This is a story about an doctor who is living a normal life. She feels that she should focus on helping everyone and making people’s lives better. In doing this, she forgets to care about herself. She is almost lost, till she is brought back.
Cara was one of the best doctors in San Francisco. She had a huge heart and she cared for everyone. She was open and talked freely with her patients which is why she was recommended by many to many.
If you were Cara’s friend, you would be one of the luckiest people in the world. One could always trust her. She never let anyone down and hated making mistakes. She might sound like a flawless person, but she had one flaw. She was just too caring.
She was lost in her own care and generosity. She did things beyond her capacity to help others. She did things no one would ever do for her patients. While she tried being the best, she got carried away. This made her lose her patience and eventually, her health. But, being the person she is, Cara did not tell anyone about her bad health.
She just wanted to make everyone happy and make a good and lasting impression, but that never happened. She was at loss at what to do and cried herself to sleep.
Her friends were concerned about her and confronted her about it. Since Cara was scared and couldn’t hold on to herself, she cried it all out. She kept on talking and mumbling things nobody could understand. However, one thing was clear, she needed to get out of her office.
If she continued living like this, her friends decided she would lose herself in the deeper seas of life and her ship would sink gradually. So, Cara was dragged by her friends for a holiday. They went for a trek. And it was only then that Cara understood simplicity.
She realized that nature never tried to impress, but left everyone spellbound. She realized that there is an art in being who you are – raw. She realized that being original is more appealing that being sugar coated. What I wonder is, when will we realize this?
This is a poem about how a writer’s head swims in the middle of a book, for he is trying to keep us with his life and give birth to a million more too.
Today is changing Too fast for me I can’t catch up With the train of life
Unopened letters Unsaid words Unused lives Just hover in front of my eyes
I want to finish everything Yet leave everything unfinished But I will never get to choose For I live everyday
I live a thousand lives And see a thousand dying But I too die in a hundred worlds And am saved in a hundred too
I’m trying to make it easier But the characters still haunt my dreams I see them everywhere I go For they yearn to be given life
They yearn to live a thousand lives They yearn to have a story written And while I try to scribble down lives I try to live them too.
We often seem to think that life is a ladder. We take our steps, rung after rung. Once we are halfway up, we believe we won’t ever fall down. With that we don’t listen to ourselves telling us to slow down, but try to keep up with life and run up. Our lives become monotony. We refuse to sit down, to breathe, to live.
I don’t mean to say that we should take life slowly and steadily all the way through. Because life is not about being slow and steady, but keeping up pace, enjoying and not overdoing anything. What I do mean is that we take life too seriously. We put money and jobs before our family and our self. We fail to feel anymore.
We think it will look bad if we cry. We think it will ruin our reputation. We think it will shrink us to perform such low acts. For today, we just want to impress. But nobody will be impressed if you are not human. If you pretend to be higher than you actually are, then you just exist. You don’t live. Sometimes, even the mighty elephant takes steps down his ladder of life as he mourns the dead. He impresses people and he has power but he lets go of it. He does feel feelings.
Will we ever climb down just to feel the breeze blowing? Just to look at the scenery painted in front of us? Just to take a step down and live life?
Like it is said, there is an art in being imperfect. An art in being different, original. A mountain is not a mountain if it lacks jaggedness. A person is not human if he is flawless. Which is how life is not life if all paths are carved out. For life may begin with a road, but that road fades, for life expects us to make our way through. To make our own road to lead anywhere, through anything, and to experience.
Some of us, however, want to first sweep the ground that lacks a road- to avoid all problems. Some of us want to be protected from all dangers. Some of us want to abandon life by abandoning our will to get through life. For we fear doing something wrong and bearing consequences.
What we don’t realize is that if we take shelter, we will never know. We will never feel the jaggedness of the mountains. We will never hear a song in the waterfall. We will never admire the swaying leaves, but brush them away. Will we ever stop focusing on life, and admire it? Will we stop sweeping the falling twigs and branches, but find beauty? Will we ever climb the mountain and feel its steepness? Will we ever stop in the middle of life to just admire its roadlessness?
There once was a man who knew everything. He knew all the stories, all the fates, all the destines. He carried the weight of the knowledge of the world. He knew what would happen to each and every being, to each and every thing. People say he was the world for he knew so much.
He would spend his days scribbling on pieces of paper : the stories of everyone. His hand throbbed each night, blotched with ink, yet he wrote. He wrote to forget, for he couldn’t bear knowing anymore. He wanted each day to be a surprise, so he never understood why everyone wanted to know what was to happen next in their story. For a story has twists and turns and ups and downs, the the element of surprise is what keeps us going till the end.
His papers would fly out of his window that overlooked the sea. He never tried to catch them, for stories must be free. He kept on writing and writing and time passed and passed. Till there came a day where he wrote his story. And he realized his fate. And he was the storyteller. He told of the world. Of life. With that, he let himself free, fading into pieces of papers and words.
Those scraps of paper were lost into life itself. And today, many of us worry that we will never find our story, never realize our fate. What we must realize is that our stories are in our hands. We are holding our own book of life. We are holding a pen in our hands. We must learn to ignore the man’s stories, for he just expected. He never knew. We know though. And it is up to us to go searching for our story in the depths of life, or to forget this story and write our own.
Everyone has secrets. Everyone hides something. And everyone has their own reasons. Everyone judges and everyone is judged. And everyone is wary, for secrets must not be heard by just anyone. Trust cannot be handed over so recklessly. Unity cannot be achieved so easily.
Most of us live by this. We fail to see everything as a whole. People see their family as one. Their city as one. Their country as one, but how many of us see this world as one? I’m not implying that none of us are grateful or that nobody cares about this world. I’m simply saying that unless trust is entrusted and unless friendships are friended, we will remain where we are.
Where are we, you might ask. We are at a point where betrayal is a word. Where our hearts are silenced and logic is the answer to every question. Where instincts are shunned away and building a reputation suddenly is more important. Where imagination is not loved but scoffed upon and where human nature is fading away.
What we once had, what we should have, is faith. To have faith in each other and to trust one another. For wars, shouts, papers will get us nowhere unless we are willing to go there. If we only see earth as a whole. Earth as a planet that has given birth to life. Earth as the planet that hopes to give life to other planets. Earth as a brilliantly woven gown – that inspires and that shines. Where every thread matters.
The sun has set The moon has risen The sunflower cries and hides her face Yearning for the light To wake her up And take her through a journey That is unforgettable. She is awoken to a sky That makes the most colorful rainbows Seem like faint faded art For she knows true beauty And she feels it every morning. Sometimes she wakes up to rain She lets it cool her face She scours the skies for the sun And she finds him. Sometimes she wakes up hearing the sea As it clashes against faraway cliffs She feels the monster that lurks in the ocean’s spirit And she feels the angel too. And sometimes nature wakes her up She hears the sun singing to her And she hears the wind’s melodies And she hears the birds’ chirps That change everyday. But she never grows tired Of following the sun Of living with nature Of being a sunflower.
How can I trust you
Milomi's world 