the black lullaby

As you guys know, I stopped working on my second book for a while because although it was completed, it was written more out of a sense of vengeance than of passion and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t use your talent to harm people, because more often than not you end up hurting yourself.

However, I did start on a new journey and the second (second) book is coming along quite well.

“You don’t expect lullabies from the mouths of angels when you’re born in lucifer’s cradle…” – Brandon Ingram 2008.

And that is the name of the book… Lucifer’s Cradle. I know, it’s like from one extreme to another. But the story itself will have a very different concept to it. For a brief synopsis of the upcoming book, please read the new page.

Will keep you guys updated as I go along.

B.

When I was a kid, my Godmother would host these card parties at her home and they would be so awesome because all of her friends and family would come over and play on two tables for twenty four hours straight. It wasn’t about the winning and losing of money, it was about the conversations that took place around those two tables and how everyone just forgot the outside world for those twenty four hours and came together just to have fun and enjoy.

I remember always wanting to play, to be part of the fun… But I was told that I was too small and that I wouldnt’ understand the game (being rummy) and that when I was old enough I could play all I wanted to. There was one grand aunt in particular – Aunty Nora – she was the funnest of the lot. She would call me to her side and show me her cards and teach me the game. She would tell me why she kept a certain card and why she would discard another. She would jump with joy every time she collected a joker from the pack. And the best part of all was that she would more often than not, end up winning almost every hand.

Last night I received a call telling me that Aunty Nora had passed away. I didn’t know what got to me more, the fact that she was gone or the way in which the news was delivered to me, smacked into the middle of a conversation by my grandma who was half asleep when I called.

But she’s gone and I have one less friend from that generation now. As I sat through work today I kept thinking back to all the times I had spent with her, most of which were very brief. One fond memory seemed to linger in my mind, that of Aunty Nora stealing cutlets for me during lunch time at my godmother’s house when clearly a specific number had been made for the guests.

It made me realize that although she wasn’t a great part of my life, she made her mark in my past and in my heart. She may not have been a constant visitor in my home but her character still made an impact in my memory. Why? Because she stole a few cutlets for me? Or because she taught me to play rummy?

I don’t know, I really don’t. But what I do know is that someday, when it’s my time, I want to leave something behind like she did. Someone can be in front of you your whole life and still not break a single string in your heart when they’re gone. Someone could be related to you by blood and you would still not miss their presence when they are no longer in this world. I don’t want to be someone like that.

There are many lies life teaches us to tell and the one single truth it teaches us is death. But even when we’re at that final place, let’s hope that we can be remembered not for the great discoveries we made or for the way we changed the world because the person who’s born tomorrow can probably do something bigger and better. But let’s be remembered for the jokes we cracked, the times we fell and the stupid songs we tried to sing.

Rest well Aunty Nora and thank you for the stolen cutlets…