My teachers like me- I would like to believe but I was never a teacher’s pet except maybe when I really really liked a subject but I had no intention sucking up. I hated people kissing some high and almighty ass so never once I did.
Although, the term teacher should not be confined in the classroom. I had one or two people I liked. Nothing special. But my best teacher I think would be my uncle.
Early on – I am quite annoyed when he would ask me what I would want to do 10 years from then. It was super annoying but I squirm when asked. You see, I never would think about something as mundane as 10 years from that time. The most important things are Boys, Harry Potter and my friends. The good old days of ignorance and innocence!
Ignorance that I kept on kicking myself today for not thinking quite far ahead. Oh yeah. The songs of shoulda woulda coulda is blaring.
I grew up. I was halfway through college and not so innocent anymore when one magical after family party evening, my uncle invited me and my sister to smoke some herb.
It wasn’t my first time neither was my sister- but that night my uncle did what life has not revealed to us yet: Choices. In choice – there is no good. no bad. It was the main frame of living Life. It shows who you are and what you want to be. You have the power to BE. Choices.
The whole discussion that night was hazy as hell but that word had been my foundation whenever something difficult comes up. Whenever a friend needs advice, whenever I read the tarot cards to my clients, whenever anger arises- choices.
Not alot of smoking the magic herb followed because my uncle died shortly. I became a Buddhist because of that night. I am what I am today because of that night. And whenever I look back, remembering that one dreamlike memory – there was this sense of being grateful that the conditions were so great for me that my uncle was my uncle and that night was made for me so that I could be set free
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Oasis.”
So here I am and decided that maybe assignments would help me start writing again… maybe not.
Today January 7 year of some people’s Lord 2015 is the start of me, firing away again on a keyboard after so many years of writer’s block. You can say after I got through my teenage angst , kept everything stashed away in a conspicuous notebook to be forgotten by time and even by me.
Oasis. Oasis. Every time I hear of this word it reminds me of a popular band with good songs that I never really bothered to stalk let alone listened to. It was always along the lines of listening to the radio and randomly singing along to a song that is already embedded in the deep annals of my memory that I never really cared to know what the title is until someone would come up to me and say – oh Backstreet Boys, or Oh! That’s Oasis right – beats me.
Maybe this word does take me back to a journey of a boy in Paolo Coehlo’s “The Alchemist”. A Vast expanse of sand thousands upon thousands of steps of arid sand. Only camels and caravans could survive but within it is a patch of greenery and drinking water that can save anyone from death.
Maybe each of us has our own oasis that saves us each time. I don’t even think it has to be a place. It doesn’t even have to be that band’s song. It just can be from the tiniest reason of a wind blowing on your face on a hot summer day or a babies smile. There is always that miracle everyday that makes us take a refuge at our own oasis that we can make it through the day without any struggle and just BE.