8.28.2011

The Nightly Visitor


The little girl sat at her window. It was dark outside and it was past her bed time. Her parents were already sleeping after having given her a bath and told her a story. She could hear her father's deep, heavy breathing and her mother's light one, accessorized with an occasional snore. As the old grandfather's clock in their living room struck the twelfth stroke of midnight she knew that she had the world to herself.


At this moment, when the people were all asleep she felt like she was all alone. Yet instead of feeling sad she felt happy. The world was silent for the first time in the whole day, no one fighting, shouting, talking. No uncomfortable silence just a silence. And then the night becomes alive. The cats come out to play, the starts shine more than usual and the moon smiled down on her recognising his dear friend who keeps him company. If you listen very well you can even hear the neighbour playing softly on his violin in the attic. 

The little girl stood up and started dancing on her tiptoes around the room. Her smooth and graceful moves made the stars smile and the moon had tears in her eyes. The little girl, her eyes closed, danced away, imagining the violinist playing just for her. She stopped suddenly and the moon looked on worried. But it was only her nightly visitor come to have his promised dance. She bowed and he offered her hand. And as the violinist played a waltz, they danced around the room in counts of three. The little girl smiling, knowing she was in safe hands.

The music stopped and so did the girl. She opened her eyes and her smile turned to disappointment as she realised that her visitor had once again not allowed her to see him. He always disappeared when she opened her eyes. The stars shined the light in her room and she looked up and smiled once again, as the moon silently comforted her. She entered her bed sheets and laid down her head on the soft pillows as the music started once again playing a sweet lullaby just for her. She closed her eyes and smiled. As she entered the land of dreams and once again her dear Peter Pan was waiting for his dance.

8.22.2011

First Impressions


What should one say on their first post of their new blog? Should there be a long analysed description of the person's self and their activities? Should one start with a joke to break the ice? Or just get down to business and start with the deep stuff?

A million and one questions run through my overcooked brain. What if no one likes it? What if its not what they expect? As a person who spent most of her life trying to please others, self-doubt is a big part of my life. Should I say this or that? Will I sound to foolish, too stupid, too conceited? Am I so full of myself that I think that someone would want to read what I write? All these thoughts have made me postpone this blog again and again.

Because first impressions are important. To say anything else would be fooling oneself. You could retort by saying don't judge a book by its cover but how can I put my hopes on that when I, an avid book lover, pick up books because their cover tickles my interest. Are first impressions always right? No. Does a first encounter weigh heavily on a future relationship? Pretty much. And this does not just apply to human relationships but to any relationship we may have with objects. Yes I did just say that we have relationships with objects. Well at least I do. I have a love/hate relationship with all my things. I cajole them into working, and shout at them when they don't. Sounds crazy? Probably but I always thought things worked better when you showed them you love them.

Coming back to the whole point of this rant. First impressions do matter. And as a person who is a confessed people pleaser  this can be nerve wrecking. I have learnt during the years that trying to make everyone happy can never work. Mainly because we humans are never satisfied, we always want more and more. Stretching myself thin between all those people was not really working out. I have the scars were I was starting to tear as a proof. Does this mean that I have stopped trying to please others? Well I wish. The fact is that such in-depth vices are hard to crack. What I have painstakingly learned though is that the guilt of disappointing others hurts less when I actually believed in the decision I took, in the words I spoke and in the way I acted.

So I am here writing this blog not because I think that I'm an amazing writer, but because writing makes me happy. My writing may not be up to standard for certain people, and it may not be of liking for others but it is for my liking. So this is my introduction. I am Shyan, I am recovering from people-pleaser addiction. I judge books by their cover, songs by their title and bands by their name. I am a certified homo sapiens and this is my first post.