The Most Foolish Traveller

Once upon a time, there was a foolish traveller who went on a journey. Why was he foolish? Well, because he was easily fooled by anyone he met. Everywhere he went people would make all kinds of sad stories to tell him, and the traveller fell for everyone of them.
“I need money for my medicines.”
“I need money for my sick younger sister.”
“I don’t have money to buy seeds to plant in my field.”
Pretty soon, his money, his clothes and even his shoes had been cheated away from him. But the foolish traveller was still always glad to help. And he always told the people the same thing. He said,” I’m happy to help you.”
But, by this point, though, the traveller was completely naked and with nothing left to cover himself with, he decided to travel into a dense unpopulated forest where no one could see him.
But soon, he was discovered by the goblins who lived in those woods. The goblins wanted to eat the traveller’s body, so they begged and pleaded, and used kind words to try and trick him.
Once again, the traveller was fooled. First, he let the goblins eat one of his legs, then the other, then an arm, then the other. More and more the goblins gobbled, and before he knew it, all the traveller had left was his head. The last of the goblins asked the traveller for his eyes, which too, he was more than happy to give away. As the last goblin gobbled up his eyes, he turned back and said,” I have a gift for you.” With that he handed him a piece of paper with the word “fool” written across it.
The traveller couldn’t see it so he didn’t know what it was. Even so, tears began to flow down his empty face and he said,” This is the first present anyone ever gave me. I’m so happy. I’m so happy. Thank you.”
Even without his eyes, he cried and cried, great tears of joy.
Then, the traveller died, the smile still on his face.
Right after hearing this story, many started making fun of the traveler. But, while they did that I closed my eyes and thought about him. a little bit longer. I thought about how he had given everything away, until all he had left was his head, and now at the end, he still cried in joy as he said thank you. Loss, hardship and things like that? You can’t only focus on them. The traveller never did, he never thought about his own troubles at all.
I realise that it probably does sound foolish to some people. But not to me. I don’t think he’s foolish at all. Even though other people probably think he was being tricked, I don’t think he was. I think he did exactly what he wanted to. I think more than anything. He just wanted to make other people happy.
What about you Yuki, Kyo?
What do you think?
Really is that foolish? Is that what it is?
Momiji, Fruits Basket

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Are you smart for living a selfish life? Are you foolish for living a kind life? Does accomplishment only lie in gaining more gold, more money? Or does accomplishment lie in giving, being grateful? Is it bad to think about you troubles? Should you only think about others? Why should you care for what others need, what they want? Is my life not as important as theirs? Why should I not be selfish? Why should I not be kind? Does giving to others make me better man? A more accomplished human? Should you only tend to your own garden and never help others with theirs?

It’s satirical to read of the most foolish man, only realising he might just be the most accomplished one ever. I wonder how the story would have gone if someone told him what was written on the paper. Or if someone told him he was being used. If someone showed him the impurities in the hearts of those who asked from him, would the story still remain the same?

I would like to believe not. I mean, there had to be someone, anyone who would tell him the truth. I would like to believe there was someone who was also a little like him. Kind, compassionate and giving. Not much, just a little. Maybe there was someone who neither gave nor took, just said words that needed to be vocalised? Someone, somewhere, in all the places he travelled, must have said,”You are being used, you foolish man.”

And if someone did say those words, did they go unheard? Or did the traveller listen to them and decide to ignore them nevertheless? Or maybe he was a bit foolish, never being able to differentiate between who was actually in need and who was not?

This is not a story that leaves you with a precept, moral, lesson, meaning or message. Just a thought. A careless, ordinary thought. Make sure to ponder!

Edelweiss

On a snowy day, a stone lotus flower silently bloomed and then, it fell.
“ What’s your favourite song?” He asked me.
He looked up at the adult sitting in front of him on the russet office sofa, trying his best to earn for a life.
“When I was a child,
I had a fever
My hands felt just like
Two balloons”
He smiled ruefully, a wave of sadness overcoming him, yet again. He bit the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from crying. Would life ever bloom for him?
“I used to think this song was idiotic. But when you’re hurt, and you sit quietly, you feel as if there’s an error. There’s a fire burning in you, and you can’t do anything. There’s no one to heal you or give you calm. You’re made to live in the pretence that there is no good life for you, ever.’
His chiselled face was buried in his hands, and his ocean blue eyes finally shed tears, as he thought of the his world. He used to do well in school, then suddenly his grades dropped in subjects other than the ones that interested him.
And his parents, like a hyena waiting to strike, bestowed upon him all their anger, worries, frustrations. They forced him to study , something he didn’t want. He had a dream too, to be a radio writer, but they, and their family’s honour would never agree. So he went on, and now he was here, with a psychiatrist chosen by his parents, to stabalize his unstable mental health.
“You seem very depressed and lonely, ” the doctor commented. “No sir, I would dare to disagree. ” Being sad is about being with yourself and accepting the pain in your soul, and the beauty of tears, is realising that they teach us so much. And he knew he didn’t choose to talk much, because no one would understand him. He wasn’t lonely, he was alone.
He left the hospital, and was soon walking down the local sub paths. He got a call, one he had to take.
City life, it had defeated everyone. In the town, there were millions who would work to earn a living. Listen to harsh words just to live by. Give in to inequality, or live without luck. If they were all by themselves, wouldn’t they be cold, sad or lost?
Maybe. And the frustration and no time for themselves would never make them realise, that life can be lived beautifully too.
“Yes, dad?”
“How was the session today? Are you getting any better?”
“Hmm, yes, papa.”
“Ok then go to your maths lessons right from there, and come back by 8, also,” Silence.
He didn’t cut the call, he just wasn’t listening anymore.
.As he stared up, the canvas of cerise pink and lavender hue had melted into the starry sphere. The heavens would cry that night , and the holy waters would fall over. And down came the first snowflake, then another, and many more to follow. The snow, was magically warm and safe. And his heart, drastically dull and drowned. He plugged his earphones, listening to his favourite show, and started wandering through the streets and the city, an activity repeated by him when he felt he was lost.

He went to the building in front of the park, near the city square. From the rooftop, in the cold and tranquil night , when the wind had reached the high branches of trees, and there was no one near him, he shouted out his frustrations. And then, he saw her.
She sat there ,cold as ice. Winter had reached its zenith and she blended right in with the snow. White, cold and still. She just quietly sat on the bench outside the park, staring into space. Then he saw her hands propping her up against the bench and her figure leaning forward. The world continued to revolve around the sun, snow continued to fall, just like after that day she continued to come to sit on that awaiting bench and he continued to wait for her, at the rooftop. His life and its problems had given enough pain to him, but strangely enough, just her sight was the cause of his euphoria. Her Snow White skin, her large round eyes, her plump lips, her long eyelashes and slightly freckled nose looked perfect on her face. Her contrastingly dark clothes seemed just like the perfect fit for her.
Seeing her everyday was a blessing.
Winter slowly passed and spring took over. He thought maybe the change in seasons would inflict
a change in her attitude but he was wrong. Even as it stopped snowing and small flowers started blooming , even as children ran about the park and smiles were neatly etched on everyone’s faces, she still looked the same, stood the same, acted the same as the very first day he saw her.
Soon, spring turned to summer and with the appearance of a bright sun was the disappearance of the girl on the bench.He realised that day, he’d lost her.
A wave of uncertainty, accompanied by anxiety, fear, and grief, overcame him. He was much better those days, he’d stopped all his medical treatment. But she, had disappeared. That night, he didn’t go back home once again, and from the same rooftop, he played the radio again.
A leaf fell off a tree, as from the cold many break down. Not just leaves, even humans. But that day’s broadcast was, something warm and cozy for his cold heart.
`Airplanes, Stars and Broadcasting
Good evening, everyone.
The sky, is ambiguous. The blue shades and the autumn trees. The mild summer breeze. Seasons, they change. The birds fly away. Even the sky’s colour changes. It’s past the day heat now, and it might rain.
So everyone, have you ever noticed, stars, airplanes and broadcasting, they all have one thing in common.?
Here’s the answer from one of our listeners, Gahan7 .
’They all require power in the starting. But you know, no matter how much power I put into it, I’m tired of hiding how I feel. Everything seems to be telling me, it’s changing, but all I see are peaceful stars in the sky.
Night, do you know its colour? It’s One much darker than the usual one, yet there exist stars.
I feel the same. During the last snow, the Christmas when I baked cupcakes, I didn’t feel any pain, my heart was at peace. And now, the summer birds have arrived but I still go back to broadcasting. Things stir up in my life, yet I’m still content.
The village turned to a town, then further in to a busy street of skyscrapers. My feelings changed from longing to anxiousness to just being content in my heart. There really may be no tomorrow. But I still have light left in my eyes. I’ll join the station again, live up to my reason. And rest away. ‘
Our listener has meticulously expressed her love for today’s topic, ‘Broadcasting, and the Night Sky’
Everyone, do you know that we cannot see it, but a reflective layer sits in the sky. That is what makes it possible to do radio shows. The radio signals turn into lights like shining stars, they sparkle in the sky.

That’s why all the signals we send, become beautiful lights in the sky. Sounds sent by the listener. And sounds made by you and me in the booth, are shining in the sky. We make sounds turn to lights. This, is radio.
Here’s our song for today:
I’d sit alone and watch your light
My only friend through teenage nights And everything I had to know
I heard it on my radio
Radio Ga Ga by Queen, remember you have to listen and enjoy the song with the rain!’’’
The sound of the summer rain coming down, and the colour of the sky. He felt as if life had locked him in, but he finally knows the exit.
In the rain, he got wet, and the sky brought the most mesmerising, elegant views, like pieces of an
unprecedented level of artistic mastery. Seasons change.
Life changes. Now it was time for him too. But time for what? What was this rain saying with its patter?
He didn’t know. But he just gave in, his sacrifice finally culminating in an epiphany. A sudden revelation. Maybe he’d always known it.
It was, what he craves for. He can’t live a day without broadcasts. He longs to see the girl again. Other things, he yearns to have delicious food, he wants to sleep well, work well. That’s it. Nowhere are his parents or studies or anything else. None of them matters. He knew, he had to quit the things that would grow onto him and be too toxic for him in the future, and adamant to not leave. He knew he had to start right away for his dream. But more than all that, he knew now, what a happy life meant.
A smile spread across his face, like the warm sunshine in a field of olive green grass. He made his way back to the building.
Living a good life. Since sleeping well is a good thing. Waking up well, eating well, working well and getting good rest are enough. And if you sleep well at night, that’s what you call a really good life. Just the simple things, the simple meanings, the simple moments, and the happiness they bring. His life was already a bloomed edelweiss; he realised the only thing missing was the sunshine that hadn’t found it yet.
But the girl, the radio, and the snow, the most unexpected elements had made him understand, the meaning of a good life.

𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊

“Isn’t it fun to be a child, dada?”
“What? I thought you hated being a child? What changed?”
“You. You changed me.”
“Me? How’s that?”
“Well, you have that walrus moustache. I don’t want to have one when I grow up.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Then, how will I become like you?”
“Again, you don’t have to.”
“Of course, I have to. I want to be exactly like you.”
“Hahaha, baba, you’re a weird one.”

I remember those times, Dada, when we had those irrelevant conversations as you pushed me on the swing. I think that was the only part of my childhood that was worth remembering. Those days when it was warm and I could clearly sense our bond. As strong as iron, as precious as gold.When we sat together we would either just talk endlessly or astay in the peaceful silence that was created by your calm nature. We would make ruthlessly mean jokes.
Those were good times. I wish I could goback to them.

Then, slowly, there came instances when I started becoming oblivious to your presence. It was probably because of the new people that had come into my life- friends and influencers. They were nothing like you, but by then my idea had changed, my feelings had changed. I had stopped wanting to become like you.

“Baba, what do you want to eat today?”
“Rice.”
“You have to be more specific than that.”
“With curry.”
“Still not quite the answer, so you will have to eat whatever I make.”
“Mm-hmm.”

I soon came to that stage where everything was humorous for me.
So, hiding your clothes and wallet while you took a bath was just a joke to me, but it must have been embarrassing for you to walk around trying to look for your lost belongings, asking others was not an option- it would only result in more humiliation. And then, imagine finding them, soiled and wet, under the same tree where we would sit and talk endlessly. I got to tell the story a million times to everyone around me- who, too, found it hilarious. But as I’m writing this now, I realize how mortified you must have felt.

Time flies fast, doesn’t it? One day, I was aspiring to be you, the next you were the obstruction in my path. My impudent and uncivilised behaviour is the problem to this day, I wish you had scolded me and gotten me back to my senses.
I had started looking down at you because “you are just a servant”. This uncontrollable frustration at myself and my surroundings, which initiated because I couldn’t have control over everything was the major reason why I became how I became. But, this frustration can never be an excuse for my choices, my decisions and their consequences.

Teenage, for me, was an exceptionally tough time of life. The upsurge of hormones, not only mine but others my age as well, was very hard to repress. I thought I was a lone wanderer. I let myself be influenced. In retrospect, I was never alone. I was just hiding from you.

I remember coming home, with a broken nose and a swollen eye- much to your shock. That shocked look on your face made me furious, partially because I had never seen it before and because it made me realise the depth of the situation that I was in.
That day, I screamed at you because I didn’t want to come to terms with this realisation. I pushed you away because you and your “look” was forcing me to acknowledge it.
That was the very first time I hit you.

I soon lost count.
Every time I did it I would realise that it was wrong but every time it was too late to do anything about it. I would push you, strike you right across the face, knock you down in an instant.
If the seven-year-old me saw myself at that moment he would be shocked.
Introspecting, something I hated doing then, seems to be the only worthwhile thing to do now.

Dada, you tolerated everything. The disgusting words, disgusting actions. You never said a word. Now, I wish you had. Anything would have been better than going through all of that. I remember you telling me, that crying was never sad. It was just us accepting our true selves at that point. If only I’d cried in your arms back then. Told you how weak, hurt and broken I actually was. Then I’d have been thankful to my teenage for making me feel such a variety of emotions. Never, would I have had been misguided.
The guilt, embarrassment, fear and hatred mingled together to form emotions that even now I can’t decipher and the only way for me to stay in control was to get intoxicated. Drugs helped me calm down, stay in control and feel happy- even if it was for a short while. Drugs also made everything worse. I would hurt anything and everything in my way, and you were kind enough to take other’s share of abuse as well.

I was so lost that I didn’t notice the bruises on your face, the scratches on your arms and legs and the fingerprints on your neck.

I wish I could go back and make amends but it is too late now.

Because now I sit in chains. Only able to introspect my choices, all of which are bad. Like when I let others convince me, when I convinced myself, when I hurt others’ feelings, when I hurt my feelings, when i decided to grow this devilishly- long beard, when I let drugs and liquor cloud my judgement, when I picked that knife, when I spilt kerosene around the house, when I lit the match, and especially when I pushed that knife deep into your heart.

These choices were bad, bad ones and I won’t be surprised if you don’t forgive me for them.
It was horrifying for me too to come to terms with the reality. But that doesn’t matter. I’ve lost you.

I don’t remember much of what happened afterwards. Although there is a vague memory of me sitting in your blood as the narcotics wore off. I cried as the flames leapt over your body.
I wanted to join you.

That night, the cool breeze filtered through the leaves; the starry night melting into a canvas of orange and red shades. The sun rays at dawn radiated warmth and heat. Yet, I couldn’t find a moment of peace. Because I missed you.

I was later told that I had killed many that night although something tells me that I was not the one who had done all of it, no one believed me. I had killed the only one who would.

Before leaving, I visited the swing. Still intact there, our querencia: a place where I strangely felt at home now. But I didn’t deserve it now. I could see the reminisces of the love that remained there. You seem like an elysian dream, one I never deserved. I can never be forgiven for my sins. The past always claws it’s ways out. I’m not allowed to come to you, dada. I just have to live, bounded, trapped in a cage, missing you everyday. I know it’s meaningless for an unforgivable sin, but I’ll say sorry everyday when I cry, for I’m sorry for everything I’ve done and will always be, though I’ll never be able enough for the apology to be accepted, nor can I be forgiven by anyone, because I killed the only one who could.

𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧:

She was a very special being. Born with a talent of making everything seem alright, she was smart, bright, kind and simply amazing. She drove me towards happiness and comfort.
This story is dedicated to her.
I want to thank you for everything you have done.
I am stupid sometimes. I don’t know what to say, when to say it or how to say it, so I end up not saying it. I am unable to properly express myself- so I don’t even try to.
Because of this, I end up with a much more complex and confusing version of what I actually intended to say…
That’s why I express differently, not through words but through creations.
Thank you for helping me understand that.
Thank you for everything else as well.

Since I First Saw You

In the end, we are all alone. As I drive along that empty road, I can see the gumusservi in the lake by the road. Such an alluring sight. It is said that the famous Japanese novelist and teacher, Natsume Soseki, disliked the use of the traditional “I love you” and approved with a fine replacement- “The moon is beautiful?”- because he felt that one could understand it’s true meaning, even without using the words of love, because of its simplicity and gracefulness.

That’s when I look at the moon shining above me and wish you were beside me. I would love you, make the moment shine, I’d make you fall in love with me and yourself. A first love. Whenever I think of you, I can feel the ecstasy in my heart, the feel of that spring’s breeze, I relive it all.

That day when I first saw you. I hadn’t even seen your face, but I’d fallen for you. Your eyes were the most charming thing in the world. And the way you looked at me for the first time, even though it was just for a short second, I smiled. And today, I smile at the memory. I was trapped with difficulties in my life. But even a glimpse of you made my day. And you, you had no idea. How much I loved you. To every other person, I was just a person, and so were they to me, but whenever I thought about you, I was ready to leave everything. Then came the days when we knew each other. When we did those sums, then ran away to the coffee shop and talked the whole night on the rooftop. When we got closer. When you learnt the guitar for me. When we both loved each other. And then, when we faced each other’s weaknesses. Only for a short while, but I’d do anything to relive those moments.

But, you liked someone else. Well, I told you about my feelings. But I wasn’t sad. I really loved you. I’d have loved you no matter what. I’d just be happy if you did what you wanted. And my first love was my only one till now. Even till today I have not forgotten you. I was bound to your heart. Torn, ripped pulled apart. My love was like wildfire. But then it went from crazy to silent- just to see you happy. I still remember your smile. Even when everyone told me, I can find many more, I knew, I was attracted, like a magnet, to you. And only you. I tried so hard, so hard to forget you.

It’s funny, really, if we look at love and it’s plans. I’m sorry, but my heart still beats a leap whenever I run into you. Maybe today is just another day, but there still is this saudade, when I put in meraki into wanting you. Maybe one day I’ll be the star you’ll be looking up to. I wanted you to want me. Was that too wrong? But maybe my feelings were a burden. But for me they were elysian emotions. Moments I cherished. These memories are just a reminiscence of our time together. The moments I lived and enjoyed with you.

I want to get over you, so I won’t tell you anymore. Maybe one day my heart will finally forget you and stop wanting you. But I’d have to say, one’s first love is hard and enduring, it teaches us a lot. But when asked about love and of its failure or success, I would only suggest you to wait for the future to enfold itself.

Gumusservi- moonlight shining on water

Elysian- beautiful or creative, divinely inspired, peaceful and perfect

Meraki- the soul, creativity or love put into something

Saudade- a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant or that has been loved and then lost, “the love that remains”

The Last Spring Day

The heart leaps and flutter. The wind stops to stutter. Honestly, I had expected better than this. You know that feeling when emotions overflow making you feel confused, exhausted and misjudged? That’s what I feel right now.

I feel sonder. Now, all urban dictionaries will tell you that the word means “that each passerby has his own life”. But then, what about mine? Is my life not important because others have one too? Am I not as important as others? Am I nothing?

Why am I made to suffer so much? It hurts me too, especially when I’m all alone. I’m alone not because I need space, but because there is no one beside me.

At some time, way before all this started, I was better. Much better. So, what is happening now?

As always, the floodgates of emotions open. The only difference this time- they are being headed by regret, the worst monarch of them all. I don’t even know what’s going on in my surroundings anymore. I feel like I’m inside myself now. Ambedo. Maybe I should think about this. Was I somehow inept, was I unable to handle everything, no, anything around me? Did I enjoy a bit too much? Why did I not succeed in this even once?

Ah, here ti starts all over again. I start blaming. Myself. This feeling- where I am the competitor, but there is no enemy- is known as fear, isn’t it? The clock is not still, it’s running. But I cannot let this pass. This cannot just be made the past so easily. I need to do something, to end the regret, be myself and live freely.

Through the clouds, in the wind, I can still see a ray of sunshine.- which is so much brighter than here.

Life, I’d say, is always the same- much brighter when we focus, believe and then achieve what we want.

So regret, I’ve had enough of you, come another day- but only when I deserve you, and for a short while. Because right now, I can’t afford to focus on negativities. Right now, I have to let my soul fly free again. Right now, I have to work hard and do well. And most importantly, right now, I have to be happy.

Ambedo- the kind of melancholic trance in which you become absorbed in vivid sensory details (like raindrops skittering down a window) which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life.

Sonder– the realization that each random passerby is living life as complex and vivid as yours (populated with their own ambitions, friends. worries, routines and inherited craziness)

you know you had it coming

You know you had it coming

Even if the stars told you otherwise,

You could still smell the rain and its becoming

–

You know you had it coming

Even if the gods protected you with their strength

You knew they are nothing against the volcanic vent

–

You know you had it coming

Especially when everyone said you’ll be fine

You knew with the grim reaper you’ll have to dine

–

You knew.

You knew you had it coming

But now its come and gone

Now what’s left is just the residue

Of what you knew would incinerate on cue.

–

We die and are reborn, just like leaves fall out and grow back. After the darkest cloud comes the ray of sunshine. Here, we metamorphosize from slimy caterpillars into beautiful butterflies, as our blog is born, leaving a cocoon of negativities behind.