"NO" IS NOT A WORD

Once there was a girl, a sweet little girl. Her name was Sara. Sara lived in a village where the sun first rose. A beautiful village with a small but clean river flowed right from the hills. It was her father who named her Sara, a name which also belonged to her late mother. Sara and her father lived in a small but nice wooden house with a big front yard. It was an old house, as old as a big oak tree in the right side of the yard.
Sara’s father was a farmer, like most of the people in the village. Early in the morning he woke up and went to his farm to see how his plant grew. A sweet little girl was still dreaming. A nice weather, indeed, cold in the night, warm in the day and fresh in the morning was what Sara wouldn’t asked for more. Not so many friends she had for there were not many children of her age in the village. Never had she found it hard to please her heart.
“Daddy!” she shouted.
His father smiled, looking at his angel came along reminded him of his beloved wife who had gone for some deadly disease a month after giving birth to her beautiful daughter.
“You’re awake.”
“Yes,” said her happily. “Daddy…”
“Yes, Sugar.”
“Am I pretty?”
His father smiled, not really, he laughed.
“Yes, you are, Sugar. You are my beautiful angel, always.”
“Thank you. Can I go to the river?”
“Yes, you can. Just go but be careful. The river flooded because of the heavy rain last night.”
“I will be daddy. I just want to pick some wild roses in the bank of the river.”
His father nodded. Then off she went. The river was just behind their house. Her father was right, the river flooded. After picking some wild roses, she would put them in the jar then placed them in the dining table, she came back to the house. She knew at this time her father would be home, drinking his coffee.
“Look Daddy, aren’t they beautiful?” asked her as she entered the kitchen.
“Yes Darling, they are indeed.”
“They also smell good. Daddy, can I ask you something?”
“What is it Darling?”
Sara took a seat right in front of his father. She put the roses on the table.
“Yesterday when I went to Lily’s house her mother said something weird. I never heard that before Daddy. She said to Lily just like this…”
She paused for a second or two then said again in a high tone.
“Look at you, you messy little thing. No, you can’t go out and play. I won’t let you. What was she trying to say Daddy?”
Sara’s father put his cup of coffee back on the table. With a low voice, he said to Sara.
“I think she’s just learning how to talk Darling. It looked like she’s mumbling more than talking, anyway.”
“She also said that Lily was not beautiful. What was that Daddy?”
“You know, Sugar, every girl is beautiful. Lily, you, all of your friends, they are indeed beautiful.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes, mommy’s beautiful too.”
“Do you love me, Daddy?”
“Yes, I do Darling.”
“Did mommy love me?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Can I see her, Daddy?”
“Yes, you can, later.”
“I love you Daddy,” said her.
“I love you too Darling.”
Sara took the roses from the table then went to the shelves, in the corner of the kitchen, to find the jar. After filling it with water, she put the roses in it and put it back on the dining table where her father sat still.
“Daddy, can I go to Tom’s house. He promised that he will lend me his story book if I come to his house today.”
“Yes, you can go Darling. Just be back before lunch.”
“Okay, I will Daddy, I will,” screamed her in joy.
Off she went. She ran as she left the house for she could not wait to see Tom, to read his story book. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sara’s father looked at the roses in dismay. Time had passed, still he could not forget his wife. How could he forget her, her eyes? Her eyes were the eyes that he had to see every single day in Sara’s?
“No, Sugar, you can’t see your mommy. A no may not be a word but I won’t let you go. You’re my angel, my beautiful angel,” he said in a deep sad voice.”

***

I WAS (NOT) A GIRL

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had spent most of her life believing that she was not a girl. She was like, you know, a soul which was trapped in a wrong body. People said she was not a girl, something she did not understand, something that several years later made her felt that it was not right to be in her body. Something kept saying, over and over, that she was not a girl, thing that then led her to the belief that she was indeed not a girl. She did not look like a girl. She did not act like a girl. She did not want to be a girl.
Time passed, still, she was not girl enough, not to her self, not to some other people. In the nights when darkness covered mother earth, she fought for a sleep, a dead asleep sleep. Then, she talked to the Lord.
“It isn’t mine. I don’t want this body. Dear Lord, if You’re really there, give my body back, the body I deserve to be into,” said her.
People said she was not a girl, well they didn’t have to, for she already knew. She could not cry. She did not want to cry. A not-girl did not have the right to cry, she was actually forbidden to cry. She was a fighter. She was not a quitter. Fighters fought, they did not cry. So when the night fell and she could not fell asleep, again and again she talked, not really, she condemned the Lord.
“Dear Lord, still I call You so, it’s the million times for me talking to You, begging You. A million times like many sleepless nights I have to deal with every single day. Give me a body, the right body for me. I am not a girl, how could You give me such a nasty body?”
Well yes, every moment she looked at her reflection in the mirror she felt nasty. A fair face she did not want to look at to, a black long hair she wish she could just cut it off, a bright complexion she tanned all summer times, wishing that it would be darken, were not what she wanted.
“I am not a girl, I don’t want to be a girl!” shouted her.
And where was the Lord? People said He was there, deep in her heart, flew through her blood. She just could not find Him. In the night when everybody was asleep she came to the Lord again.
“If You’re really there then I’ll see Your reflection somehow,” whispered her.
She came closer to the mirror on the wall, looked at her own reflection. Fighting her doubt, she started to talk. She knew the Lord would hear her.
“I will not say anything, ever, but this last saying. I am not a girl and will never be. I don’t care what You will say, I don’t even care if You’re really exist. You gave me the wrong body, I’ll give You this!”
After saying that, she took scissors from the drawer and began to cut her hair off. There was anger in her eyes, a disappointment to the Lord. Her hairs began to fall. They scattered all over her bedroom floor. Weird, she did not feel satisfied, not as she had imagined before that she would be just fine. On the contrary, she felt so miserable, hollow. She threw the scissors away and began to weep.
“I am not a girl, I don’t want this body. I don’t even want these tears,” screamed her.
She cried. A not-girl cried, realizing that she could no longer deny that she was truly a girl, a girl who was no longer able to hold the drop of her tears.

***

A GIRL WHO REFUSES TO GROW UP

She is a girl, say she is. She’s living in a world, yes, call it her world, a world where lies are served not only for breakfast but also for supper. Roses bloom, phony people roam, side by side. Everybody yells, good or bad, silence’s scarce. She is a girl, full of dreams though hopes sometimes strangle. Build her own castle where she finds her own heaven. Heaven? Yes, she is not lying. She feels the heaven, no, she sees it. But what is heaven for a girl who refuses to grow up like her?

Rain
It’s always amazing to watch how the sky cries. Tears drop just like a broken hearted girl, left by her loved one, so sad but so true. The deepest feeling is in blue. She gives her smile sometimes laughter not to mock for she is no hater. She loves the rain as she loves her mother, can’t be touched but always there for her.

Books
Words are diamond, flow like water, hot like fire. Strings of words, heart to heart, are not only read but also written. Books keep the memories. She recalls her sadness, sometimes tragedies, pours them into her black diary. Words in a book fly her to the past, long time ago, when happiness isn’t only a dream. Which one is better, to write or to read? Both, says her.

Train
Iron wheels move on the same track, everyday. It’s not free, it never stops her, to feel the rhythm, to feel the air. Look out the window, there’s always another heaven. No silence here, never she finds it hard to create for her own. Choo…choo! Choo…choo! Here it goes. Dear train, take me with you. Bring me to your world, says her.

River
She is a river. Call her fire but she’s a river. Wanna stop her? You better be a good swimmer. She’ll drown you to her world. Speaks so loud, that’s how she sounds. Say whatever you like but don’t forget to look at her, look at her eyes. What do you see? Yes, she is a girl, a girl who refuses to grow up for the Lord never allows the old one to enter His heaven.

***

A GIRL WITH A HUGE BACKPACK

4.26 pm

The clock is ticking, a girl is waiting for the time to pass by. Sitting on a bench, facing the lake, she seems mellow. A huge backpack beside her is a true friend in a hollow afternoon. Looking just like two people staring at the nothingness, they stay still. The sun begins to set. The sky is getting darker. There is no wind, if you ask. There is nothing, if I may say, but a girl with a huge backpack.

7.40 pm
Same place, same face, a girl is still waiting. Not knowing what to fight for, she freezes. A huge backpack sits still. A silent companion keeps its promise. Still, there is no wind. Still, they’re stiff, for hollowness breezes. No beat of a heart, for it’s already left somewhere unknown. No light, no sound, it’s all about a girl, her huge silent companion and still, the nothingness.

9.15 pm
There is nowhere to go, for she no longer has a place to be called home. There is nobody to follow, for people are getting shallow. Has no friend to say hello, for she is a girl with no school to attend or neighbor to tell a story about a big fish in the river. There is no world to conquer, no dream to come true, for she is already losing the guts to fight. No need to worry, for she is just a girl with a huge silent fellow.

10.50 pm
The world keeps its silence. The girl keeps her stillness. Does she breathe? Is she even alive? For there is no motion or a single voice she makes. Well, don’t ask me, for I am just a huge backpack with no lips to tell you her story. She is just a girl, that’s all I know. She’s just a girl with no expression, for she has already sold her soul to the unlimited dark of a mad world.

***

BABY IT HURTS

A boy, a book, a pen and a broken heart.
----
A room, somewhere unknown.
----
Someday in October.


Baby it hurts, to see but not to touch
Baby it’s hard, to love but never to hold
Baby though it’s hard, just believe me it hurts me so much

-----

Baby I cry, for time passes by and I’m too scared to try
Baby I mourn, in the nights when dreams come by and you’re there, saying goodbye
Baby I try, to let you go and to forget how beautiful you are

-----

Baby I’m here, for there never be a place to hide, to burry this feeling
Baby I’m still here, standing in a distance just to know how long I can endure
And baby here I am, giving you back the promise for I’m no longer in faith

-----

Baby it hurts
Baby I’m hurt, to love but never to tell that I’m in love
Baby it’s you, if only you knew


Boy it hurts,
Here comes the rain again. Gee, the rain always comes in a moment like this. I’m not saying that I hate it, you know well how much I love it. All that I don’t want is to feel this feeling, all that I hate is that I have to feel it alone. You’re there, always, I know. Though sometimes I question where you are but I know we’re watching the same sky.

Boy it hurts,
Still it rains, hard. Still I feel this pain, inside. Sometimes I wonder whether you can feel it or not. Something tells me, though not loud, you’re waiting, there in your world. Then again I wonder, what are you waiting for? It’s a question that leads me to another question, whether it is love or just another talk.

Boy I’m hurt,
What is it in a promise, nothing? Say it then forget it. Do I hate you? No, I don’t. You know how much I adore you. You know how I feel about you, don’t you? Gee, again I have to question you, your feeling. Then I question myself, my feeling, is it really you that I want in my life? Is it you who will dance with me under the rain?

Boy I’m hurt, if only you ever knew that I’m the girl who want you to love, to love me.

(Stranger, Secondhand Serenade playing indistinct).

***

I AM NOT A CLOWN

I laugh a lot, I’m not a clown
I make you laugh, I’m not a clown
People laugh at me, I’m not a clown
Standing, they wait for me to make them laugh, I’m not a clown
I wear no make up for I’m not a clown
I wear no mask for I’m not a clown

You see me smiling, you smile
You see me singing, you sing
You find me dancing, you dance
You find me, once again, laughing, you laugh
You treat me like I’m a clown
You want me to be a clown

Wandering, I’m not a clown
Make a move, turn around and round, I’m not a clown
Teasing me, you want to see a clown
Chasing me, you beg me to be a clown
You can’t see me for you have no guts
You can’t feel me for you have no heart

I laugh a lot, though I’m not a clown, for cries are something I don’t wanna share
I always smile, though I’m not a clown, for gloom hurts so bad that you don’t wanna know
Traveling from one place to another, I’m not a clown, for no heart strong enough to make me stay
Dancing, singing, I’m not a clown, for money is never be a reason I do so
Sharing hope and happiness, I’m not a clown, is what I’m trying to do
Show some love and care, I’m not a clown, I don’t mind you to know
(But) just forget me if you still see me as a clown who will make you laugh all day long, you dear shallow

***

I JUST WANNA KISS YOUR HAND

Come home, we miss you.
A girl, sitting on a bench at the hectic train station, sighs. A line, from a short message she received last night, is displaying once again on her mind, the line that was sent by someone one hundred miles away. She closes her eyes as her memory begins to distract.
“How can I deny you?” she whispers.
The train station is crowded. People come, people chat, people make noise and people go. The train she is waiting for comes. She takes a deep breath then stands.
“What it is in a distance?” she questions herself.
Another journey begins. Another four hour on the wheels. It is never about the destination. Being on the wheels is what she loves the most, always.
“You come,” a man welcomes her.
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re lovely, as always.”
She smiles, “Thank you. You look great too.”
He laughs. Words never come easily. Feeling is just too precious to be spoken, not to be faked for it is not a platitude, never it be. An hour passes. Another silent sixty minutes to be broken.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
She smiles as if she wants to say, you know I can’t stay.
“Please stay,” he begs.
“This is not my home, not anymore,” unspoken, just another smile she gives to him.
“I love you, you know I do,” he says.
He stares at her, straight to her eyes. Another smile before she turns her face. Looking at the nothingness, just to keep her heart from falling is what she does.
“Forgive me Father but I can’t stay. I just wanted to kiss your hands, the hands that gently rubbed my hair whenever I wanted to sleep. What it is in a distance? Nothing. I see you, I feel you, I love you,” she whispers.

***

THIS TIME, IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU

There was a boy. He did not sing. He did not dance. He did not even talk. He just smiled. There was also a girl. She sang. She danced. She laughed but she did not smile. The boy used to come. He did not walk. He did not run. He did not fly. He was just there, everywhere she looked at to. The girl used to be away. She crawled. She wandered. She jumped. Never, she was there for him.
One fine day the girl lost her dream. She ran far, faraway, wished no one would see her. Covered her face with her hands, for tears should not be seen. Unnoticed, the boy came. Still, there were no words from him. He just stood, there, right in front of her. He gave his very best smile. Since the girl was still crying, he grabbed her hands. Hold them tightly then put them against his heart. There was no sound but the girl heard a melody. Being amazed, she began to stop crying. The boy gave another smile, this time the sweetest one. Together they began to smile.
Hundreds years later there was you. You talked. You sang. You laughed. You also taught the girl how to smile, for she no longer smiled. She forgot how to smile, for the one who gave her a big smile had gone. She ran, this time faster and further. Not to hate for she just could not stand her feeling. You gave her a look but she saw a picture. A picture of you reminded her of a boy who loved to smile. That look on your picture was the look she tried to forget for these so many years.
Now, after so many tears this is about her. She wants to learn how to smile. She wants to forget the past and wants to start living for tomorrow. She wants to move on. She wants to sing along. And hopefully, in time, she will be able to smile. So this time, this isn’t about him or you.

***

I WISH I COULD STAY

Wish I could stay, I wish
Words hurt so bad, sometimes they kill
Said never stop but I will
For there’s nothing to hold, to help me feel
-----
Wish I could stay, my wish
You point a finger, you better kill
Hate to say goodbye but I will
For pride is never free, fame’s just too scary
-----
Wish I could stay, you wish
Your silence speaks so loud, your lips taste like dirt
Just another goodbye, it won’t kill
For you always find flesh to feed your hunger
-----
Wish I could stay, your wish
Say I don’t care, you push me away
And if goodbye means forever, sorry will linger
For I will find my path and our souls will be forbidden

***

AND THE STORY BEGINS

Another name (not) to be deleted
Another memory (not) to be erased
Another face (not) to be forgotten
Another life (not) to be ended

It’s a circle, vicious cycle. It comes and goes, arrives then leaves. It’s a wheel, rises then falls, goes up then goes down. It’s life.

Another name to be spelt
Another memory to be made
Another face to be recognized
Another life to be lived

It’s not the end of the world, in fact it’s the beginning of a new world. Spring always comes after the autumn. Slumber at night then you’ll wake up somehow.

Another story to tell
Another road to take
Another hand to hold
Another me, may be, to meet another you

And the story begins…

***

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 11.04.2011

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