Fortunately, Unfortunately - by Ryan Osmond

Ryan Osmond

Fortunately, one day Kyle won a lottery ticket. Unfortunately, it was in Japan.

Fortunately, there was an airplane in 20 minutes. Unfortunately, the time he got there, there was a thunderstorm.

Fortunately, the clouds lowered, so the plane could lift off. Unfortunately, it started to hail.

Fortunately, he parachuted into Japan. Unfortunately, he landed on a fire.

Fortunately, the fire got put out. Unfortunately, he fell in an open manhole.

Fortunately, there was another manhole near by. Unfortunately, there was a giant troll ready to attack him.

Fortunately, it was only a statue. Unfortunately, now he was a mile away from the lottery ticket office.

Fortunately, there was a taxi. Unfortunately, he was short on money.

Fortunately, there was a bank. Unfortunately, by the time he got back from the bank the taxi was gone.

Fortunately, he brought a phone. Unfortunately, the new taxi ran out of gas.

Fortunately, it was right at the lottery ticket office! 

THE END

About the author

Ryan is an amazing  Canadian-Mexican 8 year old boy. His creativity is beyond limits. Used to have an imaginary friend called Guga. He loves  snow boarding, surfing, camping, rocks and backyard science. Ryan lives in Vancouver, BC with his parents, He is my best friend's son and Godson by heart...he is my beautiful, beautiful boy.

PART III – EDWINA MELTY HANDS

Edwina was her name…well, not really, not her real name, but Edwina nonetheless

She was always on the run, always on a spree, flying back and forth; just ask…she’s here

Showing off her talent, pretending to be free, but trapped by her own challenges, locked inside indeed

Mademoiselle Edwina, would you like some wine? Looking good, Miss Edwina! nice to see you and welcome back…

As time goes by Edwina, looking to be real, eager to be noticed, tried out different things

Bendy one Edwina, funny one Edwina, pretty one Edwina, smarty pants Edwina, reliable Edwina…sad inside Edwina

Why you cry, Menina Edwina?  Need more time to freshen up? Put yourself together, Edwina! You can’t afford to be the weak vulnerable one.

Who is judging if not herself? Her own reflection fading out…unrecognizable threatening shadows firing back from her almond watery eyes…

Don’t be so tough on you Edwina, open the lock and spread your mind.  You have the key right in your hands, the golden passport, the non-stop pass …just loosen up, shake it off, open up and say ENOUGH!

So close yet so far, it sounds so easy, it scares so much. To Edwina the good one, was given the chance to step forward, for no good reason, no question marks, no hidden agenda or hard feelings… can this be right?

And then Edwina, being Edwina, pondered and wondered way too much.  Over thinking is her thing, a nasty habit if you will.  The key is yours, darling, it always has and it will always be. Don’t forget: is in your hands, not even hidden, it is right here.

Right …in… my… fragile… melting… hands. 

Thank you for being here... thanks for your emails (especially you, Becky)... I am back!!!!

The living dead

There are many ways of dying. I’ve learned that soon enough as a child. When someone dies, you make your peace by mastering the idea of having our own time, our own cycle of life. Getting over the ones leaving voluntarily, by choice, by just walking out of your life is a little bit more complicated than that.


Keep living after death, soon the calm returns, melancholy remains, keeping them alive by usually remembering just the good times; we start turning them into heroes, supernatural beings, who are always by our side, watching our sleep, or so it seems. In our head they are perfect, nothing bad to recall, no horrible mistakes made all because they are not coming back.

The toughest to recover from are the ones alive and kicking, the tangible, audible, yet dearly departed ones. Looking for themselves, for their individuality, for their true self they left, unpredictable actions, morphing, making a new life. Leaving us in shards, emptiness and pain; trying to find comfort in a justifying lie or the bitter aftertaste of our sugar coated pride.

The stages of grief mutate when that presence re-appears every once in a while; in a comment, at a glance, in a picture seen by chance. They are still here, you know and feel. Yet not the same, not with you, not even near.

It is not easy to deal with the living dead. How to find peace and balance again? Time reveals: we screwed up by giving or asking for way too much; that protection was not needed on the contrary was bad, overwhelming, even castrating, nursing rotten feelings inside. Should we keep waiting for the right time for them to rectify? Do we really stand a chance or is just another lie? That love remains intact to eventually upraise. Is it really even possible to recover what has been broken inside?

November 2nd, day of the dead, reminiscence applies. Missing them, feeling them near and missing me with them as much. To the afterlife, to the new life, or wherever you guys are: I love you… in my own selfish way, in my own imperfect terms. The love remains, can you see the light?


...oh where are thou?

PART II – THE GIRL WHO LOOKED FOR FACES

Paris, France - June - July 2011

Every city has its charm, poetry, indiference, magic, rythm. Paris in particular can be overwhelming especially if you feel lost. Walking, observing, focusing, all of the sudden they all came alive.. there were faces in every corner, in every step, looking at me, screaming their story; some of them hidden between lines and shadows,  other so obvious and vivid. It became an obsession... my personal hunt for friendly features...and then, I was found...

Square eyes

Big nose!



Straight face



Warm smile

Fun, Fun, Fun

Why so sad?



Sculped guardian




Evil with style



Shalk for a walk

Urban art

Doing the catwalk

The gassy one

Sad clown



Patched eye



Mouth wide shut



Tattoo on a wall



Smile!!