Recently I discovered an amazing story teller by the name of Yasmin Ahmad.  She was a Malaysian film director who sadly passed away at the young age of 51.  Her work moved me and I think she as a person (although I have never met her) touched me through the writings in her blog.  In one of her entries she wrote, “And the way to start writing isn’t by writing at all, but by living.  It isn’t about creating something from thin air, but about documenting our personal feelings about the things that we see.  Or to put it crudely, how are you going to be a story teller  if you have no story to tell?  Perhaps in the end there are no such things as creative people, there are only sharp  observers with sensitive hearts.”

A long time ago I wrote this piece, created for no other reason than because I was inspired to do so.  Perhaps it was one of those rare moments when life, observation and words crossed path on a junction, giving birth to a story.  I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

We sat at the edge of the horizon, staring at the bright lights dancing on the surface of the blue sea.

I asked her, “so what made you this way?”  There was a long pause.  She lifted the palm of her hand against the sun and began to watch its light streaming through her fingers.  ”You know,” she said, “things are never the way they seem to be.”  She then continued  ” I met an angel once.  He lived in a desolate land, lifeless and barren. He was beautiful.  His presence radiated warmth and his smile would light up the darkness around him.  We met in the desert northern wind and he told me stories of  red, blue and yellow, purple and magenta.  He added rainbow into this clear, invisible glass house I lived in.”

“We spent our days telling each other stories and in the nights we lay down on the cold grass, watching the stars and travelled into each other’s soul.  As much as our stories were shiny and bright, our souls live in this lowly earth, grey and dull.  And we needed something to hold on to, something to hope for, to live for and to die for.  So with each passing second we stitched words together and built ourselves a glorious castle decorated with moments, pieces of songs and dreams.  We thought this castle will redeem us, it will bring our souls out of the depth of darkness into this bright shimmering light of stories that we’ve told ourselves.  And we will be transformed into the beauty that we have believed in.”

There was a moment of silence after she said this.  I saw the clouds gathering at the far end of the sea and I could smell rain in the breeze.  ”So what happened next?”  I asked.  She said, “one winter season as we were walking on the snow, he let go of my hand.  He told me that he needed to fly away, that he could no longer build this castle with me.  If he were to live in this beautiful paradise we’ve created, he would have to become something that he was not.  He would need to deny the darkness and desolation which was the only world he knew.  If he let go of it, he might as well cease to exist.  Then he left without much fanfare, quietly as he came.”

She then touched the small of her back, where her wings used to be.  She gazed straight towards the sea and said to me “It is not until you have lost everything you have, everything you have ever loved, that you understand how free you are.”

I looked up and the first droplets of rain kissed my face.

It was my second day at the hospital and I quickly made new friends with the little patients.  There were three of them in the ‘gang’: 10 year old Neelam, 10 year old Som and 11 year old Manjoo. Som and Manjoo were in the hospital because they suffer a type of reaction against the dead leprosy bacteria in their bodies.  From time to time, people who are completely cured from leprosy may suffer this reaction. If not treated immediately and correctly it may cost their lives.  Manjoo has been in and out of the hospital several times because of this and now seeing the side effect – a stunted growth.  The anabolic steroids consumed to medicate his reaction prevented him to develop normally.

Som

Manjoo

Neelam on the other hand is not affected by this disease. She, however has a hole in her foot due to a genetic disorder that mimics the effect of leprosy. She has no sensitivity on her feet which makes her prone to developing infection and ulcer without being aware of it. She spends her mornings at the hospital soaking her feet in an antiseptic solution to ensure they are thoroughly cleaned.  A habit that she needs to keep up at home as well, but difficult to maintain.   As other happy and playful 10 year old, she loves to run around – play games with her friends, sometimes bare feet.   Like Manjoo, Neelam has been in and out of the hospital since she was much younger.

Neelam

As most, if not all patients who stays here, none of these children received any visitation from their family. They have been staying here anywhere from several weeks to a couple of months. In their case, poverty is what stopping their parents from visiting. It is difficult when you earn 150 rupees ( 1 USD = 75 rupees) a day as a farm labourer or a fruit seller, to take a day off and spend 300 rupees on transportation to visit your child. So Neelam, Som and Manjoo find other ways to keep themselves busy to ward off the occasional loneliness that creeps in.

Som working on his homework

During the day, they will be at ‘school’. The hospital provides a tutor to teach them mathematics, English and other subjects. After that, it’s all free time for them. The boys would sometime follow the nurses and doctors around, acting as little helper.  Neelam, being the only little girl in the ward would spend time reading books, or paint her nails. There is a favourite board game that they play together almost everyday, the carom board. I learned fairly quickly that out of the four of us I was the poorest performing player – and Som was unbeatable. He has this natural confidence that he can do anything. It shows in all he does, how he put so much effort in doing the best he can.

School