The Burden

"Why are you so hunched? Why can't you stand up straight, sir?"
"Oh, it's these damn bags. They are so heavy, I can barely lift them..."
"But.. why don't you empty them? Or ask someone to help you?"
"Because, young lad, I would then have to share what lies within. And that... is something I cannot do."
"Please sir, it bothers me to see you under their weight. Let me help you."
The man thought about it for a minute or so.
"I suppose it might be worth a try. But, if you walk away in the middle of the story, my bags will only get heavier."
"Let's sit, sir. Then you can tell me the story."
The man sat down, still with bags in his hands. The boy sat next to him. He had a small bag next to him, barely noticeable.
"At first, my bag was light and did not bother me at all. With every small lie, it would get a bit heavier, but I did not mind. Then... well, I could not imagine how heavy a broken heart would be. I carried it around, never trying to mend it, bending under it's weight. From that, came rage. Fury was not that heavy, until it piled on in stacks, up to the point when I could not get rid of it. Some years later, I came across love. That was the thing that turned it all around. I felt like I could fly, no worries no cares. But lust made me fall and crash badly. After that, everything came back. The mended heart was broken again, and another one I've broken was added. I was angry at myself, and it made it all even heavier. I though one day I could fix it, but then she passed away, and I knew I will never be able to say "Sorry". That, my friend, is why I am so hunched. That is what is in my bags I cannot lift."
The young man sat in silence. He was thinking about it all. Does a man who has done so much wrong to have bags that heavy deserve to get help? Just on the though of it, his own bags got filled with guilt and sadness.
 "Sir... Your story is sad and filled with bad things, but I will have you know... that what ever you did you have redeemed yourself by living with the burden all your life. Now, you shouldn't suffer any more."
And so, standing tall and proud, the boy took one of the bags from the old man's hand and put it over his back. Just at that moment, the bag started to empty. It soon became so light that the wind that came blew it away, and so the boy and the man sat down, pleased and relieved.

The burden of our past should not be ours alone to carry.
Sharing it could be a way to save ourselves.
We're not alone.

Cicmila

The Storm

"There's a storm coming." said the old man, holding firm to his tall staff. He was looking up to the skies, though he could not see.
"How do you know this?" asked the boy standing next to him. He admired his grandfather, so old and wise.
"Look around you, son. I needn't see to know that the storm is on it's way, because this is not a storm of wind and rain. This storm is much worse... It will come when we least want it, and it will never leave. It is a storm that affects not land and crops, but us. It is a wind of hate and selfishness. A rain of insults and curses. It will wash away all happiness and love, leaving only sorrow and bitterness. No umbrella can save you from the rain, not is there a boat strong enough to survive he flood. All that was once pretty, now will become ugly. The good will turn to bad and the once honorable men and women will turn to thieves and liars. Mothers will not care for their children, nor will brothers for their sisters. It will spread so fast, like a virus, and will infect everyone. No one is immune to it, nor is there a cure once it has spread. It will be a sad day when that storm comes. I fear that day."

"But... Why don't we do anything about it?" the boy asked "Why do we just sit and wait for the storm? Can't we stop it?!"

"Tell me, boy... do you feel love? Are you happy?"

"Yes, I am happy. I love nature and music, I love how the sky turns pink at sundown, and how the snow sparkles in winter. But... I am afraid to show that. Everyone around me is so sad and miserable, so bitter that I fear any thing I do would just be rejected. It's so much easier to pretend I am sad as well, to blend in..."

"There, my boy, is the problem. Inside of you is a sun so bright, wishing to be set free, but you conceal it. Do you think you are the only one that feels this way? And other people, with suns as bright as yours, hide it inside, not showing it out of fear of rejection. What would you do if you saw someone happy? Would it inspire you to be happy yourself?"

"I.... I think it would."

"Then be that first one! Don't let the storm come! I am old and fading way, but you can still stop the storm! Let your sun shine through and others will show their own happiness! Be who you really are and how you feel. Do not let others dictate the way you will feel! Only once the sun in every person alive is shining out, will the storm leave forever. Now go, my boy. Go, and shine."

"I will, grandfather! I love you!"

The boy ran away, with a smile so bright. The old man sat on a stone nearby. He looked to the sky, though he could not see, and quietly whispered:

"Go, my boy, and shine. I made you see the storm, now I'll be watching you stopping it...
...from the stars above."

Don't let the storm come.

Cicmila

The Apple

A small boy once came, soft skin soaked with tears, and sat in the middle of a wide, green field. His hands were firmly gripped around a seed. Not small, not big. Just a simple seed. He didn't know why he took it, he just did.

But, it was just a worthless seed, not capable in any way to return what was stolen from him. His older sister, dead. Just because she took an apple to give to him. His face was once again washed with a new wave of tears. His sister was all he had. Now he's all alone.

He took the seed he was holding and threw it as far away from him as he could. It landed not far from him. He was a small, weak boy. Traumatized, he walked away, not knowing where to go. He walked a long way, until his feet were sore and his body too tired to continue. He fell down and right asleep.

He was waken by a soft touch on the cheek. He jumped up, startled. Before him, a girl even smaller than him, dressed in rags, watching him with eyes as big as the moon. There was something familiar in her eyes. She looked so scared of him and the world, but there was something more.

He reached his hand out to her. She accepted it and came a bit closer than him. "Please", she whispered, "take care of me. And I will care for you."
And there it was, the thing he was missing, now so obvious in front of his eyes: The care and love his sister has always been showing to him, now embedded in this girl. The same love and care his sister died for. And in that moment he knew that whatever his life would lead to, he will take care of this little girl.

And so he grew stronger and stronger every day, working to get food for him and his new sister. The years flew by, and he took the lead in their lives.
One day, his sister hasn't eaten for days, so he stole for her...

An apple.

A small girl came, soft skin soaked with tears, and sat in the middle of a wide, green field. All was flat, except for a small, young tree, in the middle of it all. She came to he tree and lean on it. It was placed there so randomly, like it was just thrown away and landed there, and she could tell by the bark what tree it was...

An apple tree.

Cicmila

Should I do this?

Should I do this?
How many times did you feel like you're missing out? How many times were you mad at yourself for not doing something, just because you were scared? You may say, "I understand. I'd be afraid too". But, still, you wish the past you would have done something.

You put aside the bad things and the good things. It doesn't work. You try making out every possible scenario, but still  you know deep down that you're putting out more positive outcomes than negative, in an attempt to convince yourself. You wish there was someone to tell you it's ok, that you should do it. Your mind tells you not to do it, that you will only get hurt but how can we deny what the heart wants?

In most cases, you'll end up going half way. You'll get closer to what you want, but you can't go all the way through. Why do we do this? In 20 years, we'll more regret the things we haven't done than the ones we have. Why are we so scared? Be honest to yourself and picture the worst possible scenario. Now do the same, but this time picture the best rational scenario.

Is is worth it? Is it worth risking the worst one for the chance for the best one? What's your answer?
The same answer should go to the question: "Should I do this?"

Cicmila

The Second Chance

I was a sad person. Most of all, I wanted to die.
I remember going on the bus. I sat on a seat next to a window, and I soon fell asleep.
The next thing I remember, there was this excruciating pain, I think a thousand pieces of glass were stabbing me form all sides.
Then there was just nothing. There was me, without any pain. But there was nothing more. I was dead.
But...
No! How? There is so much I didn't do!
I never told that special one how I feel, even if there was never a "right time".
I didn't say I'm sorry to the one I hurt.
I've never heard my favorite band  perform.
I didn't tell all my friends how much they really mean to me, I just pretended I didn't care, when, actually, I don't know how I would manage without them.
I didn't find out all the things I wanted to learn, nor did I master all the skills I wished for.
I didn't finish the drawing that has been laying under my bed for weeks.
I didn't help out the ones most dear to me.
I didn't get rid of my fears and doubts.
I didn't repay the ones I owe, nor did I thank the ones who wanted nothing for the help they gave.
I have so much thoughts I want to share with the world! Please let me go back!
I wish to go...

 - Go where?

Go LIVE. All I ask, is for another chance to live.

Cicmila

Forgive or forget?

The forever question: To forgive, or to forget?
When bad things happen, when we get hurt, when we are cold and we cry, when we fail, when we just can't get up...
When bad things happen, we ask ourselves a question: Should we forgive? Or forget?
To FORGET means to choose not to learn form our mistakes, not to look facts in the eye and to ignore what your mind tells you. It is to bury the truth under a mask, a pile of lies, so that when you talk of it, you can speak with ease, but still hurt inside, forever. To forget is to protect others, but damage yourself.

To FORGIVE means to face the truth, to get hurt, to learn from it, to respectfully disagree, to say what you mean and to let go. To forgive is to clear your past so that you may look back on it with pride. To forgive is to do right by yourself and by others, going forward with a clear continence.

Every moment of our lives we make the choice. The only difference in that choice is whether or not we will be free in our future, or will we carry the burden of an unclear ending.

Make the right choice by mind, and by heart.
Close your eyes, and say silently: I forgive.

Cicmila

The Controversial Keys, part 2

Part 1(read, if you haven't, because the story continues): http://storytimewithcicmila.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-controversial-keys-part-1.html

...

I wasn't allowed to touch the piano until I was in highschool, and even then it was not a simple procedure. Well, that was my first encounter with the piano that I wasn't afraid to play the notes. My music teacher must have noticed my love for music, because she would always stay a bit longer after class to teach me.

It wasn't much, and in the period of four years I did not learn more than a few songs, but every time I would play them, something new would wake inside of me.

So the moment has come for me to choose where I wish to continue my studies. I, of course, knew what I wanted, but I knew uncle would never approve. I've already made peace with the fact that my parents won't be coming back from the trip, so I didn't want uncle to be against me, not in any way.

Thinking back on it, at that point my uncle's opinion mattered more than anything to me. He's the one who had always taken care of me, the one I had grown up with.

I didn't have many friends growing up, I was more of a lone wolf, always lost in my thoughts, thinking of what kind of adventures my parents were going thorough. They were in the jungle, climbing mountaintops or swimming though the Nile.

I apologize, I've wandered off...

Even if I didn't have any friends, I was never lonely. I didn't miss friends, but I didn't push them away if they would approach me.

So, friends weren't tying me to any place, and I was of legal age to take care of myself, so the idea I got one day after school seemed as good as it gets.

I was to move back to my hometown and since the apartment I once lived in was long sold, I would try to get a scholarship in a music academy, to live and learn there.

It happened just the way I imagined it, but it wasn't until years later that I found out that my music teacher who had written the letter of recommendation was a former headmaster of the academy. So,I guess I didn't know that well back then about music.

Nevertheless, I was there for two years before I realized how good I actually am. That was when I was moved to a class that was a whole year ahead. That's when I met him.

Cicmila