FOLLOW-UP NOTE

Please note I do not write on this blog anymore, comments and questions asked will only be seen weeks, more likely months after they are posted. Please check out my tumblr page for recent pieces of poetry and thoughts: nikoletttkaaa.tumblr.com

The Adventure Of The Electronic Candles: A Valentine Tale

The housekeeping lady was on her way out as I pulled up the straps of this sparkly red bra that I haven't even worn yet. She must have caught a glimpse of me, because I vividly remember picturing my best friend walking in at that precise moment - making me look like a full-on lesbian. I could have let the thought slide, and carried on with the day's harmless plans, but no. I needed some spice to freak the sh** out of her, and that's when the idea struck me. 

I entered the living room, blasting some old-school Britney, while suddenly recognizing just how much I love myself. I was about to slide into these really cute jeans, but it was too late by then and the idea manifested entirely by that point. I lit up all the electronic candles in my apartment, which is approximately twenty-two and then turned up the fireplace channel to add some additional spark. I pulled on these thigh-high stockings with lacey ends and left the cute jeans I speak of resting on a chair. 

I put on matching sparkly-red panties and for awhile, I just sat on my sofa waiting for her knock at the door. I started to feel restless swiftly, as within five short minutes, I felt like what's-her-name from Sex and The City, when laying on the damn table, covered in sushi, or something. That's when I decided that I'd wait for her in bed, underneath the sheets, and surrounded by electronic candles. Before sliding beneath the sheets, I quickly composed a playlist filled with everything from cheesy classical pieces, to steamy masochistic rock music. 

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts at last. Thanks to this door opener I own, I rested beneath the sheets comfortably as the door swung open and I waited for her footsteps to appear along the floor of my apartment. 

"Hi," I smiled sneakily. 

She looked utterly petrified, in a comical way of course, but it was obvious she wanted me. Just kidding. 

After putting our clothes back on. Well MY clothes back on, because nothing happened I swear, we went out to eat the greatest red velvet cake of life itself.

I ordered green tea with my dessert which happened to taste tropical, and as requested by my tastebuds, asked the waitress if I could buy a box of it. 

"We only order it for the restaurant," she told me, "But you can probably find it online." 

Feeling as if the universe was on my side, I entered this ordinary grocery store just around the corner from this place we were at, and as I rolled down the tea isle, there it fucking was, hopelessly waiting for my purchase! Then I bought myself a colouring book and magic markers and made my way back to my electronic-candle-filled apartment. 

Happy Valentine. 

May all your days be as splendid as mine was. 

Wherefore Art Thou, Toronto?

Somewhere in the heart of the city, I lost a portion of the butterflies that Toronto used to fill me with. I used to dream of residing in the midst of it, surrounded by chaos and the bad-asses that roam the streets at lunch hour, and then once again at five'o'clock. I would leave my glamourous apartment in a polka-dotted outfit and round Armani shades, and I would make some trips to cute little boutiques, and bakeries, and breakfast bars, and book stores. Occasionally, I would gather the girls, and while sipping martinis just briefly past lunch hour, we would exchange disturbing details of our love lives that range between the plots of a hardcore porno, and an intense thriller with moments of comedic romance. Just kidding. Sort of. 

I would embark on some solo adventures, smile at strangers, and have long Starbucks dates, just gazing out the window and watching the stylish but pretentious folks on Yonge street, who I'm probably no different from by now. I would splurge on expensive chandeliers and blouses, and on the occasion that I decided to stay in, I would drink champagne accompanied by truffles, before I dived into my white platform bed with the subtle spring breeze greeting my skin. My sheets would smell of lavender as always, and the tender grey walls would make napping feel divine, even if a sleep during the day could never find shelter in my heart. Then I'd awake an hour later and spend the remaining hours of daylight lounging in the prettiest panties ever, and pulling Pascal off my book shelf for a tender mind massage over a glass of wine. 

When my hedonist alter-ego made her way out of the shadows each night, I would spend my energy on my lover and we'd get lost in gently tugging at each other's egos on long walks in the cemetery, and many other things that I don't dare mention. He'd be an escape from my chaotic life as I balanced university, a job at a rehab hospital, and the newly developed anxiety over grown up life. But despite being in a momentary and euphoric love, the future would be out of our hands, and my only concern would be how he'd creep up behind me next, and what tactics he'd use to make me his proverbial b****. The beauty of it all is at the core of our conscience, we would genuinely care for each other. 

What made it so lovely is I'd awake on Sunday morning, visiting my parents as per usual, and the darkness of what I created would blur to the splendid Sunday afternoons of coffee, and lunch, and shopping trips, and conversations with my two fluffy dogs. Then Monday would come at me, wrapping me into a familiar cycle of important meetings, and research papers, and ladies' nights, and fancy lounges, and a very steamy love affair, that, combined with everything else, was exactly what I craved. So that was that - the picture I painted in the centre of my eccentric mind came to life in the heart of the city. It was like Toronto transformed me into a single thirty-year-old with a glimpse of what life is like in Sex and the City. And despite all of this, it seems as though the spark has been missing, leading me to fantasize about a German countryside. 

The chaos has spread over me like an infection, poisoning my desire for some laid back days on which I continue lounging in panties, but the expensive, silky bath robes do not matter for a moment. I chill out on my oversized chocolate brown sofa, watching seven episodes of Lost in a row, and thinking of how awakening it would be to live on an island for awhile. Well, not that extreme. Sunshine doesn't do so well in the sand, but I'd be lying if I told you that I haven't been dreaming of a German countryside, in a cottage-like home, surrounded by complete quietness, except when the birds decide to chirp. I wouldn't be in and out of meetings constantly, I would just sit in a sun chair in my adorable backyard, writing to the world of whatever came to mind. 

I'd spend months at a time there, freeing my worry-filled mind with thoughts of nothingness combined with serenity, and if the day happened to come where boredom finally captured me, I'd hop on the next plane back to the heart of the city, to begin my hunt for chaos once again. But before I'd catch a flight to Toronto, I'd hop on an old school train and observe the countrysides of a foreign land. I'd make impromptu stops in small villages and have authentic cappuccinos in the cutest German cafés. I'd also befriend an old person who happened to speak English and we'd exchange stories for awhile. I would listen more actively than speak, and then I'd make my way to home sweet home, somehow discovering that my love for Toronto has been rekindled. 

I would realize in that instant that Toronto is my one and only, and we'd live happily ever after, until chaos whispered filthy things to me and stole me away for awhile. And even if I was stolen away, Toronto would take me back with open arms each time, because my presence in its heart would be vital to its existence. The chaos whispering in my ear would lure me away into distant lands that vary from Germany to Dubai, but Toronto would be the only unchanging variable. Toronto would always be my one and only. 

Euphoria

There’s this habit you possess that feeds on the taste of your bitter conscience. Your flaws lay under a scolding gaze, overcome by the sound of your voice that rapidly shifts from sanity to nothingness. Someone will be coming soon.

I am not always what you think I am. I do not possess your habits and my conscience is in constant flux, but every now and then, when you tenderly manipulate me, my mind gives into you, craving your soul in entirety. I enjoy the ways that you feed on my weakness, but that particular day, it was like boredom abruptly captured me, waiting for a dead-ended conclusion that you, or I, or anyone else could not come to rational terms with. 

...so there I was, gripping the midday glass of cranberry and vodka, wondering what had compelled in me the sudden burst of inspiration to spit some words out. My slightly crooked fingers danced along the keyboard before the next sip of poison could trickle down my throat, and so there it was - somewhere along the spectrum of a quarter-life crisis combined with absolute boredom, my words began to dance again. 

I do not dance. But when my thoughts are seduced by the art of conversation, my words move to the melody, interrupting your rhythm, occasionally causing you to trip over your own two feet. It is not strategic - I am never a maker of concrete plans and for this reason, I spent that Saturday afternoon thinking, learning, and strategizing on my road to becoming a mastermind of some sort - either that, or a hot mess of strange concepts as my best friend glares at me in clear bewilderment. I never claimed to be typical and assure you I am not. 

Earlier that day, I picked up a book in search of a semi-logical epiphany. As the seventh sip of vodka entered my bloodstream, my words began to crave their canvas in the centre of your beautiful mind.I've always been compelled by the steamy love affair that my words built with your mind, but somewhere on my blank canvas, I painted some poetry without any words that cost me well over a fraction of my soul. That day had little to do with you, but somehow, you crossed my eccentric mind as if a spot right there was always reserved for you. 

While briefly glancing at the dining table of my one bedroom apartment, the notion greeted me that you are my substance and I am your abuser - we alternate these roles and get disturbingly tangled in what we call a deeply intriguing yet fucked up situation. 

Before I recycled the thought of your addictive nature, I peered at the now empty glass before me, shifting my thoughts to what I crave to become. There is something charming about the concept of uncertainty; I am not who I was and not who I will be. This is the in between of a morbid tale and euphoria, and I rest at the centre; recklessly behaved. 

Someone is here now. She stumbles on my every move, watching with persistence, and sometimes when the world cannot see, her child-like eyes wait for me to speak. But words do not form and a teardrop escapes from one of her hazellish eyes - half of her reasons with me, but the other half scolds. 

"What's it like?" she whispers. 

"Euphoria," I whisper back. 

Sweet, Sweet Child

There is an absurd intuition forming from within, screaming louder and louder with the seconds that pass. You glance up at me with innocent eyes, begging and pleading with me to save you at last, yet I can't hear your desperate cry beyond the doses of adrenaline that temporarily free me. I only hear the echoes that are lost in translation, deafening me with the sounds of chaos. You are imprisoned within a fragment of my mind which seeks to enslave you, but you tug at the remainder of my free will, begging me to come to your rescue. 

You are my child and I jump in fright at the sound of your cry, yet I consciously neglect you until you beg and plead with tearful eyes once more, screaming, and shouting until the disrupted echoes make their way to me, outbeaten by euphoria. How do you manage to love me when I willingly damage your radiant soul? 

I take the tiny palm of your hand into mine, and watch your eyes fill with curiosity; with hope that I take your side today as I pick you up and whisper that nothing will come between us. But as I place you on my lap and brush a fingertip across your cheek, I glare at your helpless eyes, equally vulnerable; equally perplexed. You translate my gestures as a sign of indifference, but indifference outwardly fails to describe it - I'm trying so hard to find the right words, but they're clouded by delusion and the words that you eagerly await are not heard. 

I watch you walk into the layers of fog that invisibly suffocate you. There is nothing I will not do to free you. You are everything to me and I have not forgotten your radiant soul that acts as my source of light. 

Lessons Of 2012

Well, the countdown to the apocalypse has officially begun, so I figured I'd do an end of the year post before I transform into particles of nothingness. Some of these items will contradict, but guess what, I don't care because LIFE is contradictory. 

I am going to add more as I reflect on the year...

1. Treat others as they treat you. 

None of this golden rule bulsh**. We are not children anymore, and it is delusional to think that everyone has good intentions. Some people are motivated by poison and will eat away at your conscience, slowly but surely. There is no moral obligation to be nice to people who don't deserve it. Know when to be fierce, and know when to be indifferent. And when dealing with poison, walk away - walk away for good before you are infected. Poison is contagious. 

2. Living alone is more complex than it seems. 

I'm not talking about the struggle to balance university, a job, and the countless amount of house chores. I'm talking about something that is only felt when alone. It is only when we're alone that we learn who we are; when no one is watching and you're entitled to your freedom; to think, to act, to grow, to question, to say, to feel, to reflect. You learn who you are when no one is around, because you're not performing a social role that is deemed appropriate in any given setting of people. This makes your actions and choices genuine, therefore they are a clearer reflection of who you are as a person. 

3. Your intuition knows the answer to everything. 

You just disregard its red flags, because somewhere and somehow, there is an ounce of hope left in you that life will do a total 180 and maybe, just maybe, your intuition is wrong. But you and I both know that we know the answer to the question that keeps reproducing itself at the core of our very conscience.

4. Sometimes it is better to be feared than it is to be loved. 

Love is fantastic and insane and indescribable, but more often than not, it is responsible for the weakness we face in vulnerable times. I hope that you fall in love at least three times, but never gamble away your dignity and know when to wear your poker face. Both good people and bad people can pick up on signs of weakness to feed off of - do not consume so much of it that love becomes the end of you. 

5. Opinions are enormous nothings. 

Do not succumb to pressure from others. You are perfectly capable of making decisions - who is anyone to tell you how you should live your life? Everything is temporary. If something makes you happy, then f*** the sweet nothings that are whispered in your ear time and time again - opinions don't mean anything but personal projections of what life should be. Same concept with advice - stop asking for advice; you already know the answer. 

6. Education does not equal wisdom. 

Knowledge is power, but knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is abstract and intangible and it is earned through a combination of adversity and delving into the mind of another with nothing but pure empathy. It is also ever-changing and can never be pursued as a fixed quality, because wisdom has no limit; therefore wisdom never stops learning, empathizing, or exploring. Perhaps it follows that wisdom does not exist as a quality. 

Study Cycle

I don't do well with waking up when waking up is followed by four-hundred pages of exam review and info-cramming. It is for this reason alone that I plugged in my phone to the sound system in my living room and chose the loudest and most annoying alarm to drag me out of bed before noon and initiate nerd mode. 

The following timeline chronologically illustrates my study cycle. 

1. Alarm of the apocalypse

The alarm goes off at 10 AM, causing the walls around me nearly to collapse. I jump out of bed and into Sunshine, (Sunshine is my wheelchair) stopping the apocalypse, seeing as it is three weeks early. The thought of returning to bed briefly crosses my mind, but no, that would be lazy and unproductive - I jump in the shower instead. 

2. Let the crisis begin.

I wrap myself in a crisp white towel and make my way to the kitchen. I manage to construct the greatest bagel of life itself, with a side of blueberries and a tall glass of coffee. (Yes, glass.) I glance over at the table, compiled of the books that await my brilliant mind, but my peripherals reveal to me my white platform bed that could totally use my company. So lonely it looks, and I dive in with no further adieu. 

3. Three hours later…

I awake beneath the crisp white sheets. My phone reads 1:30 PM and in my mind, I've already died once. I drag myself to my olive green bathroom, accurately brushing my teeth and putting some clothes on at last. I make the second glass of coffee and figure there is time to kill. 

4. The big comfy couch

Seated on my big comfy couch now, I open my laptop and then play the nonstop Christmas carols I long awaited. Briefly glancing at the notes I made last night, I open my textbook with a newly developed enthusiasm to get this sh** done with. I manage to scribble three letters down before I decide that the time has not yet come. 

5. Thoughts in my head

I start to think about the ball - the ball that is fast approaching, and the stunning, flawless dress I shall wear. I begin the online search for long diamond earrings with a hint of emerald green, and as I peer at the clock, it reads 3:43. I take a sip of the now cold coffee in front me, and say hello to an existential crisis. 

6. Existential crisis: part one

Remembering the chapter I covered in such great depth last night, my panic-mode disappears temporarily and I think of the person I am seeing and wonder why in the right mind he has not written me…yet. It crosses my mind to write him first, but the thought rapidly changes as I think about the ball once more, and the mermaid look I intend to take with me. 

7. Existential crisis: part two

Intrigued by the idea of the mermaid look, I make my way to the bathroom for a hair and makeup experiment. Flat-ironing each strand of hair on my scalp, I pull it back with clips and then experiment with tender grey eyeshadows and very intense mascaras. Then I organize a study playlist consisting of Beethoven, but realize within seven minutes that this actually terrifies the sh** out of me. I hop on Facebook, phone my mother-goose, and part of me wishes I was out right now. Part of me wishes I'd pursue my novelist dream and spend my days writing, while part of me is dreaming of a bad-ass position somewhere in marketing, or public relations, or linguistic something…the battle between art and logic fiercely tug at my conscience as the burning desire grows in me to rip the books awaiting me. 

8. Existential crisis: part three

A strong sense of hopelessness fills me as I think about the other children in my program and the progress they have made with info-cramming. As the feeling of utter uselessness drips all over my sense of self, I open my fricken' textbook and start off nice and easy. I encounter some basic definitions and come across the definition of Facebook, which my communication theory glossary defines as 'You know what this is.' Just when I think the crisis has ended, and I am ready to own the sh** out of this exam, my mind scolds the son of a b**** who wrote this lazy-ass, unprofessional excuse of a definition. I make my way to the kitchen for a tall glass of well-deserved green tea. 

9. The end of a crisis?

While leaning over my sink via Sunshine, holding a tall glass of green tea that is now only half full, the realization greets me that I paid my own tuition this year. Moreover, how awful can a communications exam be, when I owned the sh** out of much more complex subjects in philosophy and humanities. I decide the time has come to own this exam - but first, I jump into another shower and put on a  silk bath robe, because who the hell studies when they don't look good? Upon showering and changing, I manage to find a peaceful playlist that facilities my info-cramming skills, and six hours later, nerd mode is fully initiated. 

10. Fours hours later

It has been four hours since nerd mode has successfully launched. I am now half-way through my info-cramming session and my peaceful playlist has reached its end. The fireplace channel and electronic candles aren't a bad choice of substitution, however, worries are beginning to build up over other and more personal matters. In partnership with the fourth glass of caffeine, I declare that sleeping is not among my intentions tonight. I hereby declare myself a slave of stoicism [tonight].

Give Me Something

I'm stuck - stuck in the middle of the sentence I was writing and the words refuse to come to me. Your eyes greet me in silence as I glance up toward you - the same eyes that gave me their undivided attention since the first word that escaped me. Your ankle is crossed over your knee as you hold a cup of tea, slouching neatly. Almost careless, with that drowsy look you're wearing, except anything but careless is what you are. You stare at me poetically, stealing a fraction of my soul. 

The loose tie around your neck catches my attention. We speak with the eyes as the energy multiplies between us, revealing each bit of lust in our silent dialogue that glistens, yet neither of us act on it. The atmosphere remains silent and tender, and the only thing that makes a sound is the fireplace as it crackles. Your teeth dance across your lower lip, melting me slowly but surely. Then you take a sip from the warm cup in front of you and a smirk unfolds along my lips.

A towel is wrapped around me, yet my flesh is not revealed - I rest beneath your harmless gaze, and as you watch me write, sitting right across from me, intensity builds and the angle that your neck rests on calls for me. We are stuck in a glare that is ruled by passion, yet you don't lay a finger on me, and I don't reach out to touch you. I embrace the scent of your skin and the cold look on your face, as a layer of warmth betrays it. One touch to break the silence - that is all it takes to unveil me. But a battle forms between this very tender moment and the darker side of our conscience that screams for dirty filthy passion. I watch as a smile makes its way across your lips, and in the timeframe it takes to catch your eyes once again, we both choose the moment, recognizing its incomparable value as we sit there in silence, prolonging each second that passes. 

…so you continue to watch me write each word. And as my fingertips reach the final letter, I glance up at you with a genuine smile on my face, and finally you reach me. You are tender and gentle, placing a kiss on my forehead, and I come into your arms, holding onto you tightly, with lips slowly running down your cheek. The lust still exists between us, but it transforms into a calm atmosphere filled with compassion, your fingertips playing along the back of my neck. I touch your lips, and there are kisses in between, but the remainder of the night belongs to a dialogue of silence - it is really quite beautiful. 

Thoughts in a Princess Bed

I picked up my stuff and left that day. The last thing I recall is the frustration building up over Sunshine’s fragile condition, followed by his disappearance altogether. I picked up my stuff and made my way to the place I used to call home, six months ago - add or subtract a day or two.

In between doggy-time, and arguing with a brother that’s a walking cliché, I was analyzing my life, as per usual, and reflected on many things, starting with my growing desire to spend time coloring pictures with magic markers.

While laying in my four-poster princess bed surrounded by the red walls that I don’t miss that much, I also began to ponder the whereabouts of the order and clarity I so deeply admire – that is when there aren’t twenty-eight-thousand items on my worry-list, but how can I not worry about twenty-eight-thousand items, when I happen to be a Virgo-child with a constant need to fix, fix, fix, and improve – just about everything.

This is what I thought about:

-My desire to go on a hunt for a new fragrance – something sweet, something sexy, something…bold with a touch of Virgo-child perfection.

-My excitement for the fall; the changing leaves falling by the day, the cold crisp weather accompanied by the season’s fashion, hot cups of tea and philosophical discussions, pumpkin-flavored-everything, and the chance to wear the never-ending-collection of coats in my closet.

-The return of ‘Sunshine’ in the week that follows, and all the things I’m going to do when I have my life back as it was – a shopping spree, a night out to an extravagant lounge, a breakfast with the ladies, a solo adventure down Yonge street, a date to someplace ordinary like a museum followed by something rather strange, and a train trip…somewhere to the middle of nowhere.

-Returning to school with a clearer picture of where I am headed, minus the useless electives that I haven’t quite enjoyed, except that philosophy course that has improved my conversation skills and overall understanding of humans.

-An intervention in the area of romance and the abrupt decision I made to never shed a tear for another guy again. Ever.

-The feeling of fulfillment returning to my apartment, with a newly-discovered appreciation for days spent in a towel, and the self-made earthquakes in my building, thanks to Spice Girls blasting through the speakers.

-The very pretty book I bought, filled with all sorts of fairy tales, that I intend to read each night before bed time.

-The overall sense of satisfaction, butterflies, and non-stop thrill from having a special someone a part of my life in the last X. 

Dear Sunshine

I don’t typically complain about Sunshine, because Sunshine is a huge part of my life. As a matter of fact, I love Sunshine with all my heart. Sunshine is my wheelchair, and yes, it’s a boy. This is a complaint entry.

I never complain about Sunshine’s presence in my life. I never complain about anything when it comes to him. I never even wish to be normal, because who the hell has time for that sh** when they have plans to take over the world? I love Sunshine a lot, but it’s time I expressed some feelings towards him. Here we go.

Dear Sunshine, You German Son of a B****,

I can’t believe you had the nerve to roll out on me again. I don’t recall treating you neglectfully and I certainly don’t understand why you keep putting my life on hold as if it’s some funny story all the chairs enjoy while being held in the shop.  

I’m mad at you because I defend your ass every single time someone tries to put you down. I never believe the false rumors people spread about you because I know who you are and the intangible good that you have done all your life. I owe you almost everything in my life – my job, education, social life, independence, boyfriends, girls nights, and above all, my confidence – but that doesn’t make it okay for you to roll out the door whenever you please, mister.

I am enraged that you ditched me on my 21^st birthday, but mostly I’m enraged because your absence has affected my confidence, and overall motivation to get sh** done. What pisses me off is I’m good to you – hell, I even named you Sunshine, and most wheelchairs don’t even have a name, you know.

Anyway, I want you to know that you’re missed. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how disabled I’d actually be without you, and I realized that every ounce of confidence I built, I owe to you. You are my access to everything in life and I promise that no matter what anyone ever says about you, I will always love you unconditionally and no one can turn me against you. Please come home soon – fall is almost here and we’re going to own it.

P.S. I was only kidding – you’re not a German son of a b****

Love,

NEE-KOH-LEH-TAH