There is a reason why the moons, the planets, the stars, the electrons — everything — have their own orbits around objects and beings far greater than them. These heavenly objects have no choice in this matter, and thus they are alway on track, always in an orbit. But human souls on Earth, they are not all in their orbits. Some wander and are lost, while others were never in orbit in the first place. This rather ambigous “story” tries to capture how one soul found her way back to her orbit, all the way from the furthest point she had strayed away to.

---

She almost let herself laugh. There was not a soul in sight, as far as she could see. Neither a dog straying the ground, nor a sea gull flying the skies. For once she would have it all as she planned, and there was not an eye to watch over her now. She would script the ending of her life, all by herself - at least this part of her life was fully in her control.

So why was she waiting?

She had parked her car just in front of one of many "Unstable Cliffs, STAY BACK!" signposts.

She pulled herself out of the car, and slammed the door shut. Her life was over, her past was over. She was about to be set free, she told herself. No more expectations, no more need for hope. No more need to breath in and breath out. No more burning in the cold. No more pain.

The force of the wind took her by surprise and the hissing of the wind coupled with the sounds of the breaking of the waves underneath to give the place as dangerous as it seems an eerie serenity, as did the bright autumn rays of the dying sun striking and warming her face. The atmosphere was surprisingly clear and lucid, and she noticed that her mind too was as clear and lucid. The demons of her mind seemed to have gone away to celebrate their victory, but was she glad of that! For once, the pens have been taken away from them and she could, she really could, write the last page of her life for herself all in peace.

She wondered how long her bloody body would have to wait for the eyes of someone. She walked on. Do not stop, do not look back. Do not think, do not fear death. What is there to fear when there will be no future, what is there to grieve when there is no living heart to do so?

But she kept her eyes open.

---

"You see, young lady," said he, after a minute or two of silence, "we all are a minute or two away of giving up, of choosing eternal silence and darkness over a painful life…"

He paused as if a sudden memory struck him from down below, for suddenly he took his eyes away from the heavens above and drop them down unto the rocks below.

Anne, for that was her name, would have broken his sentence mid-way, by arguing that the choice was rather between the known and the unknown. The known full of suffering and sleep, regret and fear versus the unknown, a blank white world - but she was too overwhelmed with the world around her like she had never been before. Her thought kept revolving around the fact that for once she was worrying about the life and health of someone else, that poor girl that the papers would probably later reveal was saved by one Anne purely through her apparent love for the workings of nature. For that was why she was at the cliffs and happened to spot this poor girl half dead down below? How ironic...

The police officer finally seemed to have realised that he was out in the world rather than lost in his thoughts, and then did he notice her staring at him?

"Were you really here to watch the sunset?"

"Yes," she lied and to mask the obvious continued hotly, "I find them beautiful. The setting of the sun is as beautiful as the her rising, but a little sadder, I guess..."

Her eyes gave it all away. He sighed and looked back at the full moon. He sighed again, the sigh of a man who thought his entire life has been for nothing. When he spoke finally, his voice was deep and almost a whisper...

"When my little sister was entering into this beautiful world - she could only do so by killing my mother - I was the only family beside them. My mother held me by my hands as if they were the only remaining thing she could hold onto in this life and looked me in the eyes..."

She could see he was tearing up, but he allowed the tears to flow.

"This is my last month in my job. I've been doing this for forty years; I just can't wait to retire..."

"What did she say, sir?" She was now genuinely curious. It'll make him cry, but she wanted it. She wanted anything that could heal her, make her think, give her the limbs to climb up and the wings to fly away.

"She asked me to look after my sister like she did me. She asked that she should be buried fast. She said that the dust would cover but her spirit would live in me and in those that loved her. She was a blind woman, but she thought me many things."

---

She could fell the breeze of the cool night wind caressing her face and hair. She could actually smell the saltiness of the ocean. She heard the waves breaking over the rocks, and the swoosh actually did
comfort her. For the first time in a long time, she found herself taking delight in these things - these little things of nature that tend to be taken for granted, forgotten for the fantasy of the artificial world. This was the true reality, the beauty of the natural world, of things that were made for our eyes, our ears, and our hearts and minds. These were not the products of some fallible human hands but that of God himself for his creation.

She was indeed mesmerized. She allowed her gaze to travel upwards towards the heavens. Like a child, short-sighted from birth only to receive a pair of spectacles, gazing at the stars and enjoying it for the first time in its life. Why were they called stars? They were all dead but still they shine for all the world to see. They looked tiny, but in reality are larger than our earth many times over. They seem to serve no purpose but yet their beauty inspires us to realise our own beauty. ...A beautiful artist creates beautiful art. A beautiful architect creates beautiful architecture. A beautiful creator creates a beautiful creation. The beautiful universe was made just to be seen by my eyes, by He who made them both the universe and the eyes, she realised.

So much was her ecstasy that she found herself stumbling. But it didn't matter to her. She was lost in the infinite beauty of the Eternal One, but she knew she must find her orbit. Every time she fell, she had the energy to pick herself up.

---

Only when she was almost back home did she realise that the radio was on and the evening news were being read. Her mind was far away, in the past and in the future at the same time, but she could gauge what the voice was saying. A 19 year old girl died on the way to hospital following an "accident", she had fallen from the cliffs. There was no mention of any hero. She wondered if this was how they described that similar incident all those years ago, when she had saved two souls. Herself and that poor girl. Oh yes, that was all those years ago... whenever she drove alone returning home, her mind left her to dwell upon those fading memories. Unfortunately there wasn’t another hero like her to save this girl’s life today, but more unfortunately it is to realise that there were still children out there who don’t enjoy their childhoods, who haven’t been taught how to live.

But why should she be sad now? Tomorrow would be her twin daughters' tenth birthday and she had promised her husband that she would help throw a surprise party for them. She wondered what best to gift them both. Her mind was creating a colorful list. She was no more thinking of the past…

By saving and serving others, we save and serve ourselves. By being in orbit around them, we would never drift away to burn in the cold. Find your orbit around those who deserve your love, and save yourself ☺

“I should have had my dinner out! You called me for this shit you call dinner?!”

He was at it again. He was late as usual, as if he didn’t take much joy in food or dinners, let alone a conversation over dinner with his parents about his day — but no, his complaints over his mother’s food gave her the impression that it was for food he lived his life for and nothing else. As if he was paying for it, or as if he helped her with it, but then again, it was her job and if she wanted to do it alone, so be it!

“You don’t have to eat any of it if you don’t want to…”

“Then what? You want me to go to bed hungry? If you can’t cook, woman, do yourself a favour and just don’t!”

She wondered why only her first-born had to have some problem eating her food. He always found fault in what she did or made, let alone her cooking. She admitted that she was often too tired to take delight in what she did, but she tried her best and she did mistakes. But was she a paid servant to be punished by his cruel words? Was food more valuable to him than her happiness? Does he treat all women like this or was it only her?

She wasn’t angry but she couldn’t resist herself from asking, maybe…

“Why don’t you help me?”

“It’s all your own fault! Why don’t you get a maid for that? Or didn’t you think of having a daughter? Why should I be doomed …”

“You know we can’t afford one”

“That’s your damn problem!"

And suddenly then he did what he had never done before. In that sudden burst of anger, he spat at his plate and then overturned all the dishes. And for a second, he seemed to have realised that he had lost his senses and was searching for the right words to apologise, but no — he stuck to his anger as if it was justifiable, as if he was right all along.

He stared at her with disgust and revulsion. His eyes were veiled with pure anger, and his face he tried to twist into raw disgust. She wouldn’t take him or his words seriously, he hoped behind all the veils of anger, but how wrong was he.

She was taken back. Her hand shot over to her heart, as if she was afraid it would burst with despair and grief at this very moment. Her eyes continued to be stung by his and she knew they were coming. She turned away and immediately withdrew out of the dining room, that room he had made her hell. Why couldn’t she be like the other mothers? What went wrong between them? She didn’t want to let him see how much grief and sorrow his words could give her, but she also didn’t want him to be ignorant of this.

And then it came but this time she didn’t fight it. The tears.

A mother can be strong but her son’s cruel words can make her weak.

...
She look into the eyes of her little son, the apple of her eye, the extension of her body and soul. Her newest treasure in this world, born of her flesh and blood, and drinking from her too. His eyes were too young to have any veils over his soul, and his face too young to mask his mind. He blinked now and then, but his eyes shot open just as fast as if they were drinking from his mother’s love, just as his mouth was drinking from her milk. She realised then that he loved her more than she loved him, because he was her for much of his life. His heart till just recently knew no home but her womb, but now gradually it was finding its way to her heart. He was from his mother, and in her he found his home.

He stopped when his little stomach was satisfied. But his heart wasn’t and he kept looking at her. For one moment, he appeared to be searching for the right words (thank you), the words she was yet to teach him, but he simply couldn’t. But there was one think he could do though. And she knew it was coming, and she smiled.

He smiled back with her smile, and then stopped as if he didn’t want her to see that he had no teeth, but she knew very well that he didn’t. She kissed him. Nothing could go wrong between them.

The smile, that same smile he learnt from her, adorned his face again. This time he didn’t fight it. The smiles.

A mother can be weak but her son’s smile can make her strong.