Of Monsters and Men

Are monsters born or made? Many attempts have been made to discover the answer to this question, but the results are inconclusive at best. The eternal question of nature versus nurture baffles and infuriates us. We want things to fit into neat little boxes so that we can deal with them accordingly. But life is often messy and doesn't have all the answers we seek. How do we measure our potential for good and evil? If some people are born monsters, do they have a choice in what they do? Will they eventually end up manipulating and murdering people due to their nature? Can they fight the inevitable? Is redemption possible for them? What of people who started out normal, but slowly turn into monsters by what they have seen or experienced? Once they have crossed the line, is there no turning back? Do monsters deserve love and forgiveness? These questions have plagued mankind since the beginning of time, yet we are no closer to answers than before, even with all the technological advances at our disposal. How can we tell man and monster apart when all of us have the potential to become one? Is psychopathy a disease which can be cured? Can psychopaths ever lead normal lives and form normal relationships? Why do some people choose to become monsters? Why do they find joy in taking lives? Why is evil allowed to exist in our society? Monsters don't just murder, they hurt and abuse others with their words and their fists. All of us have said and done things to hurt others. Does that make us monsters? Is the line between man and monster a fine one? Or is there no line at all?

P.S. Sorry if my thoughts are too depressing. God bless.

Weightless

        Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in a world without gravity? A world where we are as light as a feather and are not tied down to the solid ground? What would it feel like to be weightless? To be free? We hold so much within us. So much joy and so much pain. So much love and so much anger. If only all these things would fall away from us as easily as dew drops from a blade of grass. If only we could be free from the burdens we bear, the responsibilities we shoulder, the secrets we keep, the darkness we hide, the expectations we harbor and all the other chains that bind us to this broken world. Wouldn't life be better, our soul lighter if we could just shed away all our hurt, our uncertainty, our petty jealousies and bitterness? Will we become less than human if we are weightless? Do we have to cease loving in order to banish anger and hate and other ugly feelings? Do we have to give up joy to keep sadness from swallowing us? Will we lose what makes us fundamentally human if we choose to be free from the weight of the world? Or will we become more? More than just our duty, more than just our pain, more than what is expected from us, more than our shattered hopes and broken dreams, more than the fire of our fury, more than the poison of our hate, more, more, more.... Will we be stripped bare to the very essence of our soul? Who are we without our burdens and the darker side of our nature? To be human is to be both joy and sadness, love and hate, free and trapped, light and dark.... As long as we are human, we can never be weightless. Yet.... Would we be crushed beneath the weight of our sins, our failure, our flaws if we keep holding on? Would our humanity be our ultimate destruction?

P.S. Sorry for my dark musings. God bless.

Origin

    The Old Ones used to talk about the Great Mother, also called She Who Rides the Wind and Bearer of the Living Flame. They said that she was glorious. Her scales shone with a multitude of colours, glittering like precious jewels in the sunlight. Moonlight only softened their iridescence, not dulled it. Her roar shook the earth and made the mountains tremble. From her union with the Sky, she brought forth the very first dragon eggs out of her womb and breathed the flame of life unto them. After giving up her flame for her offspring, the Great Mother was released from her earthly bonds and joined her consort, the Sky in the Aether. Thus,  Atum, the first male dragon and Ryara, the first female dragon were born. Atum was a great warrior and his claws were said to have been stained red from the blood of his enemies. Ryara was a fearsome sorceress and her magic was so powerful it could destroy a civilization. Separate, they were terrible; together, they were invincible. No one could touch them. One day, Mir the Trickster, told Atum that he found a being more fearsome than he. Atum roared in anger and demanded the name of his adversary. With a sly smile, Mir revealed his rival to be Ryara. Atum stormed off to face his sister. Ryara was surprised and confused when her brother accused her of usurping his position and challenged her to a duel. Left without a choice, Ryara faced her brother in battle. So evenly matched were they that their duel lasted for seven days and seven nights. On the eighth day, Atum made a mistake. He lunged for Ryara's neck but he tripped on a rock and fell on his back. Sensing an opportunity, Ryara struck with her magic and killed him with a deadly blow to the heart. After she came back to her senses, she realised in horror that she had murdered her beloved brother. Her grief was so great that her tears flooded most of the earth, creating what is now the vast sea. When she found out that Mir the Trickster was responsible for her brother's death, she vowed to avenge her brother by peeling off the trickster's skin with her claws and wearing it around her shoulders like a cloak. Knowing that he could not hide from Ryara's far superior magic, he decided to defeat her by doing what he does best. A skilled shapeshifter, he transformed himself into a beautiful human male and set out to seduce Ryara. When she saw him, Ryara lusted after him, not knowing that the human was actually Mir the Trickster. So, she brought him into her dwelling and was so consumed with lust for him that she forgot about her revenge. When she discovered the human's true identity, it was too late by then. He was able to cast a binding spell on her when she let down her guard during their coupling, thereby limiting her magic. Filled with rage, Ryara tried to kill him but he managed to escape to the safety of his home which was warded with strong magic. In her weakened state, Ryara was unable to break through the defences placed on the trickster's home. Dejected and defeated, she returned to her lair. Unbeknownst to the trickster, his seed had taken root within Ryara's womb. That was how the first dragon skinwalker came to be. This is our story. This is our origin.

The Ties That Bind

Last week, I was invited to a class reunion party but I declined to go because I had church that night. If I were to be honest, going to church was also an excuse to not attend the reunion. Why was I so reluctant to go to the reunion? I had not contacted them for a long time after I graduated from secondary school. I let my connection to them falter and fade into the shadows of my past. Occasionally, I think of them and reminisce about the times we had been through together. Yet, I never felt the urge to reconnect with them again. I let my friendship with them fizzle out. I chose to let it go. Refusing to go to the reunion needles at my conscience. Was I wrong to not want to see them or talk to them again? I'm afraid that even if I do meet them, I will not recognise them or remember their names. I imagine myself standing awkwardly by the side as everyone else talked, joked and laughed with each other as if time had never passed at all. As if we could just pick up where we left off.

***

Last Thursday, an old friend of mine called me and invited me to go mountain climbing with her. Another old friend will be joining us. Shamefully, I thought about refusing her offer. The moment of hesitation passed. I agreed to go. When I met up with them, there was an air of uncertainty between us. It had been so long. I never sought them out. They have new friends and new lives. They remained the same in some ways but it was clear that they had changed. We all have. When we talked about our respective lives, I realised how diverged our roads have become. The more we walk our own paths, the further we are from each other until one day, we will be to one another merely people whose paths converged for a single moment in time, never to meet again. Like perpendicular lines.

***

The ties that bind us are so frail and brittle. Stretch it too thin and it will break. A severed connection. Is that what will happen to my new friends? Will we eventually become strangers to each other or will we remain friends for the rest of our lives? Well, whatever the case, I am glad and grateful that they are in my life right now. It is enough.

P.S. May God bless you.

To Read Or Not to Read

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I was first introduced to the delightful world of reading. The first book that ever really captured my imagination and inspired me to write was Christopher Paolini's 'Eldest', the second book in the Inheritance Cycle. Back then, I wasn't very choosy about my reading materials. Whatever I can get my hands on, I read. The only books I don't touch are of the non-fiction variety. I devoured all of them indiscriminately. I did not care whether the writing was good or bad because all that mattered to me was the story itself. But as I grew older, I began to gravitate towards certain types of books. I fell in love with magic and the fantasy genre became my favorite. These days, I try to avoid young-adult fiction which focuses on romance. I want to read fantasy books which do not contain hormone-filled pages of angsty teenage love affairs. There's nothing particularly wrong about them. I just want something more now. After I joined Goodreads and read the reviews posted there, I became even more discerning in selecting my reading materials. I try to avoid books which contain too stupid to live characters, ludicrous plot devices, slut-shaming, abusive relationships portrayed as normal and desirable, bad writing, too many inconsistencies, a boring plot, insta-love and a whole host of other negative things that ruin my reading experience and make me want to gouge out my eyeballs. It makes me want to reread all of my books to see if any of them possess these unfortunate traits. Would I still be able to fully enjoy them despite their glaring flaws? I know that no book is perfect but I want to read quality books that stimulate my mind, strike a chord in my soul and teach me about life. It rankles and scares me to know that some books contain disturbing messages that disguise themselves as harmless or benign. I want to avoid these pitfalls when I write my stories. Dear future readers, when I become a published author, would you be so kind as to review all of my works with brutal, no-holds-barred honesty? I would really appreciate any constructive criticisms that you can offer. Thank you.

P.S. God bless.

Drought (In My Head)

Arid
Dry
Dusty
No clouds
No rain
Harsh sun
Harsher heat
Beat down
Bowed back
Sweat trickles

Mouth dry
Throat parched
Eyes waver
Sees
Trees
False hope
Just
A
Mirage

Cracks
Gouges
On land
On skin
World breaking
Man following
Jagged pieces
Scatter
Like sand
In the wind

Then

Silence

A Dream of Dragons

     It wasn't the most sensible thing to do but she was feeling bored and there was a decided lack of entertainment in the cozy confines of the lair. She poked her head into the fireplace and started wriggling upwards to the small square of open sky at the end of the chimney. Her claws scraped against the soot-stained bricks of the chimney's inner walls, sending clouds of fine ash into the surrounding air. They didn't bother her. She was a fire-breathing creature after all. After a few minutes of squirming and clawing her way to the top, she felt the cool morning breeze caressing her scales as her head finally cleared the top of the chimney. Her slender, sinuous neck, bulky body and long tail followed soon after. She was free. Shaking the fine dusting of soot from her green scales, she slowly unfurled the wings that were tucked tightly against her body. She felt the muscles of her back flex as the slightly translucent membranes of her wings snapped open, sending a gust of wind rattling through the tiles of the roof. The joints of her wings ached a little from disuse but the pain quickly faded as she got used to their weight and span. She indulged in a moment of vanity as she arched her neck up so that her iridescent scales caught the sunlight, glittering like a bed of emeralds with glints of gold. She eyed the scenery before her, hungrily taking in the view that had been denied to her for so long. The valley and the blue-grey mountains beyond beckoned to her like a song that resonated within her very heart and soul. Home. She flapped her wings a few times and adjusted her stance, loosening her limbs and tightening the muscles of her back. Taking a deep fortifying breath, she teetered at the very edge of the roof and launched herself off of it, causing a few tiles to tumble down onto the ground. She let herself fall through thin air until her claws almost touched the ground, and then, she brought her wings down and propelled herself upward with all of her strength. For one terrifying second, gravity refused to let her go but she soon broke loose from its grasp and found herself skimming the top of a sea of swaying grass, her wings beating a steady rhythm in the air. She let loose a roar of triumph and flew higher into the sky, leaving behind the farm and its environs far, far below. She hung suspended in the sky as she turned her neck around for one last look at the quaint farmhouse and the stables next to it. She would miss the farmer and his boy. One day, she would come back and repay them, she promised herself. Releasing another loud roar, this time of farewell, she spun around and headed for home.