New Year’s promise

2008 has just knocked at our doors and I made a promise to myself: this year I would engage in a real exercise program, I wouldn’t reckon walking to the market across the street as work out anymore. Three friends of mine have experienced a Yoga class last week and they invited me to go on a free trial after workday. I’ve never been a fan of those kinds of calm and relaxing activities, I’m more of an agitated and outgoing person, but they told me so many great things about it, that would help me improve my balance and get more conscious about my own body, that I thought

 

“Indeed I need to chill out a little bit. What the hell, I’ll give it a shot”.  – I convinced myself.

 

As we arrived at the yoga house I could see the serenity of the place exhilarating. White little rocks formed a path crossing through the front yard, leading to the house and a lot of trees around. Of course I was “lucky” enough to come across a battered car that noticeably has been parked above the beautiful path for the last 20 years, so I had to take my new gorgeous high-heel shoes for a walk over the muddy grass. Well, that would be OK if I haven’t just hit a branch with my head, making a lemon fall miles away off the tree.

 

“What an adventurous entrée!” – I considered.

 

We came into the master yoga room and I felt the hot, dense air suffocating me. There were four other students already there and they were squirming in ways I have never imagined anyone’s body could. The teacher, who was skinny as a pencil, was wearing a worn out outfit that was once white. His long and uncombed brown hair was tied in a horse-tail. He handed me a purple smelly mat which I had no idea what to do with. He must have noticed my weird look when I thought “are they brainsick?”

 

As I’m a very obstinate person (OK, stubborn maybe…) I put down the mat on the floor and hopefully waited for directions. Indeed they came out, it was a sort of:

 

“Hello everyone, this is a Swasthya (…or whatever) Yoga class, please follow my lead.” – the teacher told us, twirling and bending upon his red stained mat, without further guidance.

 

He expected us to repeat the exact same movements. At this point my friend and I glanced at each other and the laughs couldn’t be contained. In fact, we couldn’t do anything else but laugh. The teacher gave us a pierce look and we felt compelled to leave the room.  

 

“Carin! No way would I ever been able to repeat that movement! We’ve got to try boxing next time!!” – I said, laughing as a kid.

Voice changes exercise – 2 versions

Version #1:

 

Camille was alone in the house at that time, one of that precious and seldom times she has been missing lately. The lights were off, the scented candles were doing their jobs to keep the bathroom comfortable and cozy. That was her refuge, her safe place, where she could worry about herself only.

 

It has been a tough day at work. Although Bryan and Dr. Miller had not agreed, she has decided to go back to her normal life as fast as she could. The last week has been extremely difficult, forcing herself to recall everything about the clients needs, where they kept the coffee at the office, how to manage the e-mails. Everything seemed to be so new and so old at the same time, since she had been diagnosed with amnesia. Now, every day feels long and painful.

 

The water was perfectly hot inside the bathtub, the cinnamon oil was exhlating a sweet and reinvigorating scent. The Goo Goo Dolls album playing on the bedroom was a good discovery on her CD pile. Indeed she liked them and that made her feel a little bit more as herself.

 

 

 

Version #2:

 

I was alone in the house at that time, this was one of that precious and seldom times I have been missing lately. The lights were off, the scented candles were doing their jobs to keep the bathroom comfortable and cozy. This is the only place were I can hide from everyone else and just be me, were I can worry just about myself.

 

It has been a tough day at work. I know that Bryan and Dr. Miller don’t agree with me getting back to work, but I just want my normal life back! The last week has been extremely difficult, I have to recall everything I used to do: what my clients used to order, where the hell they keep the coffee in the office and how to manage my e-mails. It’s like I knew every of those things, but on the other hand I don’t have a clue how to use them. Since the accident every day seems long and painful.

The water was great, neither scalding hot, nor cold. The cinnamon oil I’ve bougth that day was exhalating a sweet scent, it made me feel like I was able to do anything. I’ve just loved that Goo Goo Dolls CD I’ve found tossed in a pile. Now I know why I really liked that music. 

If only…

“If only I had the same strong legs I used to have I could stand up. If my back didn’t hurt so much I could pull myself up. If I could shout loud enough somebody could hear me, or maybe if I had somebody, that person could be just a few steps away. If my eyes stopped missing some details I could watch life going on again with the same enthusiasm. Maybe then I would have the strength to go on.” – he said in a low voice.

 

He was standing in front of the TV, watching the news and taking the same sandwich as the past couple of evenings. The news man was telling the story about a woman whose doctor had given up trying to fight her cancer, but somehow the brave woman found a way to bounce back and smash the very thing was claiming her life.

 

He found the story pretty nice, some time ago he would even cheered with it, writing to the woman to congratulate her for the victory and spreading the news to all of his friends so they would feel encouraged to fight for something. Not anymore. He wasn’t that kind of person any longer. He could feel the changes in his body, his mind. Not that he doesn’t wanted to be that guy anymore, but the time and the circumstances have finally beaten him.

 

Sustaining his body weight with the aid of the walking-stick, he got off the chair. The right shoulder burned immediately and he noticed that simple task was getting harder day-after-day.

 

“After all, I’m lucky Katherine isn’t around to see me like this” – he whispered.

 

Slowly walking through the hall he went to the kitchen. Hanging on the wall there was the frame that used to display one of his favorite pictures, their trip to Barcelona, Spain. They have had great times on that place and the picture once had a status of treasure in that home. Now, all of was left was an empty dusty frame suspended in an equally dirty wall. The tiles of the kitchen that were once red showed a pale orange now. They were as old as the house and many of them have cracked or presented gray stained circles at this point, because of the use of the walking stick. His blue rubber slippers layed over one of the little stones that came off the tile, hurting his toe.

 

At that time he felt like doing the dishes, after all, one single plate and a glass wouldn’t justify the use of the washing machine. Although simple tasks like that required some will these days, he couldn’t live with the fact he wasn’t able to do such things anymore. The least he could do was to take care of himself.

 

“Not that I have anything more interesting to do at the moment, though…” – he considered.

 

He approached the sink and put down the plate. He sustained his weight into the good leg to get both hands clear. The knee complained a little bit. He rested the walking stick on the right side of the sink and grabbed the detergent. The left elbow, in which he holds the dish burns, is giving sign that it’s not the same anymore.

 

“At least I’m still capable of doing the dishes” – he appraises himself.

 

While turning left to store the plate into the cupboard he doesn’t notice the large amount of water laying on the tiles. He treads on the puddle and the rubber slippers slides on it. Suddenly he can’t feel the floor anymore. He tries to reach his stick, failing to help himself out of the hazard. He tumbles with a cracking sound.

 

Laying on the floor he says in a low voice: “If only I had the same strong legs I used to have I could stand up…” – the voice fainting on the enormous kitchen.

 

Maybe…

“Maybe someday she will look at me the way I look at her. Maybe this day will be the happiest of my entire life, or maybe it will be only the beginning of something bigger. Maybe she will notice my chin’s scar, my breath difficulties and my hazel-not-brown eyes. Maybe she will even discover a few things I’ve never noticed about myself. Maybe she will put down her therapist notebook, stop writing things about me and really get to know me, to understand the most deep fears and desires of mine. Maybe someday I won’t be just a page, an appointment to her, this day I’ll be hers.”