Paper Flowers

I walked past our street today and saw flowers blossoming on the walls of the building. Bright pink and blue colored flowers were there, like the ones you used to hang above our fireplace every spring morning. You would wake up overwhelmed and struggle to reach your armchair. But, you would ultimately sit down and then open your drawer, determined to get out the paper for the flowers. You would do that straight out of bed, even without drinking coffee. Later on, while holding a hot cup of coffee in your hands, you would admire your own dedication to your little ritual. ‘I am never patient enough to finish anything’ you would say. And I would agree, but I would also kindly remind you of the things you actually accomplish through the day. After getting the hard paper for the flowers, you would take the patterns of a lily and a chrysanthemum and you would carefully and meticulously create something beautiful with it. The flowers were dashing. So simple and so pretty.

The first time you made flowers, right after you came back from the hospital, you thought it was a silly, childish thing. But when you saw how much it helped you, you stopped degrading it. I loved it instantly. Seeing you having something that sparked joy in your yellowed eyes, was all I needed to start believing again. Believe that you would make it. After all those hospital visits and the masks on your face. The looks of pity you were receiving when you lost your hair, and that moment when the doctors said it will not be easy. You were strong and fierce for months, but after the last chemo, you almost gave up. Your eyesight was very damaged and you struggled even with the simple daily things. After a while, you became so tired that you couldn’t even move your hands. You wanted so badly to touch those bouquets next to your bedside table. The texture of flowers soothed you, you used to whisper at night. But that wasn’t enough, you wanted to really look at those flowers. That is when I started asking people to bring you vibrant colored ones. In that way you might enjoy them better, I thought. Later you told me how much it meant to you, to see those beautiful faded colors next to you. It was your everything when you felt you had nothing.

And now, here I am, looking at the real flowers bursting through our wall. It’s so weird. You always created paper flowers to remind you of those difficult times, and the same day you pass away, I see colorful flowers popping on the wall of our building. You would have loved that. You would have laughed so loud with this ironic beauty, the whole neighborhood would have come out to see what’s wrong. You would then smile at them, tell them it’s all good and we would slowly go back inside to finish our tea.

Photo: Kipos, Kozani, Greece. October 2018. Minolta Dynax 7000i, Earl Grey Lomography Film 100, 35mm film.

 

A Late Night Story

The alarm didn’t go off and I am late. Really late. The suitcases are not ready at all and it is already 9 o’clock. No time for coffee or breakfast. Everything needs to be packed and off you go. “Get ready and go!” is the only thought buzzing in my head right now. But I am tired and drowsy. I can barely move. However, the bus is still traveling to Italy and I still need to pack for a wedding. Outside of the room I scream at my mother. Why is she here anyway? Isn’t she supposed to… “Your suitcase is ready, so are your papers and ticket” she says, standing at the door, obviously tired of me being late every single time. I sweetly thank her, grabbing my suitcase and running franticly towards the bus station.

The trip is scheduled to last more than 25 hours and I am not ready for that. In my pocket I hear the cash money getting intimate with my keys. Will that money be enough? Which keys am I carrying either way? Arriving at the bus station, I see a big line of people waiting to buy a ticket. I can hear my heart pumping in my head. This is not good. Maybe if I scream then everybody will freak out and make room for the crazy one to pass. This sounds like a great idea. But not today. I wait patiently till the moment I feel excruciating pain on my foot. A heavy guy has just stepped on me. This is going fantastic! An awkward, loud laugh comes out of my mouth. Silence. No one turns to look at me. That is weird. I silently cross my fingers for everything to turn out ok.

Suddenly I remember I haven’t bought any gifts. My best friend is getting married and me, an organization freak, have forgotten to buy a present. Great. I skip the line for the bus and run to the nearest patisserie. A nice fellow sitting behind the counter smiles at me, while packing a cake. There are still nice people on earth. While heading back to the bus line I realize I have actually forgotten my suitcase. How is this now possible? Didn’t I just have it with me? It is big, blue and noticeable. Is it stolen? Where is it? No, no it is still in the room, STILL IN THE ROOM. I look at the clock above the counter and realize I only have 10 minutes. How am I supposed to do so many things in such a short time? My mind is raving around the fact that this is not the first time I do this. How can I be so unprepared for such a big trip? My heartbeat has reached my mouth, my legs are shaking and my hands are freezing cold. I feel warm, burning tears coming out of my eyes. My biggest fear is coming true. My biggest fear is coming true. I put my cold hands towards my forehead and realize I am sweating. I feel like fainting. Everything is hazy and dark. No more ticket lines, clocks, suitcases or trips. The next thing I know I am laying on my bed, sweating heavily on my pillow.

I open my eyes and look outside the window. I am home in the Netherlands, having a nightmare. On my attempt to recover from this dream, I am trying to think really hard whether I have or not a trip planned. These recurrent nightmares had started the moment I left my country. Always with the same feeling of missing a plane, a bus, a trip. This fear of being late and missing a scheduled trip has become a serious reason for me to spent my nights struggling with my own thoughts. I soon recover and reassure myself that this happens because of my constant traveling between homes; the one I grew up in and the one I built here. I stand up, make coffee and gaze outside at the rainy weather when my phone rings. “Where are you?” a voice screams in my ear. “I am home, drinking some coffee. I had one of those nightmares again, it was so real!” I say laughing at my own fear. “Your plane is leaving in 30 minutes”, the voice responds worried and I realize my biggest fear has indeed come true.

(Photo: Abstract Light, Minolta dynax 7000i, Ilford 200, 35mm film, Leeuwarden, The Netherlands, 2015.)