Snowball in yo face-like that!

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All the world's a random blog

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Letters from the land of broken typewriters

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Lend me your God (1): Letters to heaven.

I am waiting for you by the edge of the North Pier with the sun slowly setting ahead. How I wish you’d come on time to catch the view with me. The waters have quietened from the day’s turmoil and now only occasional lap gently against the pier’s wooden base. Should you show up, I’ll be the guy leaning against the barricade staring ahead into the blackening waters. I am hoping i would soon see you up ahead, my face would light up, i’d hurry to meet you, then we’d walk the length of this scenic pier together whilst i map out to you the many words off my heart. If you are reading these letters however, it means my heart must have sank with the rest of the depleting sunset- because you did not come. And in a last bid of hope, i have remained here constructing fine words into the wings of childish paperplanes, watching each one float seamlessly into space.

What do you think about hope? I picked these words up along the way coming here:

“I dare to believe that the luckless will get lucky someday in you. You won’t let them down; orphans won’t be orphans forever. The victim’s faint pulse (will) pick up; the hearts of the hopeless (will) pump red blood as you put your ear to their lips (and finally pay attention to the whispered words off their hearts). Psalms 10.

I have realized of late that life has made me become somewhat of a sceptic. But what do you call it –sceptism, realism or faithlessness? Such as how I have no problems with hope, only that even in hope i find it easier to hold a sensible alternative should there be no light at the end of the tunnel, Should the doctors say there is no use holding on anymore, or should you get a call that she didn’t make it (i light candles in quiet thoughts of you). For me, hope is like being stuck within a musty maze of dark underground tunnels. It’s the little candle light I hang onto as I meander my way around in confusion, hoping to find an exit into brighter days. But whilst i accept hope, i also hold a back thought that at the end of the route that i presently travel, there just might maybe another dead end. The ray of light i thought i saw might turn out to only be a crack in the stone walls and not the exit i was praying for. So all the while that i travel, i am constructing backup plans as anaesthetics to likely disappointments. That is the way i have hoped.

It’s worked for me so far, until now- which is why i desperately called out to you. There comes a point where there’s no backup strong enough to lighten the weight of a possible disappointment. Where even with the best of my creativity, i know only two things could happen this time around- either my soul dies, or you show up and step into this mess. That’s the point where i am right now. (Ooh, i think i just saw a dolphin! You really should be here; you’re missing out on all these fine view! Quiet...i realize that I miss you!....yet at the same time, i question if i ever knew you. But i’m taking baby steps. It’s all still a mess, but ooh look at me, i’m walking!)

It’s getting dark now, i’d have to return home soon, but i’ll be back; i’m not giving up just yet. That’s the thing about reaching breaking point, and remembering why and how i got to this place that i am. When you walk away due to ardent discontent, then the alternative just has to work out. And this is the alternative that i am carefully trying to live out. I long ran out of extra tricks and back up plans. So in this place, it’s me and you- life or death. And sublimely, it all comes back to the question of hope, doesn’t it? And i guess it does make it even more desperate, because you just have to show up, and in the meantime, i just have to remain, holding on, hoping. There’s a bunch of Brazilian kids ahead doing some kind of drum rehearsals. The music from the drumbeat is familiar..i’ve heard it before in a place long ago, and funny enough, it was with me and you. The significance this time around is different. This time it sounds like the tune of my heart beating. A song of hope, yet at the same time a song of war. An adage says, don’t mess with the cat that’s on its last life. Since i choose not to die just yet, then we’re fighting this route through to the end. And the end for me is only that abundant life i have long dreamed of---wide open spaces for the pursuit of my heart’s many respites.

Now let’s see if we can make this paper plane fly.