Carrots

 

   The cook in my school, noticing that I was eating some carrots during breakfast, approached me and said: "Hehe, carrots are healthy. Good for you. After all, when's the last time you saw a rabbit with glasses?"

Meals and Memories

   Take a bunch of people that otherwise didn't lose anything in the same place, and put them all together. What do you get? Last Friday nights' meal. You know, the type that makes me regret the little body language I do know...

    Let's just take a look. The couple that sits nearest to me, hmm. Well, she's trying to tell him in a nice way -and without anybody noticing- that he has something in his hair. Too bad; I caught that. Later on they filled in for each other when the host asked them to say a story. It was cute.

    The next couple is distant family of the host, and they're what seems to be a little uncomfortable (like me, for that matter). Shifting hands from on the lap to on the table to playing with the napkin rings back to on the table. A piece of Challah every five minutes also helps alleviate tension, at least for the eater.

    Then there's me. I don't know where I fit into this picture. I help with the singing. I clean up a little. I observe. And I absorb what I see. When I walk back to my place I try to figure out if this was a memory worth creating. Retrospectively I guess it's always worth it.
   

Dying Flowers

  
   I felt almost like hitting him. "Insolent child! How dare you!"

.   .   .

  
   There I was, sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying the fragrance of blossoming flowers from the nearby bushes. Along he came. Armed with a pair of scissors, he clambered onto the bench and reached for the highest flower. Snip! It was cut. Dead to the world. Never to live again.

   Well, I'm a timid person. I don't react openly when things aren't my way. But my mind was racing; tearing this kid apart: Why? Where do such thoughtless actions come from? Where is the father of this child, who would have certainly prevented such an occurrence? Where is he?

   Lagging he was, but not too far behind. To him I'll give a piece of my mind, I thought to myself. As I approached, the father bent down and took the flower from his son. Hugging him tightly, he said: "Thank you."

   With all my politeness, I'm sure my ire must have seeped through my words: "How could you let your child bring about death to a poor flower? What did it do wrong? Have you no appreciation for beauty?"

   Said he to me: "Look at the bigger picture! Know that flowers were created to bring joy to people like you and me. Can't you see the delight I have in my child's deed? And as for the flower - in time another will grow on this very branch; just as lovely. To bring another smile to one more father."

.   .   .

   We look around us, and all we see is the death of flowers. Some neatly cut, others roughly pulled off their branches. At times even just a normal wind seems enough to sever them from their source of life. We want to scream out; to yell at the father that could let all this happen. The one who seems to let things spin out of control. Can our father not see the pain, the loss?

   Sometimes we're lucky. We are explained the way things really work; the way they're seen from the true perspective. We see the smile on the fathers' face, and we know intuitively that the right thing was done. But what about the rest of the time? Other dying flowers? When will the time come that we will be able to forever see the fathers' smile?

   I hope and pray that the day comes soon. But until then, I'll rely on my faith. After all, Daddy always knows best.

(For the sake of honesty (and for those who don't get it) I must say that this story never happened. It is a product of my thinking.)
 

Novels

Its words they will take me,

To faraway places,

To times long by-gone - 

Other clock faces.

I am still

In my seat,

Where I was 

Half past noon,

And the sun

It was beat -

Now its swapped

For the moon.

Oh, who conjured this work which

I cannot lay down,

"It sure does its job well!"

I remark with a frown.

'Cause hire I did

This book from the store,

Seventeen bucks -

Not a penny more!

    

Striking Skills

   In my yeshiva there are two people who (unfortunately) Daven for the Amud. I'll call them Mr. P. and Mr. H.

   Mr. H. - Will light the candles by himself. After Davening, he extinguishes the candles with one stroke of the hand.

   Mr. P. - Always manages to get someone to light the candles for him. Usually the boys that eat at his house more often end up doing him the favor. When this happens I'm reminded of a child whose mother always spoon-fed him, and still can't eat on his own. Do you really think you're doing him a favor?

    After the Davening is over, Mr. P. goes through what seems to be the agonizing process of extinguishing the candles. See, it takes him five individual waves of the hand to do it. He resembles to me what I think the Queen of England would look like trying to brush away a fly... (as daintily and as unsuccessfully)

    Which one of these people are you and who do you want to be?

Why not...

   I used to think that bloggers are a sub-species of humans who actually don't get convinced by or go for the petty stuff. Little did I know at the time. So here's to all of you. In case you visit this blog and don't want to read and think about what I write, I changed the template. Now you guys will spend (waste) some more time on this site without coming out with anything. Oh, and I also put out a new poll. It's very important.
  

On Plasticware and Pollution

  
   The cook in my school turns to me and says: 'You know, this whole plastic business, it's really bad for the environment. I think we should all be using real silverware. After all, the used plastic is thrown in the garbage and dumped, and is never used again.'

   A sound opinion, I thought to myself. But two minutes later: 'But sometimes it's good to have plastic; after you just finished making a party, and you're dreading the cleanup, using plastic makes it just so much easier.'

   It just left me wondering if she realizes that even after a party the plastic is thrown out and dumped, never to be used again.

   Maybe the accent barrier played a part in me not understanding what she said. She is "Ehhsssaaan" after all. (Asian, for all you who don't get it.)
  

Change

 
   Everything around me seems to be changing. Everyone is running too fast for me. New occurrences are pushing moments I want to treasure to the back of my file cabinet, to be replaced by newer and less savory stuff. Now the older files will be harder to find. If only there would be a way to keep some time-confined moments truly timeless.

   Alas, I know that the path upon which I tread will soon be overtaken. Perhaps by many, perhaps by only one. But overtaken it will be; never again to be the same. I hear them saying: "Why give more to the present than a moments' notice? Let your eye casually pass over it; like vanilla to the chocolate lover. Just skip it. We live in the past and future; in the bliss of the unknown and unseen."

   To myself though, I'm unconvinced. I say to myself: "Take the strongest, the heaviest of those moments and freeze them; those that weigh upon the heart. At the very least freeze-dry them so they'll keep their smell longer. Tomorrows' unknown need not be a reason to forget today's sights, smells, and tears. Bottle them up inside you and only open them when the time is right. Do this and in the driest of deserts you'll always have the smell of the morning after the rain."
     

Soon To Be Gone

   He is soon to be gone. He'll almost vanish into thin air.

   But he's a good guy. I don't want to forget him. He's worth enough in friendship terms that I should want a place for him in my heart. You know, the place where all my good friends are stored, them and the good times we had.

   It doesn't come easy, though. A constant effort is needed to keep him alive in me, untill I see him again. Because for now he may be as good as non-existent. After all, all the good times we shared are not to be repeated. When I see him next it will be but for a moment; a day at most. Not a year. A year in which we lived, grew, shared - all together. So things  -as much as I wish to deny- will indeed be different. Vain thinking it would be to conjure a scenario where all this can be repeated. It just won't happen.

.   .   .

   But does that mean I should forget? Just because there seems to be no point in remembering?

   Let me tell you something: All these memories, times, and the spot in my heart for them, their benefit is only mine, only mine. They are there for me to be able to use them when the going gets rough. In the future I'll need to have what to reminisce about; something to pull my own heart with. And if I don't treasure these moments and store them now, I just won't have them; my loss.

   So he's a good guy. That's who he is. But for me, to remember him is a tool; a way to reach my emotions with my own bare hands. For that - he's in me, and he'll stay in me.
      

Contemplation

  
   A most used expression in Chassidus is 'Hisbonenus' - contemplation. Often we wonder: What does this mean? Can I really do this?

   Yes you can. We all have the mechanism in us to properly contemplate, it's just that we use it for other things. For example, if someone offends you, the natural instinct is to chew it over. Why did he say that? What did he mean? How can I teach him a lesson? Moreover, we speak about it to our friends to get more insight into the matter.

   If spiritual matters are as pertinent to us as the physical, we'd be able to contemplate about it. The problem only lies in the fact that it isn't as important.

   Now we've got homework.