Dear You,
I've managed to stay awake for the most part of the day and even though this sand storm has made me retreat into bed, I am grateful that I have managed to make the most out of the day. But there is always time to day dream. To think of finding refuge in dripping, red telephone booths in the glorious London rain and of pressing my nose against the cold glass with foggy breath and seeing the world and seeing the city and seeing the melting colours as the rain wants me to see them. But I'll open my eyes and thank God that there are things that wait for me. The smell of freshly baked bread that holds the noise together on a street in Istanbul. The pitter-patter of flip flop-clad feet finding adventure in a dingy street hiding in a corner of Bangkok and the wonder in the eyes of a garland-selling boy resting his head in front of the shop nearby. And sights and sounds, come as they may, I will collect them and I will keep them safe and let them melt in the spaces between these words and somewhere, someday, someone might come along and realize that there is Wonder. And we will follow it, you and I. And it will cater to us words of hope and of love and we will bask in every bit. I will smile, and you will too, because we will have, as we always have, wonder to take and wonder to give. And wonder to search for all over again.
And you know those little fragments of obscure memories? A diminutive remain of a forgotten conversation, a blurry vision that still lingers, a little sound you just happen to remember. Maybe those fragments are what Strangers are made of. Seemingly insignificant thoughts that belong to someone else, some place else. But they live with us, you and I. So I sit and think about whether we've left our marks without meaning to, too. You and I, we could have spoken so that it was remembered and we could have Done what we have always Done, so that it was seen by people who we did not mean to show. And it makes me think. But to remember that what I speak and what I do, a wandering gaze or a listening ear could take in and carry for the rest of their life - it makes me want to do good, to be good.
It's that time of the year again. My books are slowly piling up beside my bedside as finals approach. And I have also grown too big for my blanket, so you must believe me when I say that I am slowly making progress and before you know it I am going to be glared at for laughing too loud. But I like laughing, it is the most alive of all the sounds that I can make. And I feel good about how I have been wanting to laugh, that I have been wanting to do things. And most of all, I've been able to let it sting for only a while, and then let it go. And hum 'Allah is enough for me' while I get ready for prayer. It is nice for a change and I do not mind it one bit.
The television is making a racket outside and I hear laughter so I think I will go sit with everybody else outside. And for family, for wonderful souls, for an old picture that I know the story behind, and even for a horribly flavoured chocolate that I could not finish, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank You for listening.
Love,
Me.
I've managed to stay awake for the most part of the day and even though this sand storm has made me retreat into bed, I am grateful that I have managed to make the most out of the day. But there is always time to day dream. To think of finding refuge in dripping, red telephone booths in the glorious London rain and of pressing my nose against the cold glass with foggy breath and seeing the world and seeing the city and seeing the melting colours as the rain wants me to see them. But I'll open my eyes and thank God that there are things that wait for me. The smell of freshly baked bread that holds the noise together on a street in Istanbul. The pitter-patter of flip flop-clad feet finding adventure in a dingy street hiding in a corner of Bangkok and the wonder in the eyes of a garland-selling boy resting his head in front of the shop nearby. And sights and sounds, come as they may, I will collect them and I will keep them safe and let them melt in the spaces between these words and somewhere, someday, someone might come along and realize that there is Wonder. And we will follow it, you and I. And it will cater to us words of hope and of love and we will bask in every bit. I will smile, and you will too, because we will have, as we always have, wonder to take and wonder to give. And wonder to search for all over again.
And you know those little fragments of obscure memories? A diminutive remain of a forgotten conversation, a blurry vision that still lingers, a little sound you just happen to remember. Maybe those fragments are what Strangers are made of. Seemingly insignificant thoughts that belong to someone else, some place else. But they live with us, you and I. So I sit and think about whether we've left our marks without meaning to, too. You and I, we could have spoken so that it was remembered and we could have Done what we have always Done, so that it was seen by people who we did not mean to show. And it makes me think. But to remember that what I speak and what I do, a wandering gaze or a listening ear could take in and carry for the rest of their life - it makes me want to do good, to be good.
It's that time of the year again. My books are slowly piling up beside my bedside as finals approach. And I have also grown too big for my blanket, so you must believe me when I say that I am slowly making progress and before you know it I am going to be glared at for laughing too loud. But I like laughing, it is the most alive of all the sounds that I can make. And I feel good about how I have been wanting to laugh, that I have been wanting to do things. And most of all, I've been able to let it sting for only a while, and then let it go. And hum 'Allah is enough for me' while I get ready for prayer. It is nice for a change and I do not mind it one bit.
The television is making a racket outside and I hear laughter so I think I will go sit with everybody else outside. And for family, for wonderful souls, for an old picture that I know the story behind, and even for a horribly flavoured chocolate that I could not finish, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank You for listening.
Love,
Me.
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