Sometime late that summer evening, Lena found herself in her mother’s dusty garage, rummaging through old boxes that had been taped and stacked and stored away indefinitely. Nothing was labeled. And Lena couldn’t remember exactly why she was tearing all the boxes open. Her mother hadn’t asked her to do this. Lena was just pulled by a strong current of curiosity.
There wasn’t much to do in the summers. Her mom worked a demanding job that didn’t offer much in the way of vacation time. In fact, Lena couldn’t remember the last time her mother had taken a vacation, much…
Jim was absentmindedly wiping down the bar when she flooded into the room. The second he glanced lazily in her direction, he was awestruck.
The dark and dingy hole-in-the-wall bar this newcomer discovered was thick with stale sourness, lost hopes and runways. And when she walked in, the crisp mid-morning light she brought in with her was like a sign from the angels. There she stood in the doorway, all curves and sureness, with the light brushed along her edges like a halo, signalling something new on the horizon. It was all so prophetic and surreal that it struck regulars…
Written sometime back in April 2020. Originally posted on HitRECord.
It’s almost summer time here in Oman. I can tell because we have to keep the AC units on in the house for longer periods in the day. And it’s getting to the point where it’s pretty unbearable to sleep at night without the AC units on. Open windows are no longer an option, even though it’s so quiet outside these days.
Inwardly, I sigh at this recognition, knowing that the wonderful temperatures of the cool season here in Muscat are finally coming to a close, and we have at…
…to the unwaveringly faithful.
Doubting Thomas
There is this story in the Bible, immediately following Jesus’s death and resurrection. He’s been sighted. People are talking about it. They are in a fervour because he has indeed kept his promises. He’s the freaking Messiah, and he overcame death on the cross. Like Lazarus, he came back.
Remember Thomas?
He was one of the apostles. He followed Jesus, listened to his teachings, tried to live his life according to those principles. He also did not believe it when ten out of the twelve apostles were telling him that Jesus had indeed returned from the…
…to three mothers.
The Past
If you’ve read anything I’ve written, there’s definitely an underlying theme to what I write about: my mother.
Even now that she’s gone, her influence surrounds me in almost every way. Sometimes, it’s a positive, nurturing feeling; most times, it’s a bit disappointing. Our relationship was often riddled with tense silence and uncertainty. We didn’t talk much when she was alive. Not really. We didn’t see each other often, especially when I moved out of the house for college and did everything I could to not move back in. …
…to a friend who is listening to me but not really hearing me.
Listening vs. Hearing in Friend-Talk
People say a lot of things, especially to those with whom they are the closest. Most of it is probably innocuous or inconsequential; however, there are moments when it is particularly crucial for the other person to not only listen to what their friend is saying but to also be hearing them. By hearing, I mean critically processing the information someone is sharing with you and thinking just as critically about what your role is within all of that data.
One of the major problems I’ve noticed…
…to an emotionally immature person
What do I actually want to say?
Over the course of about 6–8 months, I wrote five pieces in a series entitled, “What I Should Have Said…” to a former friend, to my mother, to an unrequited love, to a former colleague and about a gross form of sexual misconduct. It was often anxiety-inducing, but it ultimately proved to be a therapeutic exercise in truth-telling; a necessary step towards becoming a stronger writer.
However, I’ve been thinking lately that, though addressing unresolved issues from the past is an important process of letting go and moving forward, it is also equally important for…
On February in 2019, I had a mental break down.
Now, this was not the cinematic version where I lose my cool at work, break out into a tantrum and burn everything to the ground, begging someone, anyone to help me. It was a slow burn that was fully known and acknowledged by my boss and my colleagues at the time. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be my line manager. She was kind, considerate and patient as all hell. At one point, prior to this complete breakdown, she even asked me if I wanted to take…
On one of our first trips to the mountains in Oman, we stopped at a beautiful overlook to have some lunch. There I met an extremely hairy, extraordinarily friendly goat who I promptly named Carl.
Carl and I hit it off pretty well. While Ian prepared sandwiches, I sat with him under a makeshift gazebo of petrified reeds and shared my chips with him. He ate most of the bag (and some carrots I found in our cooler that we really didn’t need for dinner that night.), but I wasn’t bothered. …
What am I so afraid to write about her? I hold every truth I made into milky white and charcoal black pearls for the wooden chest where I kept my understandings of her. She was my mother. She is. Mine. But I do not possess her. Not in the way a daughter wishes to hold her mother in her heart, in the air she breathes, in the footsteps she takes towards a distant and unknown future. She will never be mine like that. She made sure of it.
Everything I hold of her is past tense. It is piled up…
Alexis Williams
Writer, book nerd and music & singing lover. Find my first poetry eBook, “I Was I” on Amazon Kindle (amzn.to/2Tp723z).
