There are some things in our life which I like to call ‘residues’.
They are the substances which remain after a reaction. They are the molecules which lie there still, calm, and
unstirred after a rigorous something – an action or a reaction, waiting to be
used again, or simply to be washed down the drain.
But, just as we have a nag of complicating every situation that
approaches us, we do not wish to spare these residues in our life too.
These
residues are not only the remains of things that have already been – a half used notebook,
a coffee stain, a sink full of unwashed dishes, an unmade bed, a vase of wilted
flowers – but they also remind us of things that could have been.
They are
stories of a life honestly lived - stories simply waiting for an end. An end
which we fear to write, and so we twist and turn them - wishing and wanting for
a day when they will longer demand an end.
A day when the residues will become
the elements of life!
But do they ever - come alive?
But do they ever - come alive?
