A few months ago I published a set of short stories.
These are older works of mine, so they aren’t the best, but I certainly enjoyed writing them, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading them! You can buy the ebook here! I am hoping to have the paperback published in the next week or so at a very reasonable rate.
Rough, not smooth, not even the ages have worn you down.
I walk passed you.
I wonder about your stories.
I wonder what you have seen, heard.
The ravages of war.
The secrets of soldiers.
Fears?
Hopes?
Dreams?
Plans?
Betrayal?
Love?
Secrets?
I can feel the history etched into your depths.
I wish I could speak to you.
I wish I knew the language of stone.
So you could tell me what you have seen and heard
The guardian wall that has stood around this city.
You have harbored kings and queens, soldiers and scholars, people…friends and foes.
You stood when so many other buildings fell beneath the enemies cruel hands.
History is your walls, it is in the core of your stone.
I walk by…
My fingers linger on the feeling of the wall,
The precise squares, the grout, the past.
I feel ignorant and small, like a colorful butterfly pausing on a flower in a spring breeze…
Passing, passing…only lingering for this moment.
Only touching a tiny part of something so much larger…only tasting a drop of what you have to offer.
History, beauty, riches, locked away in stony silence.
I see the brilliance of your designer.
I feel the safety he created within your walls.
You are making me hungry, hungry for knowledge for words I do not know…for the stories you will not tell.
Oh, if I could only speak to stone.
If walls could talk…
I lean against you, wishing I could hear your stony core beat with life.
You are silent.
Silent.
Holding all the secrets of the past.
Holding tightly what it has left you.
History and stories, and people long gone.
You are the keeper of secrets.
You are silent stone.
 |
| Hwaseong Fortress Korea (found on google, not my image, I own nothing) |
 |
| found on google not my image I own nothing |
There are many ways to view being single.
For years I’ll admit I’ve been blissfully happy.
I’ve smile and accepted the words.
“You are so lucky!”
“Oh! What I wouldn’t be to be in your shoes.”
“I had it so easy when I was single.”
“Man, what I wouldn’t give to be sinlge again.”
“You’ve never been in a relationship, oh you are so lucky!”
 |
| found on google, not my image, I own nothing |
However…as the years have progressed and romance has eluded my life…
I find it…
Life is still satisfying, life is still good. I am still grateful to be single…but there are days where there is a gap, a hole, it feels as if part of my life is missing something…or rather someone.
The words: “You are so lucky to be single!” etc. Seem to have a bit of a bite to them.
 |
| found on google, not my image, I own nothing |
I still smile, and I look into the eyes of sleepless mothers with bags under their eyes, worried and wondering how they are doing as a mother…and I realize this is a gift that I have been given and I need to be grateful, even as I am slightly jealous of their little ones calling them “Mama,” knowing that the demands of being a mother is a never ending job…but still my heart aches just a little.
They say, “Being a teacher, it must make you not want kids…”
And the truth is it only makes me want them more.
I get only a breif moment with these children, to love, to cherish…to impact…to smile, to laugh, to care, to cry…and then it’s goodbye.
It makes me realize no matter how exaused and how little sleep I get I still want the oppertunity to put food on the table, to tousle little heads, to sing to sleep children of every age and size, to talk with them…even if it is the never ending chatter….it is a privledge that I have not been granted.
There are days when I wake up, and I realize that I am painfully single…singleness that I am not sure if it will ever end,…or how many more days I must learn to cherish this gift and the oppertunities that it gives me.
Thank you Singleness.
I am rather fond of umbrellas.
Especially yellow umbrellas, for they make me smile.
They are a spot of sunshine in a world of grey.
I own a smallish soft yellow umbrella, I chose it for that EXACT reason.
To remind me when it is grey…there will always be sunshine again.
However, today…walking home from the city.
It started to rain.
I thought if I hurried a bit more.
I could make it home…before the downpour began.
I passed two convenience stores, I paused wondering if I should stop and purchase an umbrella…but I’ve already purchased two…I really didn’t need to buy another, and stupidly I hadn’t brought either of them.
I sped homeward, I zipped up my navy blue fleece coat.
I nodded at the guard standing at the military gate.
Taxis were nearby…
For a mere 100 NT. I could be home in four minutes or less.
I waved, they passed.
I sped on…
And then it happened.
The deluge.
Slipping under the shelter of the tree by the road, I watched as the road turned into a shallow river.
Cars passed, thankfully slowing down so they didn’t drench me in wave car thrown rain.
Another taxi was coming towards me. Waving vigorously for it to stop….it passed by speeding up the road.
No one, wanted to pick up a damp foreigner…
I waited, not wanting to get drenched, but also not wanting to spend the rest of my day under a star-fruit tree waiting for the rain to stop.
Weighing my options I couldn’t decide if I should go forward or backwards…
Another taxi passed, ignoring my waving arms.
I stood there watching the rain fall, sipping my coffee, trying to decide, and praying for wisdom on what to do next.
Then it happened.
A white car stopped on the other side of the road, flashers blinking, they parked next to the house practically on top of the road. I couldn’t see inside the dark windows.
I wondered three things, “Do they live there? Are they going to offer me a ride? Are they lost?”
Trying not to get my hopes up, I looked away, listening for the possibility of a car window rolling down. Of words in Chinese or English being spoken… “Need a ride?” or “Xiao Jei li, li, li!”
Seconds passed into a minute…
Glancing up the hill I watched for another taxi, wondering if the next one would be in just a big a hurry as the last few.
A car door opened.
A petite woman tiptoed quickly across the road, a black, closed umbrella in her hand.
“For you,” she said putting it into my hand, and then tip-toed quickly back across the road before I barely had a moment to say thank you. The car door closed, I opened up the umbrella, bowing my gratefulness.
The car pulled away and disappeared up the hill.
I watched it go, glancing up at my new big black umbrella, and felt strangely like Jo March…under The Professor’s big black worn umbrella. The warmth, the kindness, the thoughtfulness, the worn and used pattern on the umbrella told of it’s use in rain and sunshine, of years of care…given to a complete stranger standing under a star-fruit tree in the middle of a deluge.