Back again
Its been a pretty long time since i last posted anything. I'd completely forgotten i even had a blog with so many entries in the first place. I remembered thanks to a certain someone; though i doubt he even knows. I also discovered I have two blogs running parallel, and both in Blogspot. Howd that happen? (scratch scratch). Ive decided to keep one running and import the other post here. Its something curious. I'd totally forgotten about it as well. Here it is:
The 22nd of July
I’ve always wished I’d find a message in a bottle, washed up on a beach somewhere. Wish granted, though there were some slight alterations – a message on my bathroom sink, about to be washed off by my sister (she thought it was my purple paint patch, post rainbow painting on unseeable bedroom arch – otherwise I wouldn’t have got permission – which I had splashed there by accident).
The day did start weirdly, though it didn’t feel like it at that time. For starters, everyone was asleep like they were in a coma, even though the cock was crowing it’s head off, and I was annoyed ‘Cos I had woken and couldn’t go back to sleep. 4:55 AM. My sisters weren’t stirring, and what’s more, my parents were asleep as well, which was strange ‘cos they rise and shine, regular as clockwork (at 3:45! for Tahajjad Prayers), after which they wake us up at 4:30.
Made my way to the bathroom (didn’t freak me out that I was the only one up – hey, I like it when I’m the only one up). Ants on the floor. Ants on the ceiling. And a whole population of swarming ants carpeting the walls around the sink. Distributing food I think. Or carrying tiny eggs. Picked my way across, washed my face, grabbed my toothbrush (didn’t want ants crawling all over me, though none of the ants were even bothering about hiking up what, for them, would have been Mount Everest ) and took off to the shower cubicle, where thankfully, there were no ants camping out or organizing any rallies. They had all pretty much cleared out when my sister’s woke up; there were just a few stragglers near the window. The ants aren’t significant, how can they be? But I don’t want to leave out any details.
Fast forward to about seven thirty in the morning. I am in the kitchen tearing up dead vegetation for lunch, my sister’s in the bathroom, scrubbing it, when she calls. Hollers really. When I get there, she points towards the sink and ‘read this’ she says.
I looked. Purple scrawls. I made sure it was not some sort of ink web, before I called the real experts, a.k.a, mom and dad. Disappointingly, they were not impressed. After a few nose – touching – sink scrutinizes, they left the curiosity in our inexperienced hands. We were bound to go berserk with weird conjecture at some point, maybe even start seeing things that weren’t there, just to add some spice. My sister is adamant that the ants must have done it, using the bright purple soap we had at that time as ink. Ants. Right. Aliens were not cancelled out either, though that idea didn’t last for long. Ghosts (not interesting enough, so that died out as well, before it became anything). I obviously found it very intriguing. When all the hype had died down, I took in a candle (which I had to sway this way and that to stop my eyes from becoming too accustomed to the light and so render the script unreadable) and wrote down what I could make out. It was Arabic, no doubt about it; none. Each letter I wrote down, I recognized. I did have a hunch, when I first saw the writing as to what it could be, but I didn’t want to say it and make everyone see it my way, even if it was not (‘you’re right! it does look like Arabic’). At first, I thought it was English written backwards, Da Vinci style – I use to do that for a while. It was slanted and looked like it had been written by a brush or a calligraphy pen. My father thought it was me (hello! writing on the bathroom sink?! I may have done some weird things, but this? Once again, knock! Knock!), because it looked like my cursive handwriting.
There’s another purple patch appearing on the right side of the sink again, and one brush stroke, like an elongated ‘Z’, down its side.
We thought of letting it be, but my mom scrubbed it out.
The 22nd of July
I’ve always wished I’d find a message in a bottle, washed up on a beach somewhere. Wish granted, though there were some slight alterations – a message on my bathroom sink, about to be washed off by my sister (she thought it was my purple paint patch, post rainbow painting on unseeable bedroom arch – otherwise I wouldn’t have got permission – which I had splashed there by accident).
The day did start weirdly, though it didn’t feel like it at that time. For starters, everyone was asleep like they were in a coma, even though the cock was crowing it’s head off, and I was annoyed ‘Cos I had woken and couldn’t go back to sleep. 4:55 AM. My sisters weren’t stirring, and what’s more, my parents were asleep as well, which was strange ‘cos they rise and shine, regular as clockwork (at 3:45! for Tahajjad Prayers), after which they wake us up at 4:30.
Made my way to the bathroom (didn’t freak me out that I was the only one up – hey, I like it when I’m the only one up). Ants on the floor. Ants on the ceiling. And a whole population of swarming ants carpeting the walls around the sink. Distributing food I think. Or carrying tiny eggs. Picked my way across, washed my face, grabbed my toothbrush (didn’t want ants crawling all over me, though none of the ants were even bothering about hiking up what, for them, would have been Mount Everest ) and took off to the shower cubicle, where thankfully, there were no ants camping out or organizing any rallies. They had all pretty much cleared out when my sister’s woke up; there were just a few stragglers near the window. The ants aren’t significant, how can they be? But I don’t want to leave out any details.
Fast forward to about seven thirty in the morning. I am in the kitchen tearing up dead vegetation for lunch, my sister’s in the bathroom, scrubbing it, when she calls. Hollers really. When I get there, she points towards the sink and ‘read this’ she says.
I looked. Purple scrawls. I made sure it was not some sort of ink web, before I called the real experts, a.k.a, mom and dad. Disappointingly, they were not impressed. After a few nose – touching – sink scrutinizes, they left the curiosity in our inexperienced hands. We were bound to go berserk with weird conjecture at some point, maybe even start seeing things that weren’t there, just to add some spice. My sister is adamant that the ants must have done it, using the bright purple soap we had at that time as ink. Ants. Right. Aliens were not cancelled out either, though that idea didn’t last for long. Ghosts (not interesting enough, so that died out as well, before it became anything). I obviously found it very intriguing. When all the hype had died down, I took in a candle (which I had to sway this way and that to stop my eyes from becoming too accustomed to the light and so render the script unreadable) and wrote down what I could make out. It was Arabic, no doubt about it; none. Each letter I wrote down, I recognized. I did have a hunch, when I first saw the writing as to what it could be, but I didn’t want to say it and make everyone see it my way, even if it was not (‘you’re right! it does look like Arabic’). At first, I thought it was English written backwards, Da Vinci style – I use to do that for a while. It was slanted and looked like it had been written by a brush or a calligraphy pen. My father thought it was me (hello! writing on the bathroom sink?! I may have done some weird things, but this? Once again, knock! Knock!), because it looked like my cursive handwriting.
There’s another purple patch appearing on the right side of the sink again, and one brush stroke, like an elongated ‘Z’, down its side.
We thought of letting it be, but my mom scrubbed it out.
posted by Shezarnie at 4:02 AM
0 comments
