a glimpse of tales

Year 27, Day 148 Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end - not necessarily in that order. This is mine.

[lenaghelan]

[silly-luv]

[coffeeforthemoon]

[xdkah-deactivated20200122]

[gearpatrol]

A dinner table at Camp Wandawega.

[blue-bell-the-van]

Rainy morning coffee back in Texas.

[circlers-deactivated20231019]

[lauryncravens-deactivated202007]

This dog followed me around as we were hiking up the terraces. The locals said he didn’t have a name, but I called him Lucky because it never rained

[glimpseoftales]

Year 18, Day 147

I'm sorry I didn't visit you earlier. I know I should have, but I couldn't. It's not like I haven't tried. I won't be able to visit you today either. Because it's pointless. It's not like there is rotten flesh and bones and dust in that coffin, there's nothing underneath that heavy stone. We burned you. There are no parts of you left. Those parts that couldn't be burned, they were thrown away by some guy at the crematory. They don't hand you a box of ashes with teeth and bones and stuff in it. They don't want you to know that there are things that can't be burned. I made sure everyone knows. I'm a bitch these days. I'm here! I thought that our favourite spot would be an appropriate place to talk to you. I sometimes think about digging out our time capsule, but I can't. It would kill me in an instant. It's been nine months. I remember the night at the hospital, when I hold your hand and kissed your forehead and tried to count all your broken bones. The nurse told me that you had severe injuries. I told her that it was okay, because you healed quickly. I remember punching this nurse. I remember them holding me. I remember you dying. I remember me screaming. I don't remember a thing that happened between that and your funeral. I remember your mom and dad. Your cousins and uncles. Your grandparents. Our friends. I remember giving a speech. I remember taking cocaine from Bene. I remember calling your cell to listen to your answering machine, because I wasn't able to recall the sound of your voice. I remember spending nights and nights in your apartment, sniffing on your clothes, lying in your bed, using your toothbrush, smashing your tv, leaving that place for good. I remember burning all our pictures, because they were showing what was and never will be. I remember burning my hands while trying to save those pictures. I remember you. Your laugh and your words. How you would always write these amazing songs with the most incredible lyrics. I remember you singing them to me while I was taking a bath in your parents' whirlpool. I remember falling asleep next to you and feeling so so so save. I remember planning trips with you. I remember going on trips with you. I don't remember what it felt like to be happy. Life's pointless. I'm sorry, but it is. It should have been me. Not you. You were so much better. You made me better. You would have eventually made me good. You were everything. You still are everything. I can't remember telling you how much I loved you. Love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I miss you. I love love love you. So so so much. I love you. Do you hear me? I love love love you. Fuck. I love you. I love how you would always get lost in places you knew well. How you would make a song out of everything that happened around you. The pancake song. The I won two euros at the lottery song. The I got a fucking car for my birthday song. The you're my best friend in the world song. I love how you could make me smile just by calling me. How much you made me feel alive. How you would never judge people. How you would reach for my hand whenever I felt scared. How you would make fun of me when I was hiding behind pillows whenever we watched a scary movie. I love you. I just need you to know that. I should have told you every day. I love you. I LOVE YOU! Do you understand? I love you. With every cell of my body. I love you. And I miss you so much. It hurts. It doesn't stop hurting. It's the only pain I'm able to feel. I broke my finger the other day. Not by accident, but on purpose. I bent it backwards, put more pressure on it, until it finally snapped. The sound of a breaking bone is weird. There it was. My broken finger. I looked at it. I knew it was supposed to hurt. I knew there was pain. That my head told my body to feel the pain. I touched it. My body knew it was hurting. I didn't feel a thing. I touched it again. Put more pressure on it. But nothing, only the knowledge that there should be pain where there wasn't. Alex drove me to the hospital. I should have someone taking a look a it. So I sat there. The doctor - all white hair and wisdom - examined it. Asked how it happened. I told him, I broke it. He said he could see that, but wanted to know how it happened. I told him again that I broke it. That I broke it by choice. He stared at me. I think he was shocked. Then he nodded. He asked me if I wanted help. I said not yet. He nodded. He subscribed me painkillers and bandaged my finger. Then he let me go. [...] I'm killing myself. I'm not cutting my wrist or jumping of a building even though I really like the thought of it. I'm just killing myself slowly. With every day that passes, I'm a little closer to death. And I'm not afraid. I'm not scared. I will welcome death as an old friend. As an accomplice of my crimes. I will nod at him in silence and then follow him wherever he wants me to go. Aren't people supposed to be afraid of death? I'm trying to, but death feels like relief. Whereas life feels like the scariest monster on earth. It scares the shit out of me. I know I should live. I know that. I know I should live for you too. But I can't. I'm done with life. There's nothing left to do, because everything I wanted to do had you in it. I can't go to London, because we wanted to go there together. Strolling through Notting Hill, slow dancing at Piccadilly Circus, eating fish and chips, being just so awesome that the queen would invite us over for tea. I can't go to New York, because it should have been us, exploring Manhattan and Brooklyn. Checking out the Guggenheim and the Met. Watching a football game. Eating hot dogs in Central Park. It should have been us! You and me. You! Always you. I quit school. I'm done with that. I don't have any friends anymore, I don't want anyone in my life anymore. It hurts them, you know? Seeing me killing myself day by day. Jay and Alex kinda stick around, but their hands are tight. Bene is here. Always. [...] And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that I'm dying when you were taking the chance of living. But I can't do this shit without you. I need you. I need you here. I need you by my side. I know I'm selfish. But it's the truth. Without you I am nothing. I need you to come back. You could be a zombie or a vampire or a ghost or whatever. I don't care, I would love you still. And if I could I would trade my life for just a day with you. I would be fine with an hour. A minute. I would be fine just starring at you, touching you for a second. Telling you how much I love you. How sorry I am for not being the first to give in. For not being the first person to call after that stupid little fight. For calling you names. For saying all those mean things to you. I'm sorry that those were the last words you ever heard me saying. I'm sorry. I'm so so so so sorry. [...]

[glimpseoftales]

Year 14, Day 203

“What are you going to do?” “Me? What I am going to do? He’s yours!” “You’re a woman! You’re supposed to know things like that!” “Fuck! I’m 13! I’m barely a teenager.”

I’m looking down at this little, screaming human being. He’s four months old and he’s crying like his world just exploded. Maybe because it did. His mother just left. For good.

“Have you changed his diapers?”

You stare at me in awe.

“He hasn’t complained about a full diaper yet.” “Jeez! He was born like yesterday. He doesn’t know how to talk yet to complain.”

You’re so disgusted be the smell and the look of the content of his diaper that you leave the room. Leaving me with a baby and no clue how to change diapers. I clean him with wet tissues. Here some baby powder, there some more. Just to make sure, even though I don’t know what that stuff does. But knowing it’s supposed to be used after cleaning that baby’s butt. At least that’s what it says at the back of the tiny bottle.

I cram a new diaper out of the bag. Baby has stopped screaming and is looking rather content now. Diapers are pretty self explanatory. Good for me. Good for him.

As I’m returning to the living room, you’re already sleeping. It might took me a littler longer than I thought.

Baby’s now coughing. Baby has started crying again, forcing you to wake up.

“I think he has a fever.” “Shit. I think I have some meds in the bathroom.” “Stupid much? You can’t give a baby meds for adults.” “Oh! Really? We could give him like half of a pill.”

I roll my eyes. You never had much of a common sense. I tell you to turn on the hot water in the bathroom, to close the door and all the windows. If steam helps adults to get better, it might work for a kid as well.

While you’re off to find a pharmacy that’s open in the middle of the night, I’m standing in your bathroom, your son in my arms, padding his back, humming melodies of long forgotten lullabies.

Hush little baby don’t say a word, papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird and if that mockingbird won’t sing, papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

I find diamond rings rather inappropriate for little boy toddlers, but the only other ring that comes to my mind is even more inappropriate for little boys.

His coughing gets better. I’m getting sweatier. Drops of salty liquid find their way down my back. But that little thing in my hands is now breathing lighter and that’s the only thing that matters.

A little later I’m sitting on your couch, you put a blanket over my legs to make sure I’m not freezing in the heat of a summer night in late July.

Your son’s asleep in my arms.

“You should buy a bed for him, you know?” “You should totally move in! I’ll make money! You quit school and replace his mom!”

I roll my eyes.

I will fall asleep eventually, your son still in my arms. You will take a picture of us. Ten years later I will find that picture in your apartment. We won’t be friends by then, but I’ll be the only mother your son has ever known.

[glimpseoftales]

Year 27, Day 102

What I should have written on my okcupid-profile:

you should message me if:

Hi! My name is Ash! I know I'm using a real weird nickname here, but truth be told I didn't want to use my usual name, because then you would have the power to stalk me to death. Because, dude, I'm all over the internet. Yeah, I know, five twitter accounts, four tumblrs, two blogs, last.fm, blip.fm, ask.fm, formspring.me, quote.fm, facebook, etc. is a bit much, but hey, I just love that shit.

But hey, maybe it ain't such a bad idea. So go! Stalk the shit out of me. And if you're still interested in me, then feel free to drop me line. But watch your spelling. Dude, come on! You wouldn't show up to a date in your fucking pajamas, so use that brain and write something that has a) proper spelling, b) proper grammar and c) a message. "ur totally haaaawt!" ain't a message. If I wanted to hear something like that, I would go to a bar.

Talking about bars, I don't drink. So you won't get the chance to make me so drunk that you can fuck the living shit out of me in your shitty apartment. Talking about sex, come on, dude, I'm not going to fuck you on the first date. And if you don't watch that tongue, I might snap it off. Plus I'm not going to fuck you anyway. I mean, I don't fuck around. If you want a quick fuck, well there are certain establishments out there that offer fucks for money.

Furthermore don't even try to message me if you're a complete moron who spends four hours a day in front of a mirror admiring your appearance. I'm looking at you, pretty boys, posting pictures of your abs on okcupid. I really don't wanna see your abs. Sorry. If you're a flasher, well, chatroulette might be the place for you. (Talking about that, sometimes I spend hours on that fucking websites, just for the sake of it.)

I'm going to shit test the hell out of you before I even give you my phone number let alone meet you. I really don't like meeting weird strangers with whom I only exchanged like two words. Nah. Not going to happen. Dude, I'm on Twitter. We take time to get to know each other there, before we finally decide to meet. So you gotta wait. Don't wanna wait? Well, fuck you!

I really don't want to get hung up on cliches here, but if you're one, stay the fuck away from me. You like peeing on people? I'm not the person for you. You get drunk like sixteen times a week? Jeez, find an AA group. You're married, but want someone who fulfills all your sexual needs and wishes? I'll probably stalk the shit out of you, find your wife and send her all your sexy little messages you wrote me. Not my story to tell? Well, screw you! You cheating bastard!

You probably shouldn't message me either if you don't read books. Like, for real, dude. Those things are amazing, and - quoting John Waters - if you go home with someone and they don't have books, don't fuck them. 

You're over 30 and still living with your parents? Get a life, sucker! I'm not doing your laundry or dishes. Well, there might be a reason for you living with your parents, but if it's just because you're too fucking lazy to do shit on your own, get the fuck off my profile!

If I don't message back in like two minutes, you should totally insult me. Because, duh!, that girl doesn't have a fucking life and spends all her time on a fucking dating site. Yeah, right. Or maybe I just don't like your face, because I'm a complete shallow bitch. (don't get the sarcasm? GET OFF! Now! The red x-button is all yours, honey!)

But hey, I'm a really nice person.

Really!

I promise!

And if I like you, I'll make you cookies!

[glimpseoftales]

Year 27, Day 156

I feel the need to explain this thing here. I think the concept is very clear, but some don't get it. And that's fine. Because it's weird and confusing and topsy-turvy. But so is life. This thing here is something I've been thinking about for quite some time now. I like to keep track of my life, of all the things that are happening around me, all these crazy, weird, wonderful, awkward, scary, breathtaking, terrifying, sad, earth-shattering, amazing, witty, weary, tremendous, awful, incredible, happy things that keep on happening. Stephen Chbosky once wrote: "Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn't stop for anybody." And this might be the saddest truth I've came across so far. Because life just doesn't stop, not even when you have to stand still for quite some time. And that's beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I'm obsessed when it comes to writing. Thus it shouldn't be surprising that I've been keeping a journal (well, more like a hundred) ever since. I don't write down everything, but I'm trying. I remember days and weeks and months I couldn't find any words, so the pages were left to be blank. But I have filled so many pages - paper and online - over the years. I documented my first kiss and my the first time someone broke my heart; the day I lost him and the year I lost myself; the moment that changed everything and the instant I made tea for a friend I thought I had lost; the day I learned how to ride a bike and the day I learned to forgive.

And it might be weird that I'm sharing this with the internet, but I found that other people could always find better words for my feelings than I ever could. Kafka helped me write a letter to my dad; John Green helped me write a love letter, The Airborne Toxic event helped me understand this feeling I once had; Kettcar helped me appreciating that I can afford a cab; that blogger I can't remember helped me get over the death of a loved one. I wrote this before, but I think it's okay to say it again: we are all in this together. We find common ground in words and feelings. Truth be told, I think feelings are what truly connects us. I have read tweets that said everything I always wanted to say, but couldn't. I have found words that said what I once felt. On the one hand that's just fucking amazing, on the other it kinda proves my point that - no matter how alone you think you are - there's always someone out there going through the same things you do. So, that's why. I like to tell stories. I like to tell mine, because it's not exclusively mine. It's a story of all the people I was lucky to meet. And maybe, just maybe, I am able to say the words someone out there was never able to find.

[glimpseoftales]

Year 27, Day 40

I still remember that one year back in 2000-something. We used to be drunk all the time. In fact we used to be so drunk that I had not seen you sober until 2011. We used to be those crazy drunken girls, dancing on bars and tables; those who were so drunk that they couldn’t even walk straight. We would laugh all the time, because there was too much alcohol to cry. There was always alcohol and drugs to escape to. We never needed to be honest about all the depressed feelings hiding beneath our skin. Our actions spoke louder than words.

For breakfast we had lasagna from the supermarket and a glass of vodka.

Your apartment was small. There was only one bed which was actually a sofa. But we shared it like we had nothing else to share. Sometimes with your boyfriend. Sometimes with random people we met at a bar.

I remember sniffing cocaine in your bathroom and being too ashamed to tell you, even though you were taking it too. But there were some things we would never say.

Apparently I’d never told you my real age. I switched between 19 and 25. I think I was 17.

I still have to get used to the fact that you’re a mom now. Maybe I just have to get used to the fact that you’re a really great mom now. And that your daughter is the most beautiful thing in the world. That we’re better friends now than we were before.

I love how you take care of that little thing. How she smiles when she says “Mom”. How adorable you two are when you’re wearing matching clothes. How amazing it is that you taught her how to say “aunt ashi”. And how much those two words make my eyes wet.

It’s true. Life doesn’t stop for anyone. And seeing you made me realise its truth even more.

We used to be so drunk and reckless. We’re sober now. You’re a mom now. You’re the most wonderful mom now.

[glimpseoftales]

Year 27, Day 155

I really love the fact that my 12 year old self thought that her husband would still live with his parents.

[glimpseoftales]

Year 13, Day 321

Class: German Assignment: write about your future husband/wife Due on: Monday

He won’t be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He will have crooked teeth or a slightly wry nose. His hand will fit perfectly in mine.

We both will be totally lost in the kitchen and order food every night. I will watch him when he’s already asleep and trace his lips with my finger tips.

If I call him and his mom picks up, I will chitchat with her and tell her all the stupid things he does, like farting when he thinks I’m not listening. He won’t like all of my favourite books and it will be okay… kinda. I will come up with the most ridiculous nickname in the history of nicknames and say it in front of his friends.

I won’t like all of his friends, he won’t like all of my friends either, but we will like the thought of not having to share everything.

We will travel a lot. If we have kids, we will take them with us to make sure they see the world. Because I think you have to see the whole world in order to fully understand it.

I won’t tell him that I love him every day, but I will make sure that he knows. I will make him breakfast on Sunday if he makes me breakfast on every other day of the week. I will know exactly how much sugar he likes in his cocoa and which veggies he hates.

He won’t cheat on me with some red headed bitch. We will share an apartment but not a bed, because there’s nothing better than having a bed all to yourself. I will play the piano while he’s reading books to me.

There won’t be always the need to talk, because we will enjoy each other’s silence. I will know every inch of his body and every cell of his brain. I will always save him a seat. He will know all my darkest secrets and desperate wishes. He will laugh about all my stupid jokes.

It won’t always be easy, but it will be one really good adventure.

[glimpseoftales]

Year 19, Day 3

There were so many chances I did not take. So many opportunities I did not realize where even there. So many lives I did not save. So many dreams I did not follow. So many books I did not finish. So many friends I did not appreciate. So many loves I did not declare. So many letters I did not write. So many words I did not say. So many truths I did not tell. So many words I did not say. So many days I did not like. So many conversations I did not enjoy. So many nights I did not sleep. There were so many things I did. So many drugs I took. So many drinks I had. So much hate I felt. So many nightmares I dreamed. So many fights I lost. So many days I forgot. So many memories I made. So many dreams I abandoned.  So many friends I lost. So many things I saw. So many hearts I broke. So many battles I could not win. So many people I hurt. So many decisions I made. There's just so much I haven't seen yet. So many people I haven't talked to. So many things I haven't seen. So many places I haven't visited. So many dreams I haven't had. So many songs I haven't listened to. So many stories I haven't heard. So many flaws I haven't found. So many tales I haven't told. So many secrets I haven't shared. So many loves I haven't felt. So many lips I haven't kissed. So many things I haven't tried. So many tears I haven't cried. So many changes I haven't taken. So many laughs I haven't laughed. So many hands I haven't hold. So many books I haven't read. So many thoughts I haven't thought. So many fights I haven't fought. So many days I haven't lived.

[glimpseoftales]

Year 14, Day 20