Friday, 22 January 2016

Natural Disaster Haikus

Natural Disaster Haiku

Covering land in its wrath. 
Damage, debris, destruction,
Tsunami or humans?

Fire, ash and cinders
the aftermath of a cry,
a cry of rage from earth.

Rising, falling, rising,
Building of a masterpiece,
Rising, falling, rising, destroying.

The breaking of heart
 doesn't hide, it punishes its 
people with screams of chaos.

Monday, 18 January 2016



A grain of sand is,
underestimated yet,
can gleam like a pearl.

Crows call echoes fear,
yet sings beautiful music,
Song of the black bird.

Listen to the cries
at night,  are they the lone wolf's,
or are they yours.

Life is the road trip,
Death is the end,
Just matters what turns we choose.

Soft clouds and deep pools
of my imagination.
My place of refuge.

Thursday, 12 November 2015

The Music in Me

I love music. It is a strange love. When I hear music, my head gets lost and I forget everything. I dance. I sing along to the lyrics. I find music is wherever I am. Wherever I go I take my music with me, even if it is on my iPod, my computer, or just humming and clapping to the beat of a song in my head on long car rides.
When I was six, I always listened to music, especially Latin music. We were living in Curacao, the Dutch Caribbean, a dream come true. The oceans weren’t blue, they were pure crystal clear indigo. Our music minds were expanded when we moved here. Everything was perfect, the beaches, the sands, the schools, the streets, the parties and the music. The music wasn’t sad slow songs that touch the heart, they were joyous songs, that beat rapidly and triumphantly. My mom would play it in the kitchen from her phone, plug it into a speaker, and it would fill our house and everyone felt the happy music touch our hearts.
One day, I remember, mom was making a pizza for lunch and I was helping her make it. I remember it was my job to keep the music playing and sprinkle the cheese on the pizza. Every time a song started, we would start to move to the beat and try to sing even though we didn’t know what the lyrics were in Spanish. We usually just sang the words we did know in Spanish.
 I find that music is how I communicate when words are too hard to say.  If I feel sad or mad and I hear music, I feel instantly better and it makes my emotions come out. I imagine all my struggles and turmoil escaping me and music cleansing my thoughts, my words and my head. When my tongue is tied and  I can’t speak, music is my rescuer. When I fight with a friend or speak to a family member about my hurt feelings, I just can’t find the words to say. I don’t know exactly how to say it. The words I do say mean nothing, but the words that music speaks for me have powerful meaning.
In the kitchen it wasn’t just Latin music, it was all types, 90s, 80s, hip hop, classical. The list goes on forever. I guess that is why my musical mind accepts all musical themes. I don’t mind what I hear as long as it has some melody to it.
When I was seven years old,  I started to try to write my own lyrics and find new rhythms for songs of my own. Maybe even write a new hit song. Everyone would be so proud of me and it would be the first of many. Soon, I’d go on my first tour, and make my first album. But that was a child’s dream, and my song lyrics and beats were never really that good.
Soon we moved to the other side of the wide wide world. Although I had left my friends my memorie and my life behind I took my music, and slowly -slowly- I started to build myself back up again and my vision was clear.
Suddenly, I found music was stuck to me. It was all around me. At lunchtime I would hear the sound of mushy cafeteria food splashing onto trays. I would hear canteen trays slammed on the table. Cutlery falling to the floor. The footsteps of those walking around me and my mind made rhythms out of them. It was good to listen to at first, but then I found it very distracting and irritating. I found that when a friend wanted to speak to me, I wouldn’t hear it and they’d have to repeat my name until my ears finally listened.
I started to find homework harder to concentrate on and to work on. My teacher put a sticky note on my desk so that every time I dozed off into ‘la la land,’ I would put a tally mark on it and at the end of every school day she would add them up and send an email to my mom. Mom wasn’t pleased to hear this. She told me to concentrate, and to listen and I told her I would try.
One time in class I was focussed and managed to block out the music in my head for a few minutes. It was as if I was holding up a wall against the music. Slowly, my defences gave way. The wall crashed. I couldn’t hear a word my teacher had said. I tried to follow up on what was happening. But then my world froze.
“Christina, do you know the answer?”
All the music stopped, my defences crumbled. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“Um . . . .”
From behind me someone whispered the answer, “15.”
“15?” I said but my voice was wonky and unsure which gave it away.
“Christina until you learn to participate in class I expect you to focus and understand. And you, Susan, whispering the answer to a friend is not acceptable. I will speak to both of you after class. Christina, three tally marks on your sticky note.”
Three! I was dumb stuck. Three tally marks! I froze. Then she got impatient and snatched her sharp deadly pen and carved out three straight lines in unerasable ink. I watched miserably as the inked lines sank into the note,next to my gray pencil ones, and wished more than anything that those lines did not add up to eight.
Two unpermitted trips to lala land while school was in session.
Three unlawful struck dumb moments in school.
Three stupid and above all disgraceful music wars in my stupid and above all disgraceful brain! If I had some sense in my head I would understand that the tally marks added to 8 dreadful moments.
I wished I had a way to block the music out. But as I lay there on my bed sobbing at mom’s disappointment in me, I heard soft soothing music
which wrapped me and filled an empty hole in my heart. I felt wonderful and happy and I didn’t know what it was but the music just clicked with me and even to this day I still don’t understand how it works but I know that in my head and my heart music is all around me. Music now was in harmony to the beat of my heart.
It’s with me when I write, when I read, when I want to cry, and when I’m happy. It’s an indescribable feeling, how my brain turns my words to rhyme and to sing with the beat of a song. It’s the best feeling in the world. I found another way to communicate when words don’t seem to have use anymore. It’s what I dance to. It’s what I sing to. It is what I welcome, like an old friend from long ago.
The Music and I.
Me and the music.

The Music in me.

Monday, 21 September 2015

Selfless Tiny Story

Wrapped in kindness, veiled in thoughts of others, Selflessness strolls throughout the worlds of those around her. Bringing worlds together. Bringing them back on their feet.

Sunday, 13 September 2015

Tiny Story


Draft 1.
When wings forget how to fly their are always friends to help us.
Draft 2.
When wings forget to fly there are always friends nearby.
Draft 3.
When your wings forget to fly friends will help us soar.
Draft 4.
When your wings forget to soar, friends will save the day.
Draft 5.
When your wings forget to fly, friend will help you try.
Draft 6.
Wings can break when pushed too hard, but wings will mend.
Draft 7.
Wings can break sometimes, but wings will always heal and make you stronger.
Draft 8.
Wings can break sometimes, but wings will heal and then you’ll fly.
Draft 9.
Your gossamer wings of silver can break, but wings heal and then you’ll soar.
Draft 10.
When you fly your wings can break, but wings can heal, and then you’ll soar.
Draft 11.
When your wings forget to fly, your friends will help you heal and make you soar.

Best Drafts:

Draft 1. When your wings forget to fly friends will help us soar.
Draft 10. When you fly, your wings can break, but wings can heal, and then you’ll soar.


“When you’re alone you can fly, but you can fall. Keep friends at your side they’ll help you soar.”

Depending on when you met me I was either a horseback rider, a feminist, a science geek, a junior girl scout, a drama queen, a writer, the girl who got hit in the head with a bowling ball, a soccer player, a wannabe actress, a music lover, a singer, the angry Minotaur, a drowning swimmer, Dare Devil, home bird, a filmmaker, a huge procrastinator, Hermione Granger, or a simple I.S.K.L student.