Wings Of A Nightingale

To Me, From Me

After staying for 5 years in her rented apartment, my friend eventually was able to purchase and invest in a town house. She took the opportunity of upgrading her status from being a renter to an owner of a cozy, brand new home. I was happy for her.

One month before she was to transfer to her new home, we began packing up her things. I don’t consider her as a “pack rat”, but, Dang! she had accumulated lots of stuff; personal and non-personal items, important and not so important things, or even (maybe) junk. We used up at least 10 big boxes to put all the things that she wanted to take with her; the rest was donated to Salvation Army.

The last closet that we tackled was in her bedroom. She stored so many boxes, in different sizes. As I started to check out and sort out the contents, I became curious and surprised. Every box was labelled with names of the places where she had travelled. She really is a travel bug! Rummaging through the various souvenir items, I noticed that she had a collection of at least 1-2 postcards of each and every place she had been to, and, to my amusement, mailed to herself! My first reaction was: “She’s nuts!” Who, in their right mind will mail postcards to themselves, when they’ve been there and saw the place firsthand?

One postcard that she mailed to herself was postmarked Paris, France. The picture was a beautiful snapshot of the Notre-Dame Cathedral. The professional photographer who took the shot, captured the exterior beauty of this imposing Gothic structure. While I was looking at this fascinating photograph, I felt that I was drawn towards the front of the facade, and was dwarfed by its magnificence; a glorious feeling to behold.

Centuries ago, perhaps this was the same feeling that Victor Hugo experienced when he quoted:

“Each face, each stone of this venerable monument is not only a page of the history of the country, but also the history of knowledge and art…Time is the architect, the people are the builder.”

     That was also exactly what my friend felt when she got hold of the postcard, and according to her, writing the notes while she was there, captured the essence of this historic monument. And, in the years to come, when she sees this postcard and the others that she sent to herself, she will be transported back in time, re-visit those places in her mind’s eye, and treasure them in her heart.

-Mila-

July 31, 2010

White Streaks

     Unlike any other evenings, this particular time, it took me longer than my usual routine bathroom escapade before going to bed. It could be that I’m in no haste to slip between the sheets and enjoy the comfort of my bed, and grab that most needed sleep. After all, I don’t need to wake up early; it’s my 2 days off from work.

     While I was leisurely brushing my hair, I suddenly paused , as I saw something different… in-between my raven-colored tresses, there were few strands of white sticking out. My eyeballs almost popped out from their socket. “It’s white! I have white hairs. When did this happen?” Not that I don’t want to have white hairs…eventually, I would have. But, this discovery came to me as a surprise.

     “Oh, well… no big deal.” I told myself as I went to bed. As I was dozing off, those white hairs came back to my mind, and just like an ignition key, it triggered to fire up the engine of my imagination. Suddenly, my whole life flashed: my past, my present, and my future. Where was I four decades ago, and where would I be in the next three or four decades? As I traced the road that I traversed; my personal and professional life had gone through a myriad of events: successes and failures.

     But, if I would be given a choice on how to live my life again, I would never change any bit of it. Those past experiences that I went through, honed me to be who, what, and where I am now. And the future? Well, I’ll just let it take care of itself, as I know I’m on the right path.

     I pulled my bedcover, snuggled between the sheets and had a peaceful, restful sleep.