When I finally returned home this summer after seven weeks of being away, I found
something rather surprising waiting for me. I suppose you could take it as a “welcome back” present from my mom. The object itself is actually rather commonplace- one of those solar flowers that moves its petals when exposed to sunlight (see picture on the right). The significance of it comes from the phrase that it proudly proclaims: “smile!”. Poignant but not trite, and short and sweet enough for me. It now graces my windowsill, nudging me to think positively every time I daydream, looking out the window, so wrapped around the elusiveness of my future, that all it takes is that simple word to ground me.
A couple weeks ago, I discovered the spoken word poet Sara Kay . She is one of those unique individuals who captures the very essence of what it means to be human and how small one can feel in the fast paced society in which we inhabit but how the wondrous the world can truly feel if you just open your eyes. Not only that, she is a master of words and can transform those concepts into an art, that, really speaks for itself. One of my favourite lines by her would have to be: “There’s hurt that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry…because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
So you’re probably wondering what a solar flower and Sara Kay have in common. Well absolutely nothing, apart from the fact that I wrote this poem inspired by Sara Kay which involves, among other things, the concept of smiling:
If Insanity Were Reason….
If insanity were reason, photographs would come to life and from all those blurry captures, anonymous strangers caught in my sunday afternoon moment would turn around and tell me their stories.
How they were caught in the rain that morning, standing at the corner of bitter and sweet or how they had chased the moon all the way until the end of the dock only the night before, the beach sand coarse between their toes.
They may tell me all about the memories, caught beneath the floorboards of their grandmother’s attic, or the cool, clear river of tears that had snaked its way down their cheeks as they watched their daughter walk for the first time. Then, they will tell me why they smile for someone else’s photograph and why they continue to do so in a world where superheroes are rare and kindred spirits, rarer still. And I will tell them: “did you know it only takes 17 muscles to smile and 43 muscles to frown?”
I’ve always wondered if the people who display no smiles, laughter or even anger on their marble cold faces are in a simple state of emotional uncertainty. The jigsaw puzzles of their feelings scattering like newly fallen leaves beneath the surface of their exterior. Some of life’s greatest art is cut right out of stone.
I also wonder if confidence is like calories. Gather too little and you become anti-matter, imploding from the inside, out and there’s no point in sharing your voice because you barely even exist. Gather too much however, and you’re tipping the scales of pride, privilege and the possibility that you are wearing a hat too large to see beneath the brim of. It’s your father’s of course, and you cannot even look out from under it to spot the big dipper – a spoon that will quench your thirst and your curiosity.
Fifteen years from now, perhaps my kids will ask me, “what’s for dinner”, “are we there yet”, or even “do I have to go to bed”? And when I frown in response, they will tell me to save my energy because one burns far less calories smiling.
