Thinking For Others

One rude mistake we should try to escape: to assume for others that we know what and how they feel, without letting them feel and speak for themselves.

fairy tales

We get to hear and read the fairy tales twice in our lives - once when we are small, and later, when we have our own children. If we don't let our imagination and hope turned faith prevail, we loose the perspective to life as such, which has a spell of magic beauty to it, a secret to unfold, the glory and a sense of justice.

Letter

It is easier to forgive you because you don't know my heart.

Our Walk

We got off the crowded bus as soon after the turn and we walked toward the canal with the little water frozen in it. The wind that day was fiery and bit our faces. It was white all around and the snow was falling. My mother and I wore warm jackets and winter shoes, the day promised to be cold. We decided for a walk on a long forgotten route, a place once we were well familiar with.
Not any longer because it’s been good ten years and life changed, even as we grew older. Now instead of open fields tall buildings and houses were lining with the still beautiful scenery of the mountains. It seemed only mountains never changed. The same breath taking beauty -any time of the year.
It was my idea to take mom out and see the place where we once lived. I often took her places, especially lately, I think in anxiety of near departure. I treasure the memories and my past enriches me. I also think that I was a little bit troubled by the rapid change that was happening all over - people leaving for abroad, elderly neighbors dying, my own birthdays coming too soon, old buildings being destroyed and new, with no character, being built.
And so I asked mom to come along, to share the memories of the olden days - when the wind was free to hover over the fields, when the little creeks ran watering the fields with onions, carrots and watermelons. I heard of rose fields but we never made it close. And yes, the vineyard, those grapes we collected for home-made wine.
When we moved to our new three-room apartment, I think all of us, that is my mother, myself and my brother, moved half halfheartedly. Not for any reason, personally, but I was already attached to our old house where my mother grew and where I walked since the day I learnt my walking. Every stone was so familiar to me, every tree, every face... And so we were - torn between the two places. I was not attracted even by the warm bathtub and other apartment conveniences - but by the wilderness of the place, it was situated on the footstep of the mountains, with chill breeze, vast fields, fresh air and quietness that only the outskirts provide.
And then we walked along the road, just two of us, appearing strange to others who were peeping out of the buses to see why we had walked in a snowy day. One bus stopped for us but we waived at them, letting them know we did not need a ride.
We walked, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking. I like it that my mother is not afraid of silence. She feels comfortable; she does not ask me if everything is alright. She knows I am. In that silence we listen; listen to the wind, to our hearts; in the silence we reconcile to the change, to the pain, to the loss. And also we celebrate - celebrate the moment, the one that we are able to catch in the business of life, in the complexity of change; the moment that is there only for that precious walk and that moment which will culminate but later bring back the fountain of joy through the years down the road, like today, four years after the walk, in Bangalore, India.

I clung tight to mom’s hand during that walk. I was so glad she came. It was our walk and I will remember it.

At the end of our "remember journey", we went to a small local bazaar to buy some oranges. I like the smell of the peeled oranges in winter- once again, a childhood memory when all was well, mom and dad were at home, the house was warm and I was on winter holidays.

Lessons

Curiosity is a way of learning; but it also can lead to smelly trashcans.

Son

He is our firstborn and he uses all of his privileges.

Голос ребенка
Авторы: О.Фельцман – М.Рябинин

1. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
Он смотрит глазами прозрачными
На мир удивленно и весело.
И мать с невесомою нежностью,
Качая ребенка уснувшего,
Мечтает отдать ему лучшее,
Что в сердце своем сберегла.

Так пусть звучит музыкой звонкой,
На этой земле, населенной людьми,
Голос ребенка, голос ребенка,
Вечная тема, вечная тема нашей любви.
Вечная тема, вечная тема нашей любви.

2. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
Шаги его первые робкие
Началом дороги окажутся.
Отец с неподдельною гордостью,
Подняв малыша к небу синему,
Мечтает отдать ему лучшее,
Что может отдать человек.

3. Каким человек рождается -
Природы великое таинство,
И все же мы в праве надеяться,
Что жизнь у него будет долгою,
Что будет он добрым и ласковым,
Что будет он честным и преданным,
Что будет он смелым и яростным,
Сражаясь за счастье людей.

Children

They are the fragrant aroma to life, the laughter of the youth days.

Motherhood

She met plenty of mothers who complained that they did not have time for their own life and all the life they had was spent on their children, who when they had grown, left the house and went on with their private lives. She met even those mothers who wished they didn't have their children, not because children brought any weight in their life - because they never wanted to be mothers.

This brave one heard a lady share that motherhood was like a spider's web and being a mother was like a spider, who was defined and constrained by its own web.

But she was all expectant, she was full of delight waiting in her anticipation for a new life, which she thought was a gift, that will be unwrapped as life will unfold, year after year. She was planning to invest everything she had, her best, without any reservation, fear and shadowed views of others.

Son

Every night I have him by my side; he hugs me and leans towards me. I can feel the heat of his body and smell his milky sweat. I want to treasure these days, the nights, our little walks, our little talks.

I love his little hands with his fast fingers that get into my plate, overturn the cup, sweep the floor dust, those hands that hug me just like that, in the middle of a small game that he has with his puzzle mat.

I love his little kisses and the little bites.

I love the excitement in his voice when he just wakes up and his beautiful heart-warming smile.

You are my son, my first born, my treasure and my joy.

His Heart

I almost could hear his heart break, but he did not show a sign, not even in his eyes. He was strong as ever, loving as ever, as if there was no limit to his kind human nature.

I often wondered if late at night, or early in the morning - when the stars are still bright and every soul deep in sleep - he cries. Ever.

I saw him picking up the cups and going to the kitchen. He moved slowly and it seemed he forgot about his scheduled meeting. He didn't say a word. No, there was no anger, not even a drop. He breathed deeply, left the cups in the sink, washed his hands, gave me a kiss and went.

Went to come back.

Turtle Shell

Often it is pretty comfortable to get into the turtle shell and let the hurricane of life sweep all around.

Forgiveness

I believe that when we each made a choice, we did not know we would hurt each other so much.
I forgive you.
Will you forgive me?

Time vs. Love

I don't believe that time heals, but love. Time erases the memory, wiping it clean, leaving very little to hang on to. It does seem to aid though, especially when hurt, but only because it gives space for some hope. That spam of erased memory that must not stay void but should be filled with love, when left untouched starts hurting, turning into a rotten apple, that shrinks as the days go pass.

And love, like the living fountain, splashes on a soul so thirsty, revives it and gives it one more chance, that life is good and worth living it.

I Think that Must Be Family

Every time you leave after a short visit I know that you love me. I know that love motivates you to come this long way and you do, because you are a family.
Thank you!
Have a safe return home!

My Soul

Weighted down with many of sins my soul searched for deliverance. No good deeds could liberate it from the weight. Searched in different places, under hard circumstances, crashed into a thousand of pieces; Put hope in many people, approached the faces, jumped over the fences - with no senses left alone in despair...My soul cried. My soul cried for the mercy, not deserved, to the Maker...

Through the Story

My story telling ends very quickly with my 14 month old son. After "Once upon a time..." we jump right to the end, "So the chicken laid a simple egg, not a golden one."

Every day of this stage development passes by momentarily; from learning how to dance with the music to turning the pages in a book and putting his own shoes on.

I don"t want to miss any of these!
And you, my baby, are doing a good job!

Name Change

My first name changed to "baby" and "princess" since I got married.

Reminder

I often have to remind myself that somewhere up the hill or down the road people tend to hurt each other and often we carry this "hurt luggage" a long way in our years and we become prone to explode, most often in circumstances and times less desirable for us.

Grace is the only virtue that is able to save both, us and those who are around.