

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar

Kintsukuroi - Beautifully Broken

Kintsukuroi - a Japanese word that I stumbled upon a while ago. A victim to my heedless assumption that the word lacked purpose. It was never the words, solely, that inspired me, but the unspoken inspiration that the word shrouded. And so, the word lay dormant in the tranquil cavern of my heart for a long time. Until now, when it finally revealed its inspiring purpose.

[Photo Credit: expatsincebirth,com]

If ever, the amorphous soul of a man were to be delineated as a tactile cup, it would never be an unblemished embodiment of perfection. It is, however, a broken cup that we all choose to bury deep. The fine crevices in it that fissures our soul; ones which disheartens us. The interstices that let the dark amalgam of depression seep in. The broken cup, our soul, an evident emblem of the pitiful past.

I always assumed that the cracks in the soul were everlasting; irremovable stains that inclement circumstances engraves on us. I was right; yet all this time, I buttressed a wrong perception. There always existed another façade to the truth itself. A facet which unveiled itself like the 'silver lining' we all search for in the midst of tribulations. A facet which startled me with the truth that I was wrong about imperfections in its entirety.

The facet's epiphenomenal revelation - I met a soul who had beautified herself. The one who had learned to fill the crevices with beautiful molten gold, embracing every scar as a decoration, and wearing every gash as an embellishment. One who had learned to be beautiful while being imperfect. A pragmatic exemplar of Kintsukuroi - being beautifully broken.

And so I realized, the imperfections are the ones which make us beautiful. The scars of cruel time that blesses us with empty spaces, just so we could cleave the broken pieces of our brittle soul with invigorating gleam of hope.

The dear imperfections which ceaselessly remind us, "we all are broken, yet beautiful."

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar

The Last Touch - Shawn writes to Tennie

"Here, I've got something for you." I pulled out a folded paper from my jeans pocket.

"What is it?" 

"Um, well it's my grocery list."

"Um-hmm. Really?" She raised her eyebrows suggesting mild sarcasm.


"Kidding. A poem I wrote..."

Shawn from 'Never a goodbye' writes a poem for Tennie before he leaves with her memories in his heart.

And he writes:

I was amidst faux masks of expressions

Overpowering suffocation of an unknown crowd

I witnessed a glimpse of a shimmering brilliance

A mystical presence that began to astound

Flowing hair with subtle streaks of silver

Your little eyes that pierce through my soul

Those balanced lips holding a natural pout

Your golden face embellished with mole

Those swift sharp feet seems always in a rush

But quicker is your tongue that flows like a creek

Powerful persona that amazes the world

Yet a kind Tibetan heart which is utterly meek

Time has it written, it never heard you lie

And so is time so darling to you

Never known to let slip a second in vain

A rare admirable quality only seen in few

Something strange there is in you

Something beautiful that I can't explain

I may be fantasizing, day-dreaming, hallucinating?

Though, am I the one to blame?

Thoughts of you don't trouble me at all

And seldom you visit my dreams

Only because you keep me awake at nights

You're the priceless bright of my night that gleams

You could tell a tale with silent words

Feel, but you'll never express

Your heart that sings a subdued ode

A one that never blatantly frets

Never a detail can slip past your watch

Admirable is the way you observe

I wonder where your humour is forged

Your mind a thoughtful reserve

The way you suppress a smile

And the way you silently say “I care”

The way you catch me red handed

When I stupidly stare

The way you stand up for right

And yet appear harmless as dove

The eyes of compassion and solicitude

A heart filled with love

And...

Sometimes I wonder if you're an angel

fallen from heaven and hurt your butt

For they look so rounded and attractive

as if big lovely pumpkin given a perfect cut

As you smile while reading that line

I so wish to capture it while I can

Imagine what they call us if we're together

Probably, Miss. BenTen and Mr. Tan

I love the way you call me names

Love the way you pull my chains

The way you just burst out in laughter

When I “figuratively” eat your brain

I must say I am utterly lucky

that you and I met this way

and if you could grin and bear a little darkness

Forever I would love to stay

This poem had never seen light before, until now; upon special request. Thank you all for taking time to read my posts. 

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar

A Silent Appreciation

An untimely unanticipated moment pleads for an unusual stroll. An escapade from the enslaving computer screen. He looks at the old fashioned pendulum clock on the wall. It's 10:30 at night, the most suitable time to allow fresh cold breeze to revive his weakened lungs. They are growing tired of dispersing frustration and nonsense through his veins. 

Ed puts on his white sweatshirt and walks to nearby market. The market is not crowded at all. The street is faintly lighted by the dim yellow lights from the old wooden lamp posts. 

People come here at this time to take advantage of the late night disposal sale for the left over groceries. 

His breathing deepens. He keeps a subtle smile on his face and walks around appreciating the intrinsic beauty in creation. He is pretty much sure nothing can bother him at this time. He feels relaxed and finds himself in an uncanny, but blissful, dimension of consciousness.

A man in his mid-thirties whisks past by barely missing Ed's shoulder. The man's plastic bag that caged more than what it could hold, couldn't hold any longer. The tomatoes bursts out tearing the bag and scatters all over on the street. The man is perplexed at this unexpected event. He swears at some invisible body or force that was responsible. 

He rushes to gather the tomatoes. Undoubtedly, he is not expecting a helping hand amongst the sympathetic, and probably mocking, onlookers. 

Ed is one amongst the same crowd, but he is in a little quandary - what to do besides just watching. Would sympathy be enough? Is he waiting for someone else to take the first step, and probably move on after? 

He is succumbing to the comfort of his mundane existence. He doesn't want to take chances and look stupid. And then at once, a wind of irrationality blows over his mind, momentarily blinding him to see what's right and what's wrong. He quickly reacts, bends down to collect those tomatoes. 

Ed walks over to the man with a slight smile and let the few tomatoes in his hands roll into his new plastic bag. Such a simple action slows the man's quick moving hands that were busy chasing tomatoes. The fierce looking man who was frustrated, probably embarrassed, stops for a subtle moment in amazement. He looks at Ed, and then silently carries on. Yet, Ed saw what his eyes were saying - 'Thank you.'

---

We often hold ourselves back like we're chained by self-constructed rational reasons. We hesitate to be the first one. And mostly, it is about what people would think about us. 

What if we became more spontaneous? What if it was like reflex action? I, however, understand that doing something stupid without thinking will surely land us into trouble. Though, it is also noted that often times we know what is right and what we have to do and still hesitate.

What if we became risk takers; instead of cold and apathetic, we were warm and more spontaneous?

Comment your thoughts below. Thank you for reading. Appreciate it.

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar

Never A Goodbye

They say angels walk amongst us in disguise. And there are those who seems to have been gifted with unbelievable attributes which makes them best of both. It appeared highly unbelievable until he stumbled upon one.

"Beauty, is it really in the eyes of the beholder, or can it stand out distinctively? Something that compels you to turn your head to get another look at this beautiful girl who appears in the corner of your eye. Am I exaggerating her? Am I projecting a side of her which exists only in my imagination? Was she even real? If she was then why did I met her?" Shawn desperately demands answers to the questions which agitates his soul.

Everything was normal. No extraordinary signs, no tarot card predictions that told me I would be winning a PowerBall, and absolutely no preternatural messages from heaven. Ironically, great things often happen when one is least expecting it. Precisely, when one is not expecting anything at all.

Something great occurred to me too. Her name was Tennie.

She walked passed by and I couldn't resist her outstanding persona. Such strong yet meek character. I knew it instinctively that I would never be wrong about her. 

Unspeakably beautiful. And so the first question got chiselled onto my heart. "Isn't she a surreal being? As if from another dimension?"

Before I could knew I caught myself stupidly starring at her. Those dark deep pupils placed inside the safety of mesmerizing little eyes starring back at me - she had already caught me a couple of times. I was sure she knew it.

She was an intense young woman, passionate, brimming with sheer genuine love for what she did. Somewhere I had seen myself in her; a part of me that past had brutally stolen away from me.

It had to be me and I made my first wise move. I walked up to her, pulled an empty chair, and with a wide smile, "Hello, Tennie." I was sure I wasn't entirely a stranger to her. After all, she had been noticing me.

Before I knew it we started talking, sharing moments which were simple in it's core but amazingly ecstatic. 

Tennie and I had nothing in common on the outside. She was from another state, she had a different mother tongue with words with twisted pronunciation, had different taste for food and music - our cultural difference measured over three thousand kilometres. Yet on a deeper level, there existed something strange between us and I wasn't sure what it was.

Soon we developed a stronger connection. We laughed at the same jokes and most of the times they needn't have to be told. Tennie was the reason for that uncanny joy that filled my heart. Hardest of the days became most easiest ones.

"You know what Shawn. You're stupid... and dark." Her sarcastic and playful scorn, I loved those. Tennie was the only person I had known so far who would not offend me even when she hurled one of those racist comments in disguise. I saw something deeper in her fun-filled teasing remarks. 

Sure there was something growing between us. I wouldn't believe anyone if they told me otherwise.

"Shawn, I think we should maintain distance. We've to be apart." I never saw it coming. It broke my heart. It was the day when her remarks were not merely playful mockery but had a concealed message. A heart-wrecking one.

A week passed. I couldn't hold my overpowering urge to talk to her again. I would have been stupid if I didn't talk to her, or even more of an idiot if I had waited for her to come to me. No, I would have never let that happen.

I grabbed the empty chair next to her - just like the first time we met. I foolishly smiled and looked into her eyes. She smiled, with a deep sigh she replied with one of those witty remarks. "Ah, you again. You scared me, you dark knight." 

I wondered, "hadn't I been missing them."

"Tennie, I've got something for you." 

"Huh?" she tried opening her little eyes in surprise.

"Don't strain on your eyes, Ten. They wouldn't open more."

"Shut up," she slapped on my arm.

"Here, I've got something for you." I pulled out a folded paper from my jeans pocket.

"What is it?" 

"Um, well it's my grocery list."

"Um-hmm. Really?" She raised her eyebrows suggesting mild sarcasm.

"Kidding. A poem I wrote." 

"Wow! Really? Oh damn I can't figure out what you have written, Shawn. Argh! You handwriting is nearly pathetic. I will read it when I get back home." I smiled.

"Bye Shawn." She shook hands.

"Bye Ten."

Shawn walked away while engraving her face into his heart without knowing it was the last time he would see her.

Mostly, life doesn't give reasons. After all life doesn't owe anyone anything. It is not always about finding meanings and answers, at least to those questions which are not meant to be answered. Not yet. Not that life wouldn't give answers - with time, yes it will, when the heart is truly ready to hear the truth. 

Shawn often recalls her face. He pulls out the ketchup sachets from his bag. The ones she gave him once, which he slipped into this jacket pockets and never threw them. He doesn't know if she remember those moments at all. Of course she wouldn't have. After all, who cares about something which was meant to be thrown away. 

Sometimes his eyes become wet. Though, he never fails to smile. Smile in the same way he used to. As if she was right in front of him.

He never fails to say, "Tennie, it's never a goodbye..."

Copyright (c) 2016 Shine Jayakumar