Thursday, July 29, 2010

loveNlight

Where is light there is love...
Open your mind, open your heart, leave all fears and beliefs behind
Be adventurous, get ready to be surprised...
there is beauty in everything...


Let me share with you some of the beauty I captured with my camera



Did you ever ask someone to capture the light?



Your life is something opaque, not transparent,
as long as you look at it in an ordinary human way.
But if you hold it up against the light of God's goodness,
it shines and turns transparent, radiant and bright.
And then you ask yourself in amazement:
Is this really my own life I see before me?
~Albert Schweitzer

Light is life...



"The sun shines and warms and lights us and we have no curiosity
to know why this is so; but we ask the reason of all evil, of pain,
and hunger, and mosquitoes and silly people."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson



Light can take your breath away...


"Beauty is not in the face;
beauty is a light in the heart."
~Kahlil Gibran


Light can transform anything...

The black moment is the moment when the real message
of transformation is going to come.
At the darkest moment comes the light.
~Joseph Campbell


Light blesses everything...



An age is called "dark," not because
the light fails to shine but because
people refuse to see it.
~James Michener


Light is warm, mysterious and it is magic...

"Begin challenging your own assumptions.
Your assumptions are your windows on the world.
Scrub them off every once in awhile, or the light won't come in."
~Alan Alda



loveNlight
Gabi


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

To enjoy more light posts visit Theme Thursday

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Empty




Every day at daybreak she gets out of her double bed and slowly walks around it to the other side. Once there, she mechanically opens the bed, sits at the edge of the mattress, raises her legs and lies down. Slowly she slides her feet in-between the cold silky sheets, immediately her warm body starts to tremble, instinctively reacting to the chilly sheets.
After getting in, she takes almost a minute to find a comfortable position, she turns to one side, then to the other, curls herself in and then stretches out; in no longer than five minutes she is sound asleep and smiling…

At 7:30 am the alarm clock began to play a tender melancholic melody. Antonia opens one eye, then another, a few seconds later she gives a lethargic glance to the diffuse early morning light coming through her bedroom window… a bright smile dresses her pretty face as she happily greets the new day. With laziness she stretches out her arms and legs covering up the whole bed… the coldness of the other side of the bed suddenly bring her back to the cruel reality…
She has to force herself to slowly turn her face to the side, the emptiness and loneliness of the other side overwhelms her with sadness. Suddenly her morning happiness evaporates, her expression abruptly transforms, given place to a harsh looking face that has no resemblance with the one that woke up five minutes ago…

Who can be playing such cruel jokes? How can someone be so malicious? What is that person trying to get from her?
A thousand questions outdo her thoughts, leaving her confused and annoyed. She can’t call the police again, they don’t believe her. They keep saying that she is making it up, that she must go for some therapy, that she is still mourning his passing…
But how can she be grieving someone who betrayed her, who left her without any warning after all his promises. She isn’t mournful, she isn’t crazy, she doesn’t need any psychiatrist help, what she needs is the useless police to catch the son of a b@#@ that is messing up with her.

From the minute she met him, she knew he was too good to be true, as good things weren’t on her life menu. Antonia was familiar to betrayals and desertions, her very own mother taught her very well about that. But, she thought God had given her a break when she met Alejandro. So she stupidly put her fences down allowing him to get into her fragile heart, believing that for the very first time in her very painful life she was going to experience love to its fullest. But, what she didn’t know and never expected was that it was going to last only two years…
Why did he have to go to pick the stupid flowers to surprise her? She didn’t need early flowers in the morning, she needed him, his smiling face waking up next to her, his tender arms hugging and protecting her, his masculine scent overwhelming her and getting deep into her skin. But he insisted that it wasn’t enough, that she deserves much more and he wanted to give everything to her.
He forgot the most important… he forgot to stay and instead got killed. An accident, a stupid accident took the love of her life away… now all that is left is an empty bed, in an empty bedroom of an empty house of an empty woman…

From the bedroom door she looks at the empty bed… both sides undone as if two people slept in it… “Maybe Alejandro comes every night to sleep with her” she says to herself, but then she erases that stupid thought, she doesn’t believe in ghosts, she only believes in what she can see and touch.
Today she is going to change all the doors locks once again, she’s going to fight back, she isn’t going to allow anybody to mess around with her. She is a warrior with strong armor and immune to warm feelings.

Antonia looks once more to the empty bed, seeing everything in black and white, she isn’t aware that since Alejandro passed away she doesn’t see colors any more…


This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #24, writing on a theme of the above photo.


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Roller-coaster



Hope, dreams, faith, happiness
Fears, disbelief, skepticism
Up and down like a roller-coaster
Walking blinded
Searching for a place to rest
Withdrawing to a solitary space deep within
Holding the will to escape
Embracing the wish to stay

Up and down like a roller-coaster
Breathing deep… searching for the self
Remembering and accepting who I am
Knowing that nothing is lost
Aware that I am at the right place

Up and down like a roller-coaster
Holding things together
Prioritizing what truly matters
Breaking traditions

Disconnected…
Suffocated…
Squandered…
Fighting back while trying to remember who I am
Breathing deep… reconnecting

Up and down like a roller-coaster
Controlling the urge to yell
A battle within is being fought
among what I've been taught and what I know

Nostalgia of good times
Contentment of knowing it is just a learning phase
Holding, breathing, on tenterhooks…

Up, up, up
then
Down, down, down

Up and down like a roller-coaster
Such is the ugly reality of change…
Letting go and opening up
Free of fears and remorse
Detached…


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Monday, July 12, 2010

Wolf-peaches love




At a tender age I used to believe that
Love was like wolf-peaches...
Luscious
Poisonous in a palatable package
Bright, shiny and very suspicious
Planted as a curiosity but not to be eaten
Just a bite was enough to kill an innocent heart

As I was maturing I started to muse about
Love ups and downs,
The superstitions and protective beliefs
All just fences of skeptical hearts

Now, I have come to learn, that
time and experiences usually turn evil into blessings,
wolf-peaches into tomatoes,
suspicious into believers
fears into freedom

Last but not least
I have accepted, digested and assimilated
That no matter what…
I’m in love with you!


Pssst… It’s never too late! That is what you used to say.

Am I late? If I am not, then you know where to find me… I will be waiting on the last Wednesday of August between 11am and 1pm.



He looks at the postcard, up and down, back and forth, searching for any hidden clues that can answer the questions bothering him from the minute he read the card that the postman delivered to him just a few minutes before…

Why did she send him a tomato postcard with such bizarre proclamation of love?

Maurice can hardly control his astonishment and the rush of anger overwhelming him. He knows very well she likes to play games with him, keeping him guessing of what could happen next.
Paula hates routine and is madly in love with change. She is a free spirit and traveler searching for answers, while enjoying every inch of life. Maurice fell in love with all that and much more; she was the perfect gasp of fresh air in his perfect-controlled life.

Like a tornado without previous notice she entered into his life, twisting all around and then vanishes leaving a mess behind. Without warning of any type she just packed and left. All she said before leaving was: “It was fun while it lasted, I have to go, commitment scares me…”

Who the heck does she think she is! Does she assume he is so desperately in love with her, to leave everything behind and go on an unplanned trip to Valencia – Spain! How is he supposed to find her in a place flooded with thousands of people throwing tomatoes to each other like bonkers?
Life isn’t so simple, things have to be planed! Spontaneity isn’t his thing… but then he finally understands… that is why Paula left him, everything in his life was predictable and organized. This was her final test; this was his very last chance. Maurice began to laugh as he had never done it before, with freedom and release.


This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #22, writing on a theme of the above photo.


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Friday, July 2, 2010

Charcoal-men


A charcoal-man on his way to Lusaka Market


Whenever we go on a safari heading out of Lusaka or driving early in the morning, there are two things that are common to the landscape, the stunning sunrise and the charcoal-men bicycling towards town.
Foreigners love to take pictures of both, one for the beauty and the other for its originality – you don’t usually see in developed countries a medium size man carrying almost three times his own wait on a bicycle, especially when what they carry is one bulky load (175 Kg) of charcoal…
These anonymous men begin their daily trip to the city markets at around 4 am, the distances they bike to reach the marketplaces vary from 40 to 20 km, which takes an average of 4 to 5 hours biking under the mercy of harsh weather. It doesn’t matter whether it is cold, hot or heavily raining, their living depends on selling charcoal, so there is no other choice than making the trip.
Each charcoal bag sells at 25,000 Kwacha (5 dollars), each man carries on his bicycle approximately 7 bags full of charcoal weighing 25 Kg each. A charcoal-man cuts an average of 15 trees per month.
Old and thick hardwood trees are the ones targeted for chopping, since they provide longer and hotter burning charcoal than any other tree. The trees are estimated to be between 200 and 300 years old.

A tree on its way to be chopped

Trees are being cut indistinctively from the natural reserves or from private land. The most common practice for farming is the slash and burn process, where the forest is cut and the remaining vegetation is burned to prepare a temporally rich soil for planting crops (most farmers can’t afford to buy fertilizer). Both processes end up clearing large amounts of indigenous forest that will never be recovered as none saplings are planted as a corrective measure.

Last month, during one of my trips to the bush, I had the chance to meet some of the charcoal-men, who, with pleasure, showed and explained me the charcoal process. To do so I went with them deep into the forest to the very place they were cutting and burning trees. As I was getting closer to the place I couldn’t stop feeling overwhelmed by the disheartening contrast – on one side a beautiful ancient indigenous forest, full of light and energy, on the other side the naked land. The fact of knowing that a few weeks before that very same terrain was a glorious forest filled my heart with desperation and helplessness. I could feel the lamentations of the fallen trees while the smoke from the charcoal earthy-oven collapsed my senses.
For a while I couldn’t control my urge to slap the three men responsible for such crime, but then, their honest straight look – of goodhearted people – brought me back to my senses, as I couldn’t refuse to acknowledge their hard work and the fact that they were doing their best to earn an honest living.

A sad picture of the nude land - what is left...

With pride one of them walked me to a very old tall tree, and then explained to me how they knock down the them with almost no tools and technology; all they use are some shuffles to dig around the tree until all its routes are exposed and weakened, and then they start swinging the tree until it loses its stability and falls down. Once the tree is down the charcoal-men begin to cut it into manageable logs that will be later moved into the big hole where the slow burning process will take place. Once the fire is on, the hole is covered up with soil and the vigil begins; close monitoring is essential to ensure the charcoal doesn’t turn into ash.

Ground-oven and a charcoal-man at work


I asked many questions, as I wanted to understand why they chose to be charcoal-men. I also asked questions to assess whether they were conscious of the ecologic impact their actions have on earth. They told me that they have been doing it for more than 15 years; they don’t remember how many trees they have cut and burned so far.
Now, before we start pointing fingers and begin to call these people criminals, selfish, Earth’s enemies or whatever name we manage to come up with, there is a need to understand the reasons behind their doings.
To be or not to be a charcoal-man isn’t a choice; alternatives are scarce in the rural areas where poverty rules. Migrating to the cities searching for jobs requires some level of education, getting qualified requires money. Without a job there is no money, then education is out of reach… therefore cutting trees to make charcoal is the only honest option they have… It is estimated that as much as 70 percent of individuals' income in rural areas is earned from charcoal.
But the needs for charcoal doesn’t come from the charcoal-men only, almost 80% of the Zambian population uses charcoal as their main fuel source. Poor electricity supply, low income and lack of alternative fuel sources are the main reasons. The socio-economic problem of the country is having a devastating impact on Zambian natural resources.
This country used to be a major copper producer and one of the richest African countries, but after the world copper prices collapsed in 1975 Zambia became one of the world’s poorest countries. With a population of 12.9 million, a labor force of 5.3 million and unemployment rate of 50%, Zambia needs to develop sources of revenue to improve the current poverty levels, where millions of Zambians live below the World Bank poverty threshold of $ 1 a day. Several studies show that 70% of the poorest population is located in the rural areas, with almost no means to survive.
These statistics are a reality in almost every undeveloped country in Asia, Africa and Latin America. The main cause is the lack of proper socio-economic strategies targeting the development and empowerment of the underprivileged population.
Asia, Africa and Latin America account for 60% of the world’s population, out of which approximately 50% of them are living in poverty. High population growth is escalating the poverty levels of the developing world, where some countries’ populations are doubling and tripling every 30-50 years. This high growth rate is putting unprecedented and increasing pressure on vital natural resources which directly affects the economy and the development opportunities of the affected population.

Supervising the charcoal making process

The charcoal-men are just a very small sample of the limitations and struggles being faced on a daily basis by the unprivileged population of the world.
Their problems are our problems; the trees they are cutting are our trees. We can’t keep reading statistics, nodding our heads in agreement or disagreement and then continue with our own business as if the problem doesn’t exist.
A change is needed, actions must be taken. We must become part of the change.



© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Firecrackers



It was time to pack her things away, the grieving period was over. They all needed to move on with their lives and holding onto her belongings wasn’t helping at all.
She placed some boxes on top of her grandma’s bed and after taking a deep breath she heads towards the old Chinese closet.

Her grandma loved Chinese things, everything in her home was from China – fake or original… it didn’t matter as long as the label said: MADE IN CHINA. Everyone in the family used to make fun of her China mania. She has never been in China, did not have any family or past connected to that country. She was very tall, blond and with striking green eyes. She and her house were a total mismatch that kept taking people by surprise. Many kept expecting to see a Chinese coming out any time, but all they saw was grandma and her Irish husband…
Grandma with her crazy and unusual personality was the life and soul of the entire family and neighborhood. She was someone who always looked for the bright side of things, it didn’t matter how bad things could be since she never gave up and always managed to bring hope and strength back to the most desperate.

Amelia is trying hard to keep her tears out of view, grandma didn’t want anyone to cry for her, she wanted to be remember exactly the way she was… full of life and optimism. She kept saying that passing was just another chapter in everybody’s journey. It was the graduation of the soul, moving from the physical field to the ethereal one… she believed in the afterlife and refused to get attached to anything… even life. When the time was right she was ready to cross over and move on… so she expected nothing less from the ones closest to her.
The first thing Amelia sees as soon as she opens one of the bottom drawers is the box containing the old Chinese firecrackers, and immediately a big smile brightened her face as she remembers how she loved to tease her grandma with silly questions about her love affair with Chinese things, her grandma always had a right answer on hand…
“Grandma… why do you keep these old firecrackers? I’m sure they don’t work anymore, so what’s the point?”
“They keep me safe!” - Grandma used to quickly answer, and then she started to further elaborate her reply to educate her misinformed granddaughter …
“Firecrackers were used in old China to scare away unwanted animals and evil spirits. During the Lunar New Year the Chinese used it to scare away a unicorn called Nian, firecrackers were the only thing that the evil creature was scared of… its bursting bamboo was too much for it to handle. If Nian ran away the people were assured of a prosperous and happy new year.”
“Do you want to know how are they made?”
And without waiting for an answer she kept saying: “It is a plain paper tube, folded tightly closed at the bottom that is loaded with black powder and a fuse, folded tightly closed at the head end. Then the finished cracker fuses are neatly braided together, and each completed flat bundle is wrapped with colorful paper to make it more attractive.
Your grandpa gave those to me long ago… so I could be safe when he was away.
Firecrackers scare evils away, that’s why I keep them…”

Amelia misses her grandma and can’t hold any longer her sorrows. So she let go and cried without holding anything… she knows that grandma is looking and smiling… as always, she understands.


This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #21, writing on a theme of the above photo.


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Monday, June 28, 2010

Capturing Blue moments

A fan at a Rugby game - Cape Town - South Africa vs France - June 2010



Cape Town - a burnt ship - June 2010


Saturday Soccer - American School - Lusaka - Zambia - May 2010


Village girl - Lower Zambezi - Zambia - May 2010



Sunrise -Rio de la Plata - Montevideo Uruguay - Feb 2010



A zambian housefly - somewhere in my garden




At my kitchen - May 2009

Friday, June 25, 2010

Life is good



Finding it was unexpected; he had forgotten it still existed and was taken aback by the power it still holds on him…
A simple toothbrush, a plain boring useless one … but to him it used to be much more than that.
Brown, cheap, made out of plastic, a fake ergonomic left-handed version that didn’t fit his hand and the depression of his thumb as many of the really good ones do. He had to keep repositioning the toothbrush in his hands every time he changed from brushing one side of his mouth to the other, so as to reach all the surfaces of his teeth.
The dilemmas he used to have every time he used this toothbrush: Do I go against the handle shape or do I rotate my grip on the handle… That was the “question”!


The damn toothbrush didn’t have any advantage over others. It wasn’t even small enough when compared with the conventional ones, his mouth was small so he usually found it uncomfortable to use big brushes when brushing his molars.


With resentment he remembers very well how happy he was the day he bought this toothbrush, the advertisement and the sales person bewitched him with awesome promises: “Super-smile 45° Ergonomic Toothbrush” – Brush your teeth at the proper angle without bogus bells and whistles! “Ha, ha, ha, haaaaa…” Is his answer to all those lies, none of what was promised was true; the toothbrush was everything but that! – Bitterness fills his mouth, so he swallows the saliva with difficulty and annoyance.
After a few seconds he smiles, joyfully enjoying his revenge… he found a new love… just a hundred meters away from his flat… at the local supermarket. Just in time to guarantee the greatest, healthiest and brightest smiles a ship’s Captain of his category should have. So, the day he boarded his ship he did it with pride and stature, showing everybody his best smile. Life has been great ever since; the last two weeks were amazing, no disappointments or regrets of any type. Now he is at peace and fulfilled, smiling all the way, felling fresh and clean. No more hand position dilemmas, no more thumb unfitting troubles! Life was good again…


His new brush was designed for comfortable brushing with soft multi-level bristles. This one has a rounded-end, polished bristles specifically designed to protect the enamel and gums. The curved bristles fitted perfectly the contours of his teeth and its small head reached effectively all the hard-to –reach places. It also has a non-slip rubber grip that kept the brush snug in his hand for better control.
Life was indeed good again!


With determination and without hesitation he grabs the damn toothbrush and then, almost violently he opens the head’s porthole … after a small hesitant pause – to enjoy the moment – he throws the brush as far as his strong arm lets him. With joy he observes the brush disappearing in the Atlantic Ocean, with the certainty that this was the very last time he was going to see the damn toothbrush…


A wild smile illuminates his dark eyes when he turns back to the sink where his new love is awaiting for him. With tenderness he grabs his new toothbrush and with perfect precision he places the exact right amount of toothpaste required for a perfect tooth brushing.

Life is indeed good again…


This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #20, writing on a theme of the above photo.
© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

I am




I am who I am and I am who I'm not…
A free spirit teasing life, challenging boundaries, breaking the rules…
Embracing individualism, celebrating differences…
In love with myself, in love with others

I am who I am and I am who I'm not
Part and parcel of the same energy
Experimenting, remembering, experiencing, living…

I am who I am and I am who I'm not
Heart-broken, distant, shameless, distracted
Feeling, tasting, sensing… touching
A warrior of light
A warrior of love

I am who I am and I am who I'm not
Emotional, passionate, avid… alive
Unfussy, playful, naughty

I am one and I am all
I am



© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Friday, June 18, 2010

Fate



A razor… two tales
One as the cutting blade of a thrilling thieve
The other as the master tool of a great chef
Both in France

Blade’s tales
Of taste and passion
Offering to the gods
To Ambrosia the food
To Hades the blood

A foolish love
A selfish passion
Razor blade cutting the edge
of two worlds
of two obsessions
of two souls
enslaved by fervor

Such was the razor’s fate
but to execute it masters desires
Just a tool
just a contrivance
With no other choice
but to perform
and then evoke
the memories imbibed on its blade
from each cut
from each act
of passion and fate



© 2010 Gabriela Abalo



This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #19, writing on a theme of the above photo.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

In Transit



I have ran out of words
I have gone deep inside
I have surrendered
I have left expectations behind

Melancholy, nostalgia
Anxiety, uneasiness
Disconcerted….

Walking by unknown paths
Breathing unfamiliar aromas
Touching strange sites
Sensing odd mores

In transit
Impassive, alert
Attentive, conscientious
Trying to let go…

Setting free all despairs
Going with life tempo
Yielding to the momentum
In transit!


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Ride like the wind




The wind is blowing, not to strong not to annoying, but constantly blowing and blowing, and while doing so, as it passes through my hair it whispers in my ear: “It is time to go…. go… go…”

The struggling sun is trying to push the clouds away, but they are resisting very hard. It is their time to reign and conquer the sky, thus fighting back to stay. As I keep walking slowly by the pathway, I silently witness greens bit by bit turning yellow and brown.

Dancing with the wind, leaves free themselves from the trees and like mischievous ballerinas they dance their way to the ground, where mother earth gives them a tender welcome.

A few stubborn flowers remain untouched by the obvious change, though struggling to keep alive they are not yet ready to fade away. The wind utterly tries to blow them away while the clouds hide the sun from them. Soon, very soon their wombs will be ready to nurture the soil, for next spring to blossom with joy.

The cold is getting into my bones; intuitively I hug myself attempting to warm up my body. With nostalgia I scrutinize the horizon, searching for clues and looking for answers, although I know the answers aren’t far away, but it’s still nice to play pretend every now and then.

The sun didn’t make it, since the clouds were very persuasive today on having a proper winter day. Regardless of the cold, the hollowing wind, the luck of sun and the solicitude of the landscape, it is still a beautiful winter day.

I keep walking feeling at peace and content while listening to the wind… it keeps telling me of new lands far, far away… of different people I shall meet… of chances and adventures I will not regret… of fairy tales I must take part in…

The wind of winter bewitched me; I shouldn’t have listened to it, for now I must go… riding with grace the wind of change.




© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Unveiled



She kept looking and looking at the stone bust. Despite all her efforts she couldn’t stop staring at it. The face’s expression was too compelling and distressful to be ignored. She has been working at the Museum for almost twenty years; her restoration work was well known around the world, as she has successfully restored many great and valuable pieces.

She did her work with pleasure, treating each piece with profound respect and veneration. Each piece of art was unique, as each one has a story to tell, a message to pass, an emotion to show, a legacy to preserve and a culture to represent.
Maria didn’t take her work lightly, one little mistake and a whole world will be destroyed…

Whenever she was restoring she moved into trance, doing the connection with the different artists and allowing their spirits to take over her body, so they could guide her hands and senses throughout the whole restoration process. The connection was so strong that she was able to experience the emotions that drove them to create their pieces, sensing their muses, their quandaries and dramas.
But this time Maria is afraid of working with this woman’s bust, she can’t stop thinking about the images she saw the time she attempted to make the connection. She is still shivering and horrified of what was unveiled while in trance.

The bust was the resting nest of many phantoms from the past – it contained the ghosts of many women that were murdered by its artist. It took sixteen of them until he could carve and shape the right expression of astonishment and shock of a person the second after the final breath….


This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #17, writing on a theme of the above photo.


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Smoky Memories



Every time I try to remember something from my past, my memories get distorted and camouflage themselves in-between unorganized snapshots of what could have been. It’s as if I’m not supposed to remember things as they really happened.

In general I have difficulties evoking anything from the past, I can remember the big picture but I can’t recall the details of any specific situation. I remember very well all the houses I have lived in, but I can’t remember my neighbors’ names, my address, or any of my teachers’ names. I sometimes joke saying that I have an “autonomous selective” memory, where my heart and brain choose on their own and as they please, what to be kept and what to thrash away.

I can still feel the emotional pain, the need to escape, the will to disappear that kept hunting me during my childhood and until my early twenties… but I can’t recall the details of the things that made me feel that way. No matter how hard I try, my brain is still refusing to let me dig in for those answers that are buried within the memories. So I keep asking myself over and over: "What is hiding there? Why can’t I remember?"

More than ten years ago while living in Kenya I met a Hindu monk who upon my request read the lines of my hands. I will never forget the way he looked at me after observing for a long time my left palm (the one that represents the past). With tenderness he looked through my eyes searching for my broken soul, but despite his kindhearted effort, he could not pass the defensive systems I had built long ago. My heart was hidden behind an impenetrable wall, afraid of showing up, terrified and alarmed of anyone trying to reach deep enough. The monk couldn’t disguise his sadness, but showed understanding and respected my unconscious but tacit refusal to allow him reaching any further, so after a while he said: “You have had a very rough life; you are a survival who had suffered everything you needed to in this life, so from now on, life will be good. Open your heart, you are safe now”.

I wanted to ask him a thousand questions, I wanted to know what he saw… but I didn’t. Something inside me prevented me from seeking the knowledge I always craved for. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t right to force the past into my life through a stranger’s interpretation of my history. If I was supposed to remember, then the memories will come to me when ready, or else, they will keep smoky and sneaky forever and ever…

After so many ups and downs my heart is finally open and willing to give and receive. The wall is down and all defensive systems have been successfully deactivated, but my memories are still refusing to show up… It doesn’t matter how hard I try to get them back, they are out of my reach, and so I keep asking myself: "What is hiding there? Why can’t I remember?"

If dispersing the smoky memories is going to bring hate, bitterness and regrets, then I should let them rest in peace as they will not contribute to anything positive to my present. Maybe it is time for me to accept that all I need to know from my past is that it happened, that somehow it worked out, and thanks to it I’m who I’m today.


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

The journey



Tired but excited
After walking and walking
Never stopping
Just moving and moving

Tapping with changes
Jumping into opportunities
Running after love
Tiptoeing into the unknown

The journey isn’t over
A story is being written
Moment after moment
Step by step
While walking and walking



© 2010 Gabriela Abalo



This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #16, writing on a theme of the above illustrated shoes.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Dancing with life




(To my dear friend Tag)


A will to live
A fight to stay around
A desire to see another tomorrow
A joy to be alive
A refusal to give up
A cry for another chance

Living, breathing…
Not only existing
But lively living!

Dancing with life
Singing with God
Embracing love

Dealing with pain
Facing the unknown
Accepting what it is…

Rejoicing time
Bewitching chances
Conquering fears
Blessing the moments

Gripping each feeling
Surrendering to life

Living, breathing…
Not only existing
But lively living!




© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

What if...?





What will happen if today…….:

• I misbehave?

• I remove my mask and stop pretending?

• I do things without thinking twice or its consequences or what the others may say?

• I act as if I have the same innocence and the same will for adventure that I had when I was 6 years old?

• I’m spontaneous and I forget everything I have learnt?

• I call a friend to tell her how much I love and miss her and that I do not remember why we fought and I no longer care, because all I want is to have her back in my life. Since all I remember are the good moments we spend together and I want to enjoy them again.

• Instead of getting annoyed with the supermarket cashier because she is having a bad day and has decided to take it on me, I ignore her attitude and then treat her with more kindness than the usual one?

• I put on my best dress, shoes and perfume and sit to wait for my loved one, then when he comes and he asks me: “Where are you going gorgeous?” I just answer: “Nowhere, I was waiting for you!”

What will happen if……?


The list is very long; there are so many things we do not do because we are afraid of breaking the rules, or to be labeled as crazy or risking everything we have…
So what! Life is supposed to be fun, so let us dance while we travel our road, always remembering that what matter most is the way we travel and not to where we are heading to!




© 2010 Gabriela Abalo

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Perspective

Be careful how you interpret the world: It is like that.
~Erich Heller


The moment one gives close attention to any thing,
even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome,
indescribably magnificent world in itself.
~Henry Miller

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.
~Anaïs Nin


There's an alternative. There's always a third way,
and it's not a combination of the other two ways.
It's a different way.
~David Carradine



People who look through keyholes are apt to get the idea
that most things are keyhole shaped.
~Author Unknown




Expectant of greater things,
We try climbing -
Higher
And Higher;
An effort that costs us much,
Leaving us short of breath
To find only
The ground below is much prettier.
~Phillip Pulfrey

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The invisible people

(a girl from Ethiopia)


I can’t stop thinking about what I heard the other day on TV, where they were covering the life of the street children of Nepal, someone described them as: “The invisible people”.
Those worlds are still reverberating in my mind all along since then, as they do not sound right and are very disturbing.
Street children are the sons and daughters of poverty, development, materialism and the collapsing of moral and spiritual values. They are the victims of a failing system, the innocent sufferers of a collective selfishness.
They live on the streets for several different reasons; many are orphans who lost their parents from HIV, malaria, typhus, starvation, etc. Others are abused children coming from dysfunctional family environment, who ran away from their homes escaping from the daily physical and moral abuse they are subjected to. Some of them are even born on the streets.



Some facts about street children:

  • Recent global estimates indicate there are 100 million street children. Other more localized studies point to 11 million in India, 1 million in U.S., 445,226 in Bangladesh, 250,000 street children in Kenya, 150,000 in Ethiopia, 30,000 in Nepal and 12,000 in Zimbabwe. Projections estimate an increasing number of street children, growing especially with the pace of urbanization.
  • These street children include: children living on the street with no home at all, children spending most of their time on the streets, without opportunities for education and care; and child workers who spend most of their time working on the street.
  • The United Nations estimates that between 133 million and 275 million children experience violence at home annually, with the largest proportion in Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. Boys and girls are often equally subjected to child abuse by family members and are equally victimized by child labour exploitation. However, globally, girls make up 98 per cent of children who are sexually exploited. Child abuse is a major risk factor linked to future criminal behaviour.
(a girl from Ethiopia)
  • Helping street children is a though challenge, as these children usually need a long period of rehabilitation. It can take many months or years to firstly build up their trust, as they have normally endured only pain and abuse from adults. So it is a long-term work of commitment and rarely a quick fix that they need to help them release their potential.
  • Observers say that street children have a life expectancy of around four years on the street.
  • UNICEF estimates that over 2 million children, mainly girls, are exploited through prostitution and pornography. 1.2 million girls and boys are trafficked each year – many to join the sex trade.
  • Law and order officials and self-styled vigilantes both attempt to ‘clean the street’ of these children in many parts of the world. In Latin America the problem is particularly acute with the worst offenders being Brazil, Colombia, Guatemala and Honduras. An average of three street children are killed every day in the state of Rio de Janeiro. In Cairo, street children are routinely rounded up and beaten by the police, their heads are shaven and then they are transferred to crowded detention centres.
  • Studies conducted in Nepal and Guatemala showed that urban street children were in better health than children in stable homes in farming villages: an indicator of the depths of rural poverty in these countries rather than a recommendation for life on the street.
(Village children - Zambia)


None of these children are invisible, we see them everywhere we go, in Europe, Asia, Africa and the Americas. The number is increasing at an unbelievable rate, as governments are failing to implement proper corrective measures to solve the economic and social problems affecting the source of their miserable existence.
































“The worst sin towards our fellow creatures
is not to hate them, but to be indifferent
to them; that is the essence of inhumanity.”
-George Bernard Shaw




(Information for this post has been compiled from information sources of UNICEF, World Hope, Human Rights Watch, and others.)

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Living



Out there with my fishing gear,
ready to catch, grab and fish
all the chances without fear





Aware, attentive and ready,
to retort if needed.





Patiently waiting
and persevering
trying, chancing
breathing .




A common pursuit
A common dream
An individual attempt
An individual chase
An individual reward




Taking a moment
enjoying the flash
Becoming one
with time



Changing my colors like the sky

Flowing like the river
Settling down like the sun




Steadily and determined
paddling one on one
from end to end
chasing and chasing
until the end of time


© 2010 Gabriela Abalo


(all pictures taken from the Sundown at Lower Zambezi River – 2nd of May 2010 - Zambia)