I never used words to cover my flaws, but rather to reveal my soul.
To those who helped with a share, with a word, with an ad, with sponsoring, to the artists’ collective of poets, singers, comedians and dancers who performed, who applaused, who incentivized, who worked hard, to BerlinInternational whose students and academic staff sold cookies to help us out, to WickedProjects constantly by my side….WE MADE IT! Because of you, 250-500 people will have access to clean water, perpetually (my special, favourite word to use). There are not enough words from me to you to simply say THANK YOU, for believing in my initiative and for making my dream come true! Art matters, love matters!❤️
#soar, #soaringwords, #loveforchildren, #soarforunicef, #wickedprojectsforsoar, #berlininternationalforsoar, #handpump, #waterwell, #alliwantforchristmas, #weareone, #berlinevents, #charityevent, #art, #love, #hope.
My name is Musa. Lancia Musa. Like a muse in search for shaping realities, I was incepted with American precision, styled with Italian vision and engineered with craft and luxurious details, making me a unique, sophisticated brand, sexy and elegant at the same time. I am a versatile mpv, suv, pkw, and other variegated acronyms, highlighting good choices, class and flexibility. I make eyes turn when I show up on short-term city spots and leave Mercedes-Benzes behind on the highway long-run.
Upon my conception I saw a girl once who went by the name of Soar. It was love at first sight. She came to me with joy and smiles and took me home immediately. We’ve been inseparable ever since. She gave me a roof above my head, oiled my needs, refuelled my heart constantly, got me new lungs, changed my rubber shoes too often and kept me clean and pretty, no matter the costs and circumstances, giving me the best that one can give: her secrets, her trust….and her very important roses. From her first Italian swearword to her deepest love, I was her confident, her support, her happiest moment at dusk and dawn, when she would just drive and sing to me about her world.
I gave my all to her in return, like a chameleon of options with unmeasured devotion: a buddy to shop with, a bodyguard at night after a club, a listener of her sighs and enthusiasm, a dance partner for her body-waves practice, a best friend when she crossed an entire country to change life, a giggling confident at the traffic lights when her lips longed for a retouch…..and more than one can fantasize.
She called me Carolina and every time she came to me, whether in a parking lot, unpaved road or in front of a friends house, she always brought a lot of joy along. I could never have enough of her eyes catching my sight.
Yet, time, the prequel of hope and sequels foe, summoned the gods of the universe and ascribed them the task to cut ties and end lives; to change courses and cast unpredictability around; to test the length of words and the weight of their purpose: it would have been either me or her to survive destiny’s need to recalibrate life. Because the best of things come with a hard price.
I struggled, I fought, I sent hundreds of petitions, I denied all gods claiming such choice, but no one listened to my words, no one cared for my toil. They laughed at me and said that I was made of steel, ergo I couldnt have feelings. Yet, my adamancy didnt let go and I made a pact with them. She will never know that on that gloomy night, laden with heavy rain, oil traces and inadvertent happenings, I chose to die in order to keep her alive. I chose to put my body before hers and take that bullet of pain to never see her eyes again. And, in that tragic moment, they reduced me to pieces, smashing all my circuits while she, my dearest one, got out without a scratch. As my heart was still throbbing for life to the bewilderment of all passers-by, I could see her tears invading her cheeks, denying any aid for her safety, being too swift with the policemen and their formalities, asking every single passenger instead to help me, to save me, to do something. They kept her away from me, thinking that I might explode but she wouldnt hear of it. She came directly inside and there, on my mortuary bed, we spent together in tears the most amazing moments.
The modulus of rupture was being tested. She begged me not to go, she asked me to get well, she told me she would find all the money in the world to make me whole again. But I was falling into a coma and, as much as my lights were still addicted to her eyes, her words, her tears, her calling my name constantly and her fight to keep my body stable dimmed in a pleasant sleep, where I could find solace and peace.
They say that the hardest thing to do in life is to separate from a loved one.
I know that even now she looks around to find me in a parking lot and a tear twinkles in the corner of her eye. I know that she exchanged strong words with the workshop which refused to repair me and then she left for good that place. I know that any new companion presented to her with “10 airbags and all-inclusive services” would never match my only frontal one. I know that her last visit to my graveyard was the best ritual she could have given me in front of an unsympathetic taxi-driver. She kissed me from the wheel to my deepest wound in my carroserie. I know she would still give anything to see me well and functioning and that she suffers greatly for losing 15 years of togetherness and memories. But I also know that saving her life was worth it. Her smile still needs to comfort people and she loves greatly every life she touches. Her happiness will be my luminary.
Mutatis mutandis, all that I can say to you now, new steel companion joining her side, is to treat her well and, maybe, she will have you grow a heart between your plastic features and airbags, between that array of eye-catching accessories and the basic needs for safety, hopefully beyond the given warranty. Understand that in order to rejoice her care, you need to be truthful. Dont play dramas with her feelings, dont stress her with broken electric contacts and issues, dont do the self-centred bull**t. Forget about all those trendy automotive hashtags and just be her real guide. Because if you win her loyalty, thats a forever thing. She’s never for half measures, what she gives is complete, at 360 degrees.
And to my owner and my love, tell her that it was an honour and a joy to have lived and died in the pamper of her heart. Give her two advices from my part: to stop having doubts about that guy and to learn, once and for all, how to use that handbrake!!! I hope she wont give you a hard time and that she will allow you to carry her roses and win her care, so that my passing away will not have been in vain. This will feel like “the end of an era” for her, but I arranged with the gods to replenish her new start and to protect the hope she still has in abundance. That was my wish in exchange for my sacrifice. I will never forget how she made me feel amazing, every time…with just one frontal airbag!
The best car in the world
#soar, #soaringwords, #poetry, #storypoetry, #mylanciamusa, #loss, #life, #people, #passion, #hope, #loyalty, #love.
Picture Credits: private source.
You dont know me, but I saw you the other day handing out flyers at the corner of a venue, with sparkles of conviction in your eyes and gestures of faith in your hand. I didnt catch the words, but your body language told me that words matter. Sharing words matters. Sharing words that matter matters. So I picked up a flyer from the dust, twirled by the wind just before your flip-flops crossed my path, leaving a smile fading in the dim light of a debonair flair intermingled with that art: on the walls, on your counter-hype clothes, on that woke debates ensued from those manifests.
All these details shape you in my eyes as a millennial, so Id rather watch my vocabulary, learn vernaculars and apply euphemisms, in a post-truth age and heightened states of awareness on all levels, from the Kardashians coke during protests to the LGBT representation in Harry Potter books, where jokes become micro-aggressions, compliments are subconsciously biased, uniqueness needs to become inclusive, feminism is not enough if its not intersectional, veganism has its own woke-abulary and places are not cool, unless they are called safe spaces. Things are no longer discussed, they are unpacked, dissected, redefined in multifaceted layers of systems and I am almost feeling bad for being a girl who likes a guy in the regular old-fashioned style, without the need for trans-, cis-,-centric, prefixes and suffixes added to it.
Is it ok if I just want to know you from within, without political labels and activist social stances to it?
Let me tell you a little bit about myself: I dont think I am millennial, nor too advanced on the woke-osity, even if I am not denying agency to social problematics, historical truths, power differentials and inequalities. I am in between generations, which has helped me to cherish the assets and values from both and to navigate my way towards the next statistical outcome: the generation W is going to be lit:).
My passion for cultures has allowed me to share my writings with diverse audiences, enjoy up-close experiences and explore my versatility, without casting shadows, but rather shedding light onto anything worth sharing.
I love to chill but I dont do the Netflix thing, I am tight with fun, but I am not too pump on abusing my freedom in clubs, just because we’re in Berlin and that’s the hype of enjoying life. I dont do yoga because its the trend, I dont introvert my love because I already have a pet, I like words that matter and I dont rise to debates if I hear an exotic compliment. High key, I am all about hashtag #hope and hashtag #love as a political stance, if I were to be defined, in this world where we need to be one to survive.
I wonder what you are like beyond those inclusive terms, which come with every newly woke starter-pack, asserting virtuosity in our micro-universes.
I would like to know where you come from….not where you’re from from, but rather which landscapes you roamed as a child while wishing to be an astronaut, and which was the language of your dreams.
I wonder what moves you and what stops you, if your hopes are wide shut, or how was the kiss you gave last time. I wonder if you make your parents proud and if you are humble enough to appreciate the three sentences of life: I love you, Thank you, and I apologize.
I wonder which line of a song makes you sigh and if you would help a ladybug find its way in spring, before writing 40 petitions about plastic. I wonder about what makes you smile and your last thought before you go to sleep. I wonder if you are too woke to enjoy the simple things…..
I wonder if your favourite quote is academic or rather sensitive. I wonder if you use B.A.E., G.O.A.T and emojis on most Facebook entries and if coolness defines you from inside-out instead of from outside-in. I wonder if you move a smile or a life with your words and if you give love to chance or give love a chance instead. I wonder what is beyond the tall, dark and handsome silhouette in flip flops, handing out problematic manifests.
See, I saw you sharing words, with sparkles of conviction in your eyes, killing my song softly, and I wonder…..if you want to hashtag #happiness with me.
(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: Shape of my heart, National Museum, Port of Spain, Trinidad. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.