Tonight’s post is something different from my usual book-related ones. I thought of sharing a short story written by one of my friends, it’s called “Dishes” He ain’t no professional writer but his short story is so written beautifully. I really enjoyed reading it and thought why not share this beautiful piece of literature with you guys? It might be something you could relate to especially if you think a lot, even while washing the dishes.
“Dishes”
By Vaseem Sherief
As I stand before the rushing sound of flowing ice-cold water and the clutter of dirty dishes, I drift away into the ocean as the water spirals down the sink, I drift away far into the unknown thinking about me , my life and how it’ll be, all while still being well aware of what I was physically doing. Sometimes thoughts of the far past came over me as huge tidal was and drenched me in all its saline glory, about the days when I dreamt and I took actions – albeit small actions, yet actions nonetheless – to make those dreams an everlasting reality, and sometimes the waves took the forms of treacherous tsunamis of concerns about the future that was to come that almost drown my very existence, but I still pull out of it all.
As I myself about to turn into an tsunami and wash away all the tiny little islands of food and food stains with my trusty sidekick – the sweet smelling dishwasher liquid soap sud drenched sponge – I started to see patterns these islands seem to make, patterns that I soon realise are pictures and me, me during my happiest of days that I soon simply wash away clean with what people want me do.
I’m almost done doing the dishes, but I don’t want this infinitesimally small fraction of a moment to be over, I want to keep thinking, keep thinking about myself, of what I once wanted, of what I still want to be and of what I still might become. Because these were my thoughts about myself that I finally had the freedom to think about and no-one, absolutely no-one could stop me from doing that.
I finish washing and drying the last ceramic plate, looking at it as if it were a magic mirror that would transform me into a strange alien being as my image reflected upon its surface kept warping me into something, something that I truly wasn’t and I kept going closer towards and for some weird reason I blurted out the line, “Then she turns to those liars, the candles and the moon”, and I have no idea why I said or where I remember that line from, except realising that it was from a poem I once read at some point in my life. I kept standing there in front of the now empty kitchen sink and I suddenly get a little tap on the back of my head that washes me shore to reality. I look back and it’s my mom telling me with a deadly frown that every mother has the unique ability to make, “ You’re wasting water, turn off the faucet and get back to earth already, I’ve looking at you talking to that plate for five minutes now. I get it you did the dishes, you don’t need to admire your work so much.”, giving me a faint smile as she said so. I then gave off a fake smile and then simply said that I’m going to bed as surely as I had to get up early the next day for work and I as I lay down to go to sleep – which I immediately did – I think about when I’d get to drift away, into the ocean again, my ocean.
A special thanks to Vaseem Sherief for allowing me to share this beautifully written short story to the world. Thanks man!
Reads for Keeps 