When A Dream Comes True...

There is a lot more than dreaming involved.

There are demigods in the form of parents who support and advice and guide and make sure that everything goes as smoothly as it can.

There are angels in the form of friends who encourage and motivate and inspire and bring cheer whenever needed.

There are prayers from a countless caring hearts that combine to form one mighty force.

There are best wishes that, every time they're uttered, send positive signals to the universe.

There is an abundance of love and faith that amalgamates to manifest goodness.

And then, only then, there is the significance of a little bit of hard work meeting a little bit of fate to form a reality that at last lights up the pair of eyes which have been yearning to see their vision accomplished for years on end. And finally, the heart which has suffered much turmoil in trying to realize its deepest desire, experiences an elation it had almost forgotten.

Today, I got admitted to the university I want to attend and all I can think of is how very thankful I am to God and everyone who supported me. I have finally learned the importance of gratitude. I have finally realized that God - and the entire universe - are in favor of those who practice gratitude.

A small dream has today been clinched, but this is just the beginning. Now is when the true test starts - the journey to build the small dream into a bigger vision and realize all the things I know I am meant to. It's in no way going to be easy, but then, nothing that is easy to get is worth it, especially not something as significant as a dream.

For like I said, when a dream comes true, there is a lot more than dreaming involved.

Jis cheez ko paane ki thi ummeed kho chuki,

us cheez ko paake bohot dil ko khushi hui

Salaam zindagi, salaam zindagi....

P.S. I know the song is irrelevant but I derive a different meaning from the lyrics than depicted in the video.

The Beauty of Facebook

I don't know what made me do it.

Okay, maybe I do.

I was writing a story.

About the past.

A past in which he featured, albeit unknowingly, unconsciously.

And prone as I am to distractions whenever writing something tricky, I decided to log on to Facebook, just for a moment, to see whether a friend had replied to my message.

She hadn't, but that didn't even matter. For I found the cursor moving straight to the search box at the top of the screen and typing out a name. HIS name. An attractive foreign name, which I haven't even bothered to change in the story. Somehow, no other name can fit. It has to be his real one or no story at all.

He was easy enough to find. I knew he would be. We have two mutual friends, people I never talk to but don't take off from my list either.

And by some great stroke of luck (or fate?) his profile pictures album was accessible by me. His current picture made me catch my breath. There he was, partially silhouetted against the Toronto skyline, gazing into the distance. An artistic photo, captivating.

There were forty more pictures, a few of which are clever cartoons, and one is of a sports star. But most are of him (thank god):

Him reading a book (Moonraker by Ian Fleming) with a cup of beverage sitting beside him, his left hand raised to his forehead, eyebrows knit in concentration. It's hard to tell whether it's a natural or deliberate pose. Him in a checked shirt, shorts, and aviators, striding down the street, unsmiling, in a very model-esque manner. Him sitting very business-like on an office chair, left hand at the forehead again. Him with a glass of beer in hand, griining at the camera. Him showing off a bottle of beer, which is captioned as being his favorite brand in the world; him pouring out the beer into a glass. Him in a suit, him in a jacket, him with a small white dog and a book in his hand again. This time it is a cloth-bound volume with no name on it, but according to the caption it is his favorite novel, Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell. Him playing pool. his face set in concentration as he aims with the cue; him in fancy dress, dressed up like an old man, him in a tux, raising a glass full of something dark (wine?) to the camera, him doing up his tie and posing at the same time, him simply looking away at an angle; him with dark shades on, him with a cigarette between his lips and a dangerous look in his eyes, him posing in front of a building for what is obviously a professional photograph since it has a watermark on it; him lying on his bed, reclining on a sofa, leaning against a wall, perched atop a tree, lying with the white dog beside him again, him in his life, with not the vaguest inkling that a silly girl halfway across the world is scrolling through his photos, wide-eyed, heart-hammering, and a smile playing at her lips as she remembers what it was like -living across the hall from him.

I'd crushed on him the minute I'd set eyes on him, before he'd even spoken a word. I found out his name from other people's conversations, because I was just too shy to approach him on my own. We only ever met in the elevator sometimes, exchanged courteous smiles and nothing else. And then there was the time when he dropped by to borrow the vacuum cleaner and I'd answered the door and totally lost my senses for a minute before realising that I was looking stupid just standing there rather than fetching the machine for him. He has the most beautiful face I've ever set eyes on - not ruggedly handsome but gorgeous, and soft, dark hair, and eyes that I remember as being an elusive mix of intense and warm and wondrous and intelligent. And his mouth was the kind of mouth that makes you dream of kisses.

I know for a fact that he didn't even know my name, never mind realize that I was absolutely head-over-heels gaga over him. But somehow that doesn't matter, he remains my most memorable crush ever, perhaps because that's just what it was - a sweet, short-lived crush that never got a chance to explode into anything more serious or hurtful like love or obsession. It was pleasant and heart-warming and will always remain with me as the best feeling I've ever had for anyone. And when I REALLY think of him, I always have Facebook to check him out and happily reminisce about the four months worth of elevator rendez-vous we had back in Toronto.

I've been trying to write a story featuring him for years. It's high time I finally get down to completing it. Perhaps now I can include real details like the name of his favorite beer and the fact that he loves Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell. Perhaps I can even include the pretty girl who has commented on every single one of his pictures, complimenting him but receiving no acknowledgment in return, although he has replied to other people's comments. I wonder who she is and how she knows him. Perhaps she has a crush on him too. He's definitely the kind of guy who would have girls vying for his attention, and he seems to know it too.

I always fall for this particular species of boys.

And I always end up just writing stories about them and nothing else. :P

Sigh.

Gratitude

Yesterday was a GREAT day.

I met a special friend after a long, long time because she now lives abroad.

Our group of four friends went to watch Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. As the title suggests, the movie's about living life to the fullest and 'cherishing every moment' and all that, but I think there have been plenty of movies which drive home the point better so I didn't like ZNMD all that much. It was somewhat slow-moving and seemed like a visual documentary on Spain.

I did like the lyrics to the songs though, and also certain pieces of poetry which one of the characters periodically comes up with throughout the movie. Here is the only one of the lot I could find online:

Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum
Nazar mein khwaabon ki bijliyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum
Hawa ke jhokon ke jaise aazad rehna seekho
Tum ek dariya ke jaise lehron mein behna seekho
Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein
Har ek pal ek naya samaa dekhe yeh nigaahein
Jo apni aankhon mein hayraniyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum
Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum

Roughly translated:

If your heart is full of anxieties, then you're alive

If your vision is alight with dreams, then you're alive

You must learn to be free like the gusts of wind.

You must learn to flow in waves like the sea.

Embrace each moment with open arms

Let your gaze find something new to cherish all the time

If your eyes are burdened with wonder, then you're alive,

If your heart is full of anxieties, then you're alive

Beautiful, isn't it?

Speaking of movies, have you seen one called Happythankyoumoreplease? Yes, that's one word with no spaces. I downloaded it some time back mainly because the lead actor is the guy who plays Ted in How I Met your Mother and I find him super cute. So the movie proposes this idea about giving thanks for every little happiness and following it up with asking for 'more, please.' Every time you're happy, say 'thank you, more please'. To whom do you say this to? Well, God, I suppose, or whatever it is that you believe in.

So last night, since I was sooooo happy after the brilliant day I had, I kept chanting 'thank you, more please' as a way of gratitude to God. And the more I said it, the more things I found to be thankful for.

Indeed, zindagi na milegi dobara (you only have one life) so be happy and say 'thank you, more please'.

The Photograph(er)

Her Point of View

The day I got my DSLR camera was perhaps the happiest day of my life. I’d always been into photography and longed for a professional camera for years, and finally, there it was in my hands, solid as a brick, just begging me to get started click, click, clicking.
I told all my friends I would be photographing them – I thought it would be a nice thing to do considering how they always appreciated my skills, but at the spur of the moment, I did something stupid and even promised HIM a picture. By him I mean my stalker. Not literally a stalker, but something very close to that considering that he’d been in love with me for five years despite me trying EVERYTHING to drive home the point that I was quite simply not interested. I guess you can say he was a friend, a bit of a clingy one though, someone I didn’t really like to associate with too much in case he got the wrong ideas.
He didn’t ask me for a picture but somehow I offered to click him. Maybe I felt sorry that he didn’t usually have any nice profile pictures on Facebook. Some part of me just felt like doing him a favour, I suppose. The thing is, like I said, I didn’t really associate too much with the guy, so there were very few chances when I could have fulfilled my promise. What’s more is that although I was confident of my skills, inside I wasn’t too sure whether clicking him would be a good idea. What if I couldn’t make him look good? Or worse, what if he took my innocent gesture as a sign that I fancied him or something? He was anyways weird, I didn’t need him jumping to conclusions and becoming even clingier than he already was. So I guess just as unconsciously as I had promised him the photo, I avoided having my camera with me whenever I knew he would be around. I did have it once or twice, but fortunately, he never asked me to click him then.


His Point of View

When I first set eyes on HER five years ago, I lost everything. My heart, my head, my common sense, and in an indirect way, my self respect too. It was not because she had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, though that did play a major role in pushing up my heartbeat, but no, the real reason I fell for her was the way she treated other people. I had always thought pretty girls were snooty and/or bitchy, but she proved all such assumptions wrong. She was the kindest, warmest person I had ever met, with a friendly smile and an even friendlier voice. When most other girls pretended I didn’t exist, She let me be her friend. She would listen to me talk and ask my opinions and even joke around with me sometimes. She was the sunshine of my life. She was also very smart, which is why it didn’t take her long to figure out that I fancied her. When she found out, I was sure she wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore, but to my utter shock – and pleasure – she was cool with it and didn’t treat me any different. I loved her even more for that.
But one day, things changed. She changed. Being an avid photographer, she was over the moon when she finally got her own DSLR camera. When she first told me about it, I didn’t even know what a DSLR was and had to Google the term. I was happy to see her so happy but at the same time, I couldn’t help noticing a slight transformation take place in her personality. The girl I had always thought to be most down-to-earth was turning into a bit of a show-off. All she ever talked about anymore were her photos: who and what she had clicked and the nice things people had said about her skills. Her Facebook profile was flooded with appreciation. It made me smile but I worried that it was all going to her head a bit too much; it was apparent in her behaviour. She hardly talked to me much anymore. Granted we were both busy in our own lives but we had never before gone for weeks without exchanging so much as a ‘hi’. We were drifting apart, I could sense it. And it depressed me.
I guess that’s why I was so upset when she seemed to forget something that she had promised me. As non-photogenic as I was, I was looking forward to her clicking my picture. After years of people telling me I looked rubbish in photos, I had sort of unconsciously put my trust in this brilliant girl I loved, trust that perhaps she could prove my own doubts wrong and show me that I could have a nice photograph if the photographer was good enough. And SHE was better than good; she was the best as far as I was concerned.
I would run into her now and then, with her camera slung on her shoulder, but I could never work up the nerve to ask whether she would click me. I always thought that since she was the one who had made the promise, she should be the one to fulfill it.
And so I waited in silence, occasionally feeling bad when I would see her photograph her other friends, the ones who didn’t even need professional cameras to make them look good. I wondered whether she would ever remember what she had told me. It wasn’t fair.

Her Point of View

'What?'
That was the only word that came to mind when I heard the news.
It couldn’t be.
No way.
He could not be…
No, I couldn’t bring myself to think that word. It was too terrible, too sudden, too unbelievable. Young people did not just drop dead one day. How could he have…
‘Because he was ill, you fool,’ a small voice in my head said. ‘He was suffering since years and you didn’t even notice.’
But how could I have noticed? He never said a word about it, no hint, nothing. He had always seemed to be just another normal young person. How was I to know he had cancer?
And to think of how I treated him… this sounds sick to say but if only I’d known, I’m sure I would have been nicer to him. I didn’t even click his photograph when I KNEW how much it meant to him. God, how could I have been so nasty? And that too, to someone who loved me. I had always thought his whole ‘love’ thing was a bit blown out of proportion but I can’t now, after he’s left me a diary full of stuff he’s written about me. His brother gave it to me today. After the funeral. And it made me cry like nothing else ever has.
I can’t believe I laughed about him behind his back, and that I never did a single nice thing for him all his life. The only thing I can find comfort in is what I managed to do before the burial: I photographed him. I don’t know how I did it but I knew I had to. I asked permission from his family; I explained to them that it was something which meant a lot to him, and although his brother was dead against it, his parents gave in. perhaps only to stop me pleading with them.
He was lying there in the casket, all suited up, with his hair neatly in place, looking almost handsome, and more peaceful than I had ever seen him. I stared at him for what seemed liked an eternity, my eyes welling up with tears of shame and remorse, and finally, at long last, I fulfilled my promise.
It turned out to be a hauntingly beautiful picture. I posted it to his Facebook profile and it’s got over 100 likes. I guess my stalker is a lot more liked and popular in death than he ever was in life. Which sounds kind of terrible but isn’t really.
Because with the photo was my long drawn-out and overdue apology to him. I think that’s what people really liked: that I publicly apologized for how badly I had privately treated him.
Sometimes, things we believe to be ‘no big deal’ turn out to be much bigger than we can handle. A promise, or giving someone our word, is one of them.

*The image is from www.photographybebastocapture.blogspot.com