Broken Pieces

 However much you love a butterfly she will still die

in a day 

Home without her

 She's always gone

I never touch the kitchen any more

And everything here is lifeless

Objects have become things

And the things I used to see in them memories

I wish she'd come back just for a day

And that that day would last a lifetime.

What a useless thing to think

Post Work

 Otan den xortaineis na vlepeis ton allon, auto den einai agapi?

A Lost Journey

 How did I give away my email to hackers along with my memories

To fade suddenly yet gradually from the feed of friends around the world.

I was shocked when I realised what had happened. 

Just like that time I left Lebanon and realised my daily seeings would change.

Same as Australia, and jobs I've had.

Will I see this person again? The moment of realisation and then a big hug. Whether I do or not, I hold this moment forever.

But to suddenly disappear of the face of your social memory was grander.. No compass can locate how lost I felt losing those sweet moments in time that I shared mostly with myself. The loneliness I openly caressed yet the friendliness I kept going - like if you, my friend, were here, you know we would have been laughing and sitting chatting over tea, cake, snacks, cider or whatever else tickles your fancy depending on where you're from and where we are at.

A journey of moments and colours blocked me from seeing it.

Saddest. 

Yet I remember Alexander Jay from Canada who I met in Lebanon when he was over 30 and I was under 26 and was looking for his other half who he has now found and proposed in the snow to, saying 'I'm so glad I met you' because we had the same light in our eyes. And a love for personable communications.

I remember Emma from Sweden saying 'you saved me Elina' as we looked at the full moon on the hostel balcony in Bundaberg and thinking wow I didn't do anything.

I remember moments I could not have captured in pictures, and hope others remember me in these moments too... 

But I can't avoid feeling that I have lost these moments. 

The big hug of goodbyes that really just left me staring at people in my current reality like I've only just arrived.

Names that are being confused in my head in my attempt to hold and remember usernames.

Yet I see the students I work around and my colleagues and smile knowing that these too are moments irreplaceable and lonesome - as all others.

Moments that will stay even if they are lost.

And yeh, I have added people back on my new account but it really feels like I am the newborn and everyone else has a past.

23:00 Night Shift Day

 Wanting to care for someone so much you cry in the car on your way to work.

When a colleague told me she cries here and there and in her car and at random times I found it hard to associate with, imagine or feel.

Now I experience it too.

I play a song I want to hear like London Grammar - Strong and suddenly feel the weight of loneliness when it says I've never been so 'lone.

Oh sorry - it actually says I've never been so wrong.

If a child, a child cries, would you not forgive them?

g. I can't imagine being so wrong. Like with all compassion and intellect should come a very clean understanding of things. But how someone can be so wrong - is beyond me.

It's like coming from different dimensions.

Yet I met someone today who clearly was sent to come and tell me he has just come back from Australia and we've seen the same things. Last stop was Brazil because his wife is Brazilian. The place I was going to go after Australia. Strangeo to meet like that - and yet stranger to not be able to break down walls of people who for so long have convinced themselves that they are strong, right, better and further.

How much can you excuse.

All of it I guess.

--

How strange

 The anguish and unbearable 

pain of hard uncertainty,

violence and the passing 

of time in fear.

The growing anticipation of

the worst -

yet bravery to face anything.

Broken hearts in solidarity - 

from near and far.

The pupils dilate in adrenaline

rushes of preparation

for unannounced attacks.

And those that survive live

to remember and bare

the stretch of a mark.

Modern History

 We are strong.

Morning coffee in the car

And yet there's a war that just broke out.

Somehow through history books it all feels 

current and it's happening in real time.

Crazy.

Shaky.

I'm quite scared to be honest but happy to 

be able to blog while I drive to work.

Technology.

But if I lost my loved ones I couldn't bare it.

So what?

 I could imagine a world where you progress but don't advance.

And where you think outside of the box

But I could never imagine not being able to make visible

< Transferable skills.

Ideal.

Love for whatever I do,

Care for the task,

Consideration of the other

Of their interests

And of the path

To the outcome.

Ideal.

I deal with a lot.

Sometimes all I think about is James Corden. Not the popular one - but my first mentor. He was the absolute inspiration. And made me who I am today. He taught me to teach as part of any work process. To ask 'so what' and always get to the next answer. What is it that you want to say? Employers always get it if you're answering their questions. They're the ones who set them. It's like an untold yet unhidden truth that most fear to express freely. Yet it's the core of communicating your work personality.

And James unlocked this in me.

And I unlocked this in others.

And that's how you improve.

You just ask.

Word press in bass

 Surely I should have been an acknowledged blogger by now

Someone who touches the heart of the viewer creating the image of these words in their own colours and shapes.

Someone who touches the heart of this reader as much as is accessible and intertangeable.

Someone who creates words.

And then again, someone who forgets big and small events of life,

Who is found in the middle yet center of their own gravity,

Who longs but has not longed in a while.

Someone who fears Altzheimer's but can spell it,

And someone who really, really, can't make sense of the burning love and loneliness that should have found a shelter by now.

What is life, you learn it all and can't implement as much of it.

Ripped out pages 6|11 (year unknown)

Like A River

 I can hear the cold

and feel the warmth

of this moment

up the hill.

I climbed it;

my personal pilgrim,

and it feels personal

and mine.

One of the few things of mine

that have not .been invaded.

One of the few things of mine

that I can still protect.

The rest of my things,

I couldn't.

My family, my sexuality, my brilliance,

my heart.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5jz8xdpR0M