Tuesday, May 15, 2012

As Told By Ginger - And She Was Gone

She chose to walk alone.
Though others wondered why.
Refused to look before her,
Kept eyes cast upwards,
Towards the sky.
She didn't have companions.
No need for earthly things.
Only wanted freedom,
From what she felt were puppet strings.
She longed to be a bird.
That she might fly away.
She pitied every blade of grass
For planted they would stay.
She longed to be a flame.
That brightly danced alone.
Felt jealous of the steam
That made the air its only home.
Some say she wished too hard.
Some say she wished too long.
But we awoke one autumn day
To find that she was gone.
Some say she wished too hard.
Some say she wished too long.
But we awoke one autumn day
To find that she was gone.
The trees, they say, stood witness.
The sky refused to tell.
But someone who had seen it
Said the story played out well.
She spread her arms out wide.
Breathed in the break of dawn.
She just let go of all she held...
And then she was gone.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Road to Martyrdom

I was the one who gives and seldom ask something in return. Then, I finally got the feeling of hoping to be help for but came back in the end helpless. I felt the moment when someone else turns their back on you. I usually do get those moments but this is the time that I really need help but got nothing. I do not get mad or try to get even with this kind of situation. Most likely on a typical human nature we try to get on the safe side by not giving too much or just by trying to get revenge on those people who turned their backs on us. I have learned to get by on my own most of the time but there would come a time we would need something from someone; so we seek help. I am not the one who is scared of asking for help if I really need one and so I did but was in vain.

 As I said I got to understand and accept that there might be something worth more important than my need. But I found myself crying, for the unfairness and my stupidity. Some people say I am too good to be true but most of the times people regard me as a martyr. I am a giver in all sense: to whatever smallest thing that I have that can help someone I would give it wholeheartedly without hesitation. I am not born wealthy, I just know the feeling of having nothing from having something and being able to share it with other people. One friend even told me that martyrs get killed. But unlike me and the rest of other martyrs out there; we are unsung. We are left in the dark by those ungrateful people. I sound like I am angry right now but I am not. I am just heartbroken and disappointed (most of the time I am disappointed). Maybe then it was my fault people took me for granted because I let them do this to me and just continue to be meek and quiet. But I really cannot afford to be angry because it will just lead me to regrets and waste of time. Anyway, I believe in the power of karma. It will eventually come around and be in my favor.

It is just sad that a simple thank you is thrown a little bit too much now and has lost its rightful meaning. There are just those real people who are born thick-skinned or just use gratitude for the sake of using it. It is so difficult to believe in what is real and to feel what kindness is when some people are just so ridiculously unbelievable in a bad way. In a world where we meet a variety of personalities that gives us a confusion of emotions we sometimes give up on believing in humanity already. I cannot give up even if they say martyrs get killed and would just die in vain. I just keep my faith like I always did. I do can get my on my own but it sometimes is wonderful for a heart that hopes to have someone who can fully appreciate a martyr like me.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

A Thousand Splendid Suns (Book Review)

Women like us. We endure. It's all we have.

Moving and grips my very heart.This book already sent me to tears as I was just reading a few pages of it. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini; the title was derive from a poem by Saib-e-Tabrizi back in 17th century. Here is a line from the poem:

One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs.
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

The book unfolds the story of two Afghan women; Mariam and Laila thrown into each others lives amidst their war-torn country. First we get to know the young Mariam who lives with her mother away from the prying people of the city of Herat because she was a harami (a bastard). At a young age she adored her father even though she had to share his love and affection with his three wives and ten other children. Soon, Mariam faced the sorrow of losing her mother and the realization that her father was really ashamed of her. At fifteen, she was forced to marry a troubled and bitter man; Rasheed from Kabul thirty years her senior. This man will eventually beat her and enslaved her because she was not able to give him a child. Then Mariam was forced to welcome the orphaned Laila. At the height of the unrest, Laila lost her parents and was separated from her beloved Tariq. With nothing left for her Laila decided to marry Rasheed to save her child as she believed a lie that Tariq was already dead.

Together, Mariam and Laila built a friendship that knows no blood relation and boundaries. They found solace in each other as they faced unfathomable struggle and pain of being a woman in a country consumed by war, starvation, brutality, inequality and poverty. The book shows you how a woman suffers in silence, fights for a hope so bleak, and trust in love that endures everything.

The story reflects the struggle of Afghan women to fight for their rightful in their society during the climax of war from the leaving of the Soviets to the Taliban rule and up until President Bush declared war against Osama Bin Laden. In the story, Mariam suffered the shame of being an illegitimate child. Laila was forced to give birth through Caesarian without any anesthesia in a hospital with meager facilities. Women were never allowed to travel without a man companion or else they will be beaten. They were force to wear the traditional burqa to hide their faces without any accessories. They fought with man to have equal rights but in vain. This book was dedicated to all Afghanistan women and their plight. God only knows how things right now in Afghanistan are. Surely, things might be totally different now and we can only hope that the women are not suffering like this anymore. A heart can only endure so much, anyway.

Each snowflake was a sigh heaved by an aggrieved woman somewhere in the world. All the sighs drifted up the sky, gathered into clouds, then broke into tiny pieces that fell silently on the people below. As a reminder of how women suffer.