Doors.
Monday, November 10, 2008
♥ Monday, November 10, 2008
What lies behind is a reality that goes on without our control. It exists whether we open or not. My friend in the room carries on eating his potato chips, whether or not i see or am in that same room with him. It is a no man's land between past and present, present and future. A husband comes home, turns that knob and enters into a reality that his ideals of marriage has broken down irretrievably when his wife stands naked in the presence of a stranger. An african in a war torn village opens, to realize that as of that opening, she is now a childless mother. And it is that same knob that first opened, held all the promises of a home. The vacant hall- his wife suggested that velvet sofa set to complement the walls; the dining room- he already foresaw his mother's china teak table occupying the centre. They laughed about it. It is that same opening, four years ago, that the african decided that it is here and no where else that this child would be nurtured in. That he would be somebody some day.By the simple act of unlocking, what was once, no longer is.Yet vicissitudes arent without its share of fortuitiy. Ten year old Tom comes back from school to a birthday cake and the bicycle he always longed for. My dad comes back to see two exhilirated dogs trying to bark out the words "hug me". The expectations from the past conform to the realities of the present and nothing short of joy is being experienced. The anticipation of a bridegroom as he practically begs, cajoles and bribes, to no avail, the relatives and friends of his wife-to-be to allow him entry; A parishioner, glancing at the confessional box, waiting for his turn to enter and to be granted absolution and comfort of He who died for our sins; an infant pushes against the uterus wall, his mother's agony to be received into the arms of a surgeon and expectant father; the door is where the present ends and the future begins. And when we ask where something ends and some other thing begins, we ask also what is that door that separates life from death, childhood from adolescence, idealism from cynicism. More so, we ask what do we open that door with. Is it age or fate. It it choice or chance. A strange phenomenon we call life begins behind a closed door, when Andrew and Dorothy make love. It is behind a closed door, that Old Lily will die, holding her grandson's hand and taking with her to the other world a faith that she did good.
