Better in my thoughts

It makes me sad that so many things I think about are so much better in my thoughts. Like the post I did way back on the idea of newspaper and cigarettes. They make me think of Sherlock Holmes and conjure up this amazing image of libraries, but the truth is both newspaper and cigarettes stink with a very chemical and acrid smell.

Now the idea of Old Perfume comes up in the very same way. It appears romantic in writing and it seems to be full of promise with the idea of a heavy, aged and rich aroma but the truth is, it just smells cheap and overly strong.

This makes me sad.

Yesterday

So Yesterday after the bail, my mother and father went out to have lunch with that man. He was apparently very visibly shaken and trembling all over. They were there to offer moral support.

I have to be very honest here, although I was curious about the incident, I am very glad I never got to see the events itself as the more distance I have with the occurrence, the more I can feel less. I'm always slightly uncomfortable when confronted with this topic. I want to know but knowing doesn't help anything. Therefore the less I know the less of an issue it becomes.

I hate this feeling of helplessness. I wish I could be of use, but I know I can't do much at all.

So after my parents came back from dinner with him, my dad came into my room. I couldn't help but ask how the man was doing. My dad was silent for a while, and sighed a bit, probably not knowing how to respond. We both already knew the answer was "not too well," but it was the only way I could express my concern.

Suddenly my dad hugged me tightly and kissed me on top of my head. His worry about his friend's situation but also his grateful relief that this did not happen in his life was very tangible in his hug. I felt a little uncomfortable feeling that kind of intense expression from my father. Yet I was also glad that I was there for him to feel relieved about. He was probably thinking about the man's daughters and how the man might never see them again. It made me a little sad.

Therefore I shrinked away from the hug because I was so uneasy that I was so close to that situation, that it could affect my parents and my life this way.

So I will repeat my one wish here again, however selfish this wish may be: If I could have anything in the world, it would be the ability to help and see everyone in my vicinity happy, whether directly or indirectly. I wish that I would be able to turn on the television and see only happy news. That everyone I affect can be happy, that I would have the ability to help everyone around me.

It's a selfish wish because I don't hope for everyone's happiness. I don't try to because I know it's not possible, so I only wish for the happiness of everyone I see, that everything that I ever encounter is only filled with happiness.

This is ignorance in rose-coloured glasses, but imagining it makes me feel relieved and released.

Sometimes I am so selfish.

Two smells

There are two smells that I do not like. (there are probably more than two, but I will only focus on this duo right now).

I do not like heavy cigarette smoke nor do I like the smell of newspaper.

I have a feeling that the combination of both will be deadly for me.

However, I like the sound and idea of the duo together. Doesn't heavy smoke and newspaper sound alluring? Almost mysterious? Smoke misting over a dark lit room where only a lamp shines on a man reading a newspaper. Very Sherlock Holmes-ish.

Also very masculine.

Yet, I really don't like the smell. I just like the idea of them. And I kind of like feeling two things about this combination. In reality, the smell of smoke is so poisonous and toxic. And Newspaper just smells inky and musty with a dirty, grungy undertone.

But in my imagination, they are magical. The smell of cigarette becomes sweet, like a heavy, spicy, ginger scent. And the smell of newspaper is obscured by the idea of someone sitting in an leather arm chair reading in the library where the hint of sweet cigarette is mixed with the smell of leather books and dusty paper.

MMmmm... the imagination is delicious.