Broken Daughters

Picking up the shattered glass of fundamentalism

When time stands still and a praise to some very special people


I just sit there. Daylight sneaks into my room and throws shadows on the walls.

And I’m thinking that everything stopped. This isn’t the world we know anymore. It changed, it shifted. I’ll be caught in this very moment forever. I will sit forever, on my bed, I will not age, I will not feel hunger or thirst, I will not tire from it. I will sit there for eternity and the daylight will never cease to draw figures on my wallpaper.

Dusk falls over the world, but I don’t know about it. The daylight still seems to tickle my face. The world just isn’t spinning anymore. How long will it take for the catastrophes to come? Will energy go out? Will the earth’s shielding atmosphere collapse, will comets hit us, because the magnetic field depends on the world spinning? I don’t think that will happen. Time stopped. The atmosphere is trapped not by the magnetic field but by the simple lack of time to disappear.

The stars are shining bright and yellow. That is because it’s cold outside. The crisp air makes stars more visible. But I don’t see the stars.

The daylight still shines through my window and for the first time in my life I understand what Einstein might have meant when he said time is relative. Sometimes it’s nonexistent.

I’m very sure now that time has stopped. I sat there for hours and I didn’t hear a single car pass by my window. I live right next to one of the main streets and everything is silent. I’m certain that if I stood up and took a look outside, I’d see cars and people frozen in movement. Would anybody be tieing their shoes? Everybody is a statue. I know that because I am one of them.

Suddenly, the silence is broken by the sound of a key turning the lock of the front door. I hear feet, the whispering noise of warm jackets rubbing against each other, shoes dropping on the ground in the hall. Steps. The door of my room is open and three people appear. I’m still, I’m not surprised, I heard them come in. And yet I say in a calm, toneless voice that isn’t mine “You surprised me.” They don’t get it. They think I didn’t expect them. But the truth is, I didn’t expect that anybody on this planet could move.

My roommate Kathy comes over and kisses me on the forehead. “We brought some sushi along and some movies. We’ll make tea, and eat. We got your favourite sushis. Come on over into the kitchen.” She gets up  and goes to the kitchen. I ponder on what she just said. She always says “sushis”, but the plural of sushi is sushi, I believe. Maybe I should tell her that.

I get up, shaking the hard concrete out of my joints. I start to think that if they arrived a few minutes later, I would’ve turned to stone entirely. I’m kind of glad they are there. I don’t want to be made of stone.

Kathy, Simon and Daniel are in the kitchen, boiling water for the tea, preparing the sushi (or the sushis). Their mouths are flapping around which leads me to think that they might be talking to each other. I look outside and see the night sky. When did it arrive? Suddenly I’m not so sure anymore that time has stopped. I look outside, but see no movement. This throws me off again. I decide to believe that I’m wrapped in a million cotton balls. That would explain the lack of noise from the moving mouths of my friends as well. For now.

Next thing I know is me wrapped in a blanket. Daniel has his arms around my shoulders, Kathy is sitting at my feet, massaging and warming them. Simon is arranging an awful load of candy on the sofa. There’s a movie on TV. It must have been running for some time. I ask them what movie we are watching. They tell me it’s called Garden state. The main character tells a story about his mother. He pushed her, she stumbled over the open door of the dishwasher and ended up handicapped. Then she drowned in her own bath tub. For a second I think that their choice of movie was a terrible one. I look at their faces and I know that they know it too. Suddenly I burst out laughing and crying at the same time. I can’t hold myself. I’m rolling around laughing, literally, tears and whatnot streaming over my face. I’m almost screaming laughter. My friends ask me what was up with me. I tell them “It’s so funny. She stumbled over the open door of the dishwasher and ended up handicapped. That’s so funny. And then she drowned because she’s handicapped. That’s FUNNY!” I don’t know why that was funny. All I know is that the situation seems right to get it all out. Might it just be I have gone mad?

It’s 2 AM and I’m in bed but I can’t sleep. I’m still trying to imagine what it would look like if I stumbled over the dishwasher door. I get my laptop and go to my blog. I read the comments and I feel strange. I think I’m happy somewhere inside. I realize that I have a second family. I have my friends, the ones who brought me sushi, and my friends, who comment on my blog. I look at the time the comments were posted. Now I knew that none of you were statues. You were moving, too. Your fingers typing. Your minds thinking of me. Yes, I’m a bit happy. I catch up reading some blog posts before I fall asleep.

6 thoughts on “When time stands still and a praise to some very special people

  1. my heart is bursting for you. To be so far away. To have all of these strangers reading your story. but not strangers, people who truly feel love for you and are thinking of you and praying and wishing for true joy for you. As a mom, I want to wrap my arms around you and hold you tight. Hope you feel the love, honey.

  2. I’m glad you have your blog friends (mine have gotten me through some rough times) but I am also glad you have friends who can be there in the flesh. Take your time, you need all the hugs and candy and foot massages you can get. The cotton ball haze slips away eventually, I promise.

  3. I was listening to this and though of you.

  4. I am so grateful you are in a safe place to grieve in whatever ways you need to. I suspect you are grieving over even more than the loss of your dear sister. I hope you will be able to take as much time as you need with each step. I wish I could send you some hugs and candy over the internet. Praying for you.

  5. You’re writing literally takes my breath away. I grieve for you and am inspired by you at the same time. Sending so much love your way! ❤

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