Burning Alive

The cotton pashmina that veiled the lady’s beautiful mind – it fluttered in the gentle wind as she glided gallantly down the ivory steps of the ruins of the fire-beaten Colossal pillars, her velvety dress sailing along.  Nothing was visible save her darkly distinguishable kohl hazel-brown eyes.  The light that shone through those piercing eyes burned everything she saw into flames.  But she did not seem afraid.

In a second little fairies appeared in the air; they flew around her, following her in a little camaraderie.  They tweeted cheerfully, with such childlike merriment and vigor.   She did not stop in her march.

Where did she come from?  Why was she heading to the fire with such passionate intent?

Listen… listen closely.  Feel… feel naturally.  Think… think carefully.  Life waltzes in its own majestic ways.  No one could ever imagine how journeys would end, drastically, or with a tinge of fantasy.  One may lose himself in the tangle of cobwebs, but yes, he will cut his way out and yes, he will find his way through.  Darkness may plunge the anguished soul into the depths of the abyss where gargantuan monsters lie, waiting to gulp down a good meal.  Gunshots may fell the body into pits of raging fire, melting the skin, eating away at the muscles.

But you know what?  He will make it through.  He will push his way up, regardless of how thick the gooey mess he is in.  He will emerge from the pain of having his growing body held captive in the seemingly shrunken cocoon.

Today is Malaysia Day, and I have been spending the early hours of the morning to contact a few psychologists for interviews as part of my university project.  I have also spent a huge amount of time talking to my business partners about the event I am planning to hold soon.

The searing pain in the head; let it go, let it go.  It is hard to forget the past so sweet and which told of a future that was meant to be.  It is all a learning process anyhow, although it is hard to accept.  If only time could turn back its hands and work in reverse.

But how is that even possible?

I made a vow when I left: That I am going to heal like the issue never existed in the first place.  I am going to swing on my chandelier from out of your grasp, back to where I belong.  I am very aware of my points of origin, and whatever else I am doing.  I have given my best, too.  It is only for you to take it or leave it.  Whatever it is, you are still a part of me.

Love,

Red Scarlet

Trauma: The Coping Mechanism

The time I am writing this is already past 3AM in the morning.  I am just done with the first round of analysis over some creative work by a particular trauma victim.  His writing was exceptionally good – therapeutic for him in a sense – that set me in deep wonderment.  Though it did not eventually unclasp the locks to his initial dread, it helped him approach death with a much more positive perspective.  Surreal as it sounded, probably to more “normal”people like you and me, it was a hopeless situation he was dealing with.  One that had only one end, and a horrific one too.

Where the sweet mouth could not move, and the beautiful lips refused to speak, but the Chambers of Life keeps pounding, and pounding, and pounding, beating loud and clear to dear life, attempting to suppress the drowning emotions away, but at the very same time wanting to cry out.  Or wail, even.  Oh, who would hear? More importantly, who would help?  Often the searing pain of even re-enacting the ordeal in the silent, yet tragic mind results in the victim pulling a mask over his face, only to hide the scars that so embolden him.  Time over time the mask grows so thick it necessitates a trustworthy companion to walk carefully down the dwindling stairs of terror right into the dungeon, allowing for the past to surface, little by little.

In the case of unjust death, all the victim could possibly do is sit and wait for the minutes to tick by, slowly, dreadfully, wasting and rotting away into disintegration.  It is quite an unfortunate thing to realize, but sometimes the laws and politics interfere with the people, and that becomes an absolutely dangerous thing.  The truth is that all of us are looking for a purpose in life; some have found it, while others are still searching for it.  What is you were looking for your own treasure box of purpose, when out of the blue, someone comes up to you and tells you that you are going to die tomorrow?  How would you feel?  Or worse still, what if the ground cracks and opens up, consuming all that was once rightfully yours in less than an hour?

With the blink of an eye, one’s locus of control is shattered into a thousand pieces; every sound, every moment is scrutinized in the senses.  Everything seems to get out of hand right at the point of time.  Social connections are lost, food is gone, the gory scenes of dead people are everywhere – even the air pukes of death.  Images of the self in the same state of destruction, with blood streaming from his wounded torso, form in the mind.

But we keep going, do we not?  And that is the beauty of it.

Red Scarlet

PS.:  It is about time we get serious.