The Return to Innocence
Memory. One of the strongest muscles in our being. It can contract and ruin your life crushing you underneath or it can gently lift your soul in the light, no matter what life throws at you.
When I was a child my grandmother used to have in a corner of her garden a columbine that used to grow again and again every year. I remember how fascinated I used to be as a little girl by the filigree shape and the delicate yet robust structure of this flower. I could study it day after day when it bloomed or when it’s petals were falling. I used to be very caring with the flowers. And when I say flowers, I mean beings, living creatures that I respected deep in my child’s heart. It never ceased to amaze me and make me happy whenever I saw it, because only there, in that corner of the garden, hidden in shadow under a lilac tree one could have found my columbine. There were no others, it was unique and the neighbours had none. It’s incredible how simple things that adults don’t even notice can be such an awesome thing for a child.
Many years I grew up with the beautiful columbines, studying them as they opened their purple-blue flowers. Columbines meant holiday, freedom and childhood. Not in so many words, but with a warm cosy feeling deep within. Words meant nothing then, only the heart was full of feelings and of a light that an adult is losing somewhere on the way.
This year I was contemplating my bare garden, frozen and with no trace of life. Then suddenly an incredible invisible force, a singular touch of grace has awaken the life in the sleeping buds and wrinkled flowers that rose their heads and stretched their beings in the warm sunshine. Then mesmerised I have discovered hundreds of columbines.
Is it God’s message that life is beautiful and full of diversity on a multitude of layers at the same time? Or is it just a cosmic coincidence? No matter what it is, it has brought back to me that warm cosy feeling in the midst of a busy life full of stress. The morning when I saw the columbines bloom I felt how one must feel when they win the lottery. To others this means nothing. To me it means the return to innocence.
400 words, memyselfandela, June 1st 2015
Photo: Adela Galasiu, May 2015
The Borough Market
Tic- tac. The clock marks the passing of another second. Tic- tac. People rush to work early in the morning. Tic- tac. The fight against the clock starts for many people. Some rushing to arrive to a certain place, but some striving to make the best out of their little space. Tic- tac. The Shard watches silent over the crowds that flood the city.
Not far away, on the narrow streets you can hear the Borough Market slowly waking up. Countless merchants begin to unpack their fresh goods. The chutney jar is neighbor to the boar sausage, the Levant lamb finds peacefully place next to the sea bass, while the simmering pot spreads around an incredible taste of cooked food. It smells like sweets, then as you go further like fish, like bread, like soup and fruits and jams. One can find a bazaar of everything and anything, from Turkish delight to Christmas chocolate, from cheese to olive oil, from veggies to fruits.
As the light pierces the darkness a tiny pub welcomes the first clients, and while they indulge in their hot coffee fruit juices await for their customers few steps further. Young students bake bread, young chefs cook the lunch, young drivers deliver food, young ladies sell candies, old ladies sell jam, old gentlemen sell game. Countless merchandises await to be taken in or carefully arranged on the stands.
It is impossible to step in this place and not feel the atmosphere. The selling atmosphere, the Christmas atmosphere but also the history. Crossing through the market I could not help but think how many generations have lived, sold, got born, died close to this market. It’s a place in the heart of London that has seen many people come and go, each one of them with another story.
Fur trees and decoration await for the holy night when everybody will be home enjoying Christmas. Fragile orchids and wrapped roses await in the cold of the morning for the warm hand that could carry them home.
I have always had a weakness for the open market, and I had to stop here today just to remember why. It’s because beyond all wrappings and fuss here one can see, smell and taste life itself. Thank you Borough Market for this new slice of life you have offered me today. There could never be a right price tag attached to it.
400 words, memyselfandela, December 2013
Photos: memyselfandela, December 2013
Keep On Playing
“Hello my love,
I have just came back from the lady. She is amazing. I was absolutely stunned.
She barely saw me coming in and already recognized so many things about me. She even knew how they used to call me when I was a kid. I mean how could she possibly know that? She must have a sixth sense. As she looked in my eyes and read my palm she told me that in my previous life I was a man. Maybe that is why I am so stubborn in this life? I had an artistic soul, that would surlely explain why I am still so very much into music and art. And she told me “you know how you love typing on your laptop, the feeling of touching the buttons? well, in your previous life you had no computer, you had only your piano. And you have spent more time with this piano than with any person in your life”. I guess that’s why I love piano music so much. It must remind me of that life.
I asked her about you and me. She took a long look at my love line and said: “I cannot tell you what this love will be. Some things I’m not allowed to say”. But as I was going out the door she said: “He will find you again. Don’t be afraid. Everything happens for a reason”. Must be so, love…
I’m so tired now. Talk to you later.
Good night.”
After finishing her email, she found online the track she loved the most and pressed the play button. Laying her frail body to rest she closed her deep shiny eyes listening to the notes echoeing in the room and falling over her body and mind and soul…
Eyes closed the room was spinning as she slipped in a most strange sleep. She could see in her sleep the room and her body resting with a smile on the face.
Then she saw how her love was coming inside the room. He called her. Funny, why? She was there. She could see him, why could he not see her?
After trying to wake her up, with tears in his eyes he held her tight. Then called the ambulance. Then rested his head on her frozen heart.
The music… incredible music… Lord, what a fantastic feeling, the divine music kept on playing…
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400 words, memyselfandela 2013, Picture it & Write
