There’s a vase of wilted flowers by my bedside that I refuse to throw away. Outside my window, there’s a tree the colour of the setting sun; its leaves are hanging so loose like they’re about to fall. After a minute or so, a light breeze sweeps one of those leaves right past me. It takes a mid air twirl before gently falling to the ground.
A butterfly is fluttering around the potted plants; there’s a jingle in its flight, but its wings are mellow.
Autumn is at its prime; I say it out loud.
I turned 24 on a Friday of the previous week, and for the weekend that followed it, I found myself celebrating with friends, feasting on basil dumplings, marveling at the deliciousness of my pizza, posing before my camera and laughing at every joke I heard.
Another year gone, and although each year end marks the passage of time; for me it is marked as a box of lessons I’ve learned, labelled and sealed, pushed under my bed, for the years yet to come.
If I had to look back at 2017 and how it played out, I can easily say it was one of my tougher years.
When I first got Lupus, my father used to always tell me about the city of Berlin. Its rise to power, its inevitable fall and the place it has become today.
But it wasn’t until much later that I understood its historical significance and the relevance behind him telling me about it.
I’ve always loved snow globes. There’s something enchanting about the way the flakes slowly fall inside of them…like a controlled mini hail storm.
The closest I’ve ever gotten to a snow globe like experience is watching the mist settle between the mountains – a phenomenon I’ve been privy to since I was 3.
It all started when my granddad used to take my dad into the mountains during his holidays; a tradition my dad continued with me. It was beautiful watching the mountains and lake disappear behind the mist…and then magically somehow reappear.
