I was the tree.
Alone but strong,
I thought I would always be.
But none may defy
nature’s law of ageing and decay,
through the dance of time passing by.
The universe’s way of communication.
The constant increase of entropy,
towards the inevitable end-station.
All those promises, all those dreams.
Made only to be broken,
tearing life at its seams.
You read and read and master knowledge.
But you never read your inner self.
You run to enter temple and mosque.
But you never entered your heart.
Every day you fight the devil.
But you never fought your own desire.
Bulleh Shah, don’t reach to grab what’s in the sky.
When you havn’t even managed to grab what’s inside your own soul.
When every dream
has turned to dust,
and your highest hopes
no longer soar.
When places you
once yearned to see,
grow further away
on distant shores.
When every night
you close your eyes,
and long inside
for something more.
Remember this
and only this,
if nothing else
you can recall—
There was a life
a girl once led,
where you were loved
the most of all.
– Text from “When”, in Lullabies, by Lang Leav
Gaustatoppen, considered by many to be the most beautiful mountain in Norway, towers above the town of Rjukan at an altitude of 1883 meters (6178 feet). The views from the top, as well as along the route, are stunning, and on a clear day, hikers can see one sixth of Norway from the summit!
The mountain is a popular destination for Norwegians, something I got to experience a few weeks ago. There was a constant stream of people all along the route. So many that there was a queue.
Many parents had brought their children along, the youngest ones walking, only three or four years old. Many of the children were crying and begging their parents to be carried, or simply refusing to go on. Most of the parents were ignoring their cries and telling them to keep going. This is something they simply had to do, and crying or yelling would definitely not help!
So en route to the summit of Gaustatoppen, with a backdrop of majestic Norwegian mountains, I got to witness the meticulous efforts of some parents to transfer what they believe to be core Norwegian values to the next generation. It was interesting to see how parents will always choose what they think is best for their children, no matter how much the little ones oppose.
There was a world far away, in which you and I lived.
Walking on the paths of our dreams, I said to you,
I admit, I am in love. If this is not love, what is it?
I am alone, I am alone, I am alone. Without you,
I am alone
Your innocence, your laughter. I miss your simplicity.
In my eyes, in my breaths. You are in my heart, in its beat
Our togetherness lasted centuries.
If you are not here, my heart is lonely.
Why did you get upset with me, what was my mistake?
You left my world barren, all your promises were lies.
I am alone, I am alone, I am alone. Without you,
I am alone
I am alone, I am alone, I am alone. Without you,
I am alone
(Original in urdu by Raeth from their album Raeth)
Today, after weeks of low temperatures caused by Siberian winds from the East, the snow finally gave in to the warmth of the March sun. From afar, the droplets from the melting snow on the roof seemed to be falling lazily onto the wooden railing on top the fence below.
As March 1st, the first day of spring, was just a few days ago, I wanted to capture this sign of the coming season so I got my camera to get a close-up of the droplets hitting the railing. What looked like a calm trickle from a distance, turned out to be tiny explosions up close. Every time a drop hit the surface of the railing, it shattered into a thousand droplets spraying the surrounding air, creating a dazzling spectacle of small eruptions of water backlit by the brilliant afternoon sun.
The last time I visited this place, was fourteen years ago, almost to the date. Standing here by the edge of the river again, nothing seems to have changed. The trees, the rocks, the water, even the shrubs, they all look the same. The sound of running water and the wind rustling the leaves. The chill of the autumn air on a clear Sunday afternoon. The spruces standing guard along the far side of the river. It all seems exactly how it was, all those years ago, just like yesterday.
Fourteen long years of my life. So much has happened, and so many things have changed. Relocations domestic and abroad, children growing up, me getting older. Sadness, happiness, and sadness. High ambitions, hard work, and lucky accomplishments. Battles fought and victories celebrated. Disappointments small and big. Contentment, and realizations of the realities of life. Some people leaving, some entering, and then leaving again. Increasing distances between hearts as well as minds. Long awaited hellos, and sad goodbyes across vast oceans and layers upon layers of space and time.
It is strange, almost unreal, to think that fourteen years have passed. For me, it feels like a lifetime. For the river, it must be like the time it takes a tear to roll down a cheek. For the wind, a whisper in its ear. The trees have grown older, but all these years are but a short moment in their lifetime of never ending cycles of the seasons. For the rocks, I am not sure it would even register on their clock, as it must be a speck of time in their eternal life among the stars.
Standing by the water, reflecting, contemplating the passing of time, I realize that life will move on, and continue to change. It is inevitable. A fact. Until that last big change. Until then, it seems, I will keep my Sunday blues.
Why do you write sad things? he asked. When I am here, when I love you.
Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you. It is inevitable. But please understand; from the moment I met you, I stopped writing for the past. I no longer write for the present. When I write sad things, I am writing for the future.
– Text from Lullabies, by Lang Leav
I feel the end is drawing near,
would time be so kind to slow?
You are everything to me, my dear,
you are all I really know.
But as I sit and wait and fear
and watch the hours go—
Everything that happened here
happened long ago.
– Lullabies, by Lang Leav
I used to think I couldn’t go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.
Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn’t going to be okay for a very long time.
Because losing someone isn’t an occasion or an event. It doesn’t just happen once. It happens over and over again.
– Memories, by Lang Leav