(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)
In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.
Not that they prefer it any other way.
They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.
For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.
In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.
This is tradition.
This is fact.
“Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.
“As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.
The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.
“Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!”
“Ah, thanks, Leirum.”
“So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.
“It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?”
“Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.”
She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?”
“With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.”
“Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.”
“Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.”
“They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.”
The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.
“I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.”
“You just don’t change do you, giant?”
Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.”
All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.
“What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.”
“Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.”
“Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.”
Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.
“Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?”
“True as we are, brother.”
“You really think I know?”
They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.
“Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.”
“Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.”
“You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.
“Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.”
Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?”
Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.
“Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.
“Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.
“You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”
“Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.
The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.
Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?”
“I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.
“Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.”
“Lovely. How about you, young man?”
The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.
“All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…”
The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.
“What are you folks drinking?”
“Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.
“Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.
“All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.
The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.
“Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.
“Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.
Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.
“I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.
“Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.
The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?”
“We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.
“Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.
“Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.
“A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.”
“Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.
The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.
“Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.
“It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.”
Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.”
“Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.
Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?”
“I mean how’d you end up here?”
“Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?”
“Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.
“How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”
Silence, once again broken by Leirum.
“Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.”
“Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.
“Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.
“How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.
“I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.
Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.”
And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.
When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.
“You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.
“But unknowingly. Unwillingly.”
“That’s how it must work, brother.”
“I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.
“Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.
Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.”
“You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.
Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.
Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.
She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.
For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.
What do you see when you close your eyes?
I see nothing.
Yet I see everything.
Open – eyed, I see you look away from me; see you look at no one. Making a point of it, perhaps? And when I close my eyes, I see that I exist.
At least I think I do.
But I need you to look at me. With that you’ll show me that I do, you know, exist.
Will you look at me?
I know you need it, too.
You can look away now. Or you could close your eyes. I rather enjoy the latter, but it’s up to you. Look away and you still exist in this world, close your eyes and you may end up in other worlds.
Escape…you like that, eh?
I know. I know.
Anywhere, whatever situation we may end up in, we would always want to get out of it. All that in due time. It’s a built -in mechanism, I suppose – one we can do without, but can’t.
I wonder now.
In heaven, would we still feel the urge to escape? Was it what Lucifer felt?
Let me tell you a story.
This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.
He walked the earth but his heart was not there. It was engaged in the place where your thoughts often wander, especially if your heart is not keeping up with what you do.
Yes, like all demons, Michal does have a heart.
Though to say it is a good or pure heart would be to go too far. It still is fact that Demon hearts do not fill with blood but with the agony inflicted upon mortals – the more agony produced, the stronger the heart becomes.
And Michal, our demon, has indeed a very strong heart. But as you already know, now it is not with him but in the nameless-place-where-hearts-often-wander.
There, his heart met The Question.
And now as he prowls the earth looking for willing puppets, them of the agony-inflicting type, The Question continuously takes root in his heart.
“Why do I exist? Am I really meant to be here? To be doing what I’m doing? And if I am, if I am no accident, then who or what intended for it? What…who is my creator? Why?”
The Question – it mutually seeks out all hearts and meet them all in due time. It captures yours in unexpected moments, and from then on, never really leaves.
Appeased, ignored, suppressed, but still there.
And it leaves no body, no being out – Living, Dead, In-betweens, Angels, Demons, Guardians – all of their hearts The Question will meet.
For all of them will take part in the event.
That which everything that was, is, and about to happen are mere necessities, preparation perhaps, all leading to the one reason why anything at all exists.
The Demon already knows this but cannot recall it. Like everyone else, it is vital for his being that The Knowledge should not interfere with the present, hence the overshadowing by present trivialities.
But one always needs to be reminded, thus the constant seeking of the answer to the purpose of one’s existence.
And in that nameless place where all hearts eventually wander, we all find our reminder – consciously or otherwise.
So that’s the story.
It is as much about me as it is about Michal or you or the queen of the damned or the president of the Jews.
Why, I think you know.
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If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us. -Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962), Demian I stand here in the balcony and weep, not for any cause, woes, and hurts noble but for mine and mine alone. The one time I …
“We people always have a tendency to loathe what we understand little about or not at all. Some extremely more than others – a thing I always think makes a person rather inferior to one that is otherwise. A stubborn refusal to acknowledge what’s happening before one’s eyes is plainly RIDICULOUS. On a closer look, with a pinch of not-so-common sense, me’s realized the bigger picture says the world needs these people for balance. It’s always been about balance. However, that doesn’t stop me from avoiding these people. Maybe within I’m self-righteous and narrow-minded, too. Why not? All people are hypocrites.”
-Red Elephant, The
Image Sources here.
That I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who loves to learn, tries to learn, and actually learns a lot. I got 2 out of 3. I just never seem to learn a LOT – if not any less than I do 15 years ago.
15 years ago I learned…
*To do unto others only what I want others do unto me.
(Now I do, did, probably will still do unto others what I’d offer my savings account, mini library, and promise to make a twitter account for them not to ever do the same to me. And vice versa.)
*To listen when a person speaks in front.
(So when a blabbering buffoon is on your side and trying to get as close without resorting to sticking a pole inside any orifice, um, you are excused, right?)
*To eat only nutritious foods. And only when you’re hungry.
(A lesson I have happily un-learned! Unless you don’t count eating a large chunk of chocolate when you’ve just had dinner against it.)
*To respect the elderly.
(With all due honesty, I have tried to uphold this for as long as I can remember. But there are tempting times Satan prepared himself by hiding in the guise of a septuagenarian lady, making me want to grab her cane and use it to whack Satan out of that innocent body.)
*To say sorry when you hurt someone.
(But after a decade and a half, I have de-evolved from a human into a chicken for I find myself too much of a coward to utter even this two-syllabic word without the aid of dagger looks and a terribly messy situation.)
*To not speak nor go with strangers.
(I blame the one who said “strangers are merely friends you have yet to meet”. I wonder if that person ever had the reward of meeting and having a little chat with Mr. H. Lecter.)
*To mean what you say and say what you mean.
(This time I blame the books written in the style of beautiful, subtle sarcasm. And politics, of course.)
*To never tell lies.
(Ha! Now who would I blame? You? You? Or you?)
Fifteen years is quite enough time to have forgotten all these lessons. I am certain I learned a whole lot more back then. But due to lack of practice/application of these lessons poor memory, I only have these eight to share.
Let me make it clear that I am not saying the older you get, the dumber you’ll become. Fact is that there’s a turning point somewhere in the age line (they say it’s different for everyone…I do wonder who “they” is/are) when Fate itself drives you toward the long lost fountain of wisdom.
But until you reach that point, you have no right to say you are wiser than a 5 year old.
Any lessons to share?
Images courtesy of Google Images
I’m completely at a loss.
I don’t know what to do, it’s not the first, but this time it’s crucial I need to know what to do. I know what I want, but unfortunately, what we want is not always what is right.
Or is it? Is it the one really important thing we need to focus our choices on?
I am torn between so many things I try to avoid thinking about them to avoid going nuts. But it’s just making everything worse because deep down I have this deep anxiety that stems from a voice saying, “You need to make a choice and you better do it quick“. It’s true really, even though I would kill whoever that punctiliously right voice belongs to (that’s right. Suicide. Pfft).
Nursing vs Arts?
Travelling vs Staying with the man I love?
Staying in vs Moving out?
Study now vs Study later?
To write vs Deleting this blog?
Ignore vs Slam the door twice to the face of the one knocking right now?
To be myself vs To conform?
Lady Gaga vs Katy Perry? (kidding, they’re both hideous. Sorry again, fans.)
To comment or To let things be?
To smile or To tell him/her his/her existence is so pathetic I wonder how he/she finds the guts to continue living?
To cry or To read?
To Publish or Not?
Madness this is.
“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”
I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.
It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.
No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.
It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.
But life is a trickster.
Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?
I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that every human being was bestowed with from birth.
But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.
And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.
But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.
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Last night, I was so hungry I hit the bakery and ordered a dozen of cheap, delicious bread. While the irritable bakery lady was getting my order, a dirty child approached two of the customers dining in and begged for bread repeatedly. The two ladies just kept on talking as though they were deaf to the world. I couldn’t hate or curse that they may rot in the depths of hell because if I should be honest, I behaved just like them more times than I can remember.
How often have you turned a blind eye to the misfortunes of others when it was supposed to be in your power to help easing the burden they carry? 20 times? 100 times? A million times?
No, I am not about to preach that we should all take care of one another because every person in this earth is our brother or sister. Nor would I help you to become a better person. I have enough shame on my pants not to do that. Rather, I would like to discuss why it is so hard for us to SHARE – our time, money, food, skills, boyfriends, services, among others – without getting anything in return
But why is it, really?
Theory no. 1: We have been raised to become selfish.
I love my parents and all the adults who helped in molding me to become the ridiculously self – righteous person I have become. They have all done their best to produce an individual the whole world could be proud of (read: a RARITY). But could you remember those times they told you to keep your toys to yourself and to your brothers/sisters because that (insert neighbor’s name here) child breaks anything he ever puts his hands on? Or those moments when they told you finishing education is a must (which it is) because only then could you be a successful person? At a young age, they have already unconsciously wired us up with the-world-is-selfish/there’s-no-such-thing-as-free-lunch anthem. Not that we could blame them.
Theory no. 2: We are scared.
Scared of what? Scared of being taken advantage of, perhaps? Maybe we are thinking that there are so many con artists and syndicates today behind homeless beggars that the thought of helping them and picturing those goons enjoying your loot is just too much to handle. Maybe we are so scared that if we do something to help people, they might milk us out until we cannot even help our own sorry selves. Maybe we are so concerned of what the noble, jealous, and insecure citizens of the world might think of our every actions that for the dread of being labeled as
good people phony philanthropists (a.k.a. someone feigning higher, humanistic, ENDANGERED principles), we prefer not to make any action at all. Maybe you have your own list of secret fears that keep you from lending a helping hand to the oppressed, lonely, hungry, hopeless people in this sad, dreary, miserable world. Yeah, probably that…or maybe
Theory no. 3: …we have simply become numb.
I should have made this my theory number one. I write according to what my head dictates at the spur of the moment and this didn’t come first. However, I have a very strong gut feeling this must be the reason we have ceased to pursue the carrying out of deeds for the greater good. The access to cosmic amounts of information (no, I am not condemning the Internet to eternal damnation) leads us to be knowledgeable about the bad news happening everywhere and anywhere that we have unavoidably become cynics – unfeeling cyborgs of the information age. The world is suffering from too much lack of money, food, savings, genuine friendships, toiletries, waterproof roofs, respect, originality, compassion, and tolerance that the act of GIVING out more of one’s self already seems to be a herculean task.
It seems that as I write, I have discovered that being good really means being generous with the things you can give that will be useful to the feat of the receiver becoming a better person. Becoming a person worthy of a space in this overpopulated planet is difficult when you have a gnawing stomach. Think about it, even forgiveness is something one gives to another which in its own could very useful for the other’s achievement of inner peace.
Ahhh…Inner Peace. Wouldn’t that be bliss?
- “I’ve made shoes for everyone, even you, while I still go barefoot.” – Bob Dylan
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There was once a lady with a human mind – one that wants something so badly one moment, and desire the exact opposite the next. HUMAN.
She woke up all cranky and ugly, answering the people who greeted her with the enthusiasm fit for the day of one’s meeting with the Grim Reaper. Despite of the efforts exerted by the people around her to cheer her up (or maybe because of it), she remained as Little Miss Stormy the whole day. And the root of it all was the failure of her prince charming to greet her on the first second of her birth date.
And so this person, who’s disputably the perfect embodiment of the word
shallow sensible, went on making everybody’s day as depressing as it could be. She never went out of the room regardless of the calls of her mom, grandma, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and pet dog. She wallowed in self – pity as she stared for minutes on end at that seemingly overpowering speck on her ceiling.
Boy, that was the best birthday of her life! Or it could have been…
It could have been, if she only went out the door enough to see the banner, with all the greetings and wishes the people she ignored the whole day, made for her.
It could have been, if she have bothered to respond to all the people who greeted her via text message, posted in her online accounts, personally shouted (they have to since the door was an unrelenting opponent) their greetings to her, and those that even tried to call her.
It could have been, if she had been humble enough to open that door and taste the source of the stimulating smell coming from the world beyond her door that she had been savoring for hours. But pride kept her.
It could have been, if she only appreciated the effort her prince charming gave out to compensate for his “fault” by sacrificing being the object of his boss’s tirade only to woo and try to get her to smile and open her door to the world.
It could have been, if only she hadn’t been so silly and frivolous.
It could have been the perfect birthday celebration, if she just tweaked her attitude. Even for just a little.
But she didn’t. And so she remained the cranky, old woman the whole day of her 20th birthday, and lived to write about it.
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(The last sentence was not meant to imply that old people are generally cranky. Only some of them are. Some are perfect little angels. Others remain to be nasty demons behind wrinkled masks.)