Dasilva Arthur
Bio
Stories (7/0)
The Ballad of Jimu and Akeeko: A Fairytale for the Modern Age
Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Akeeko. Akeeko came from a land very far away named Pajan, where everyone and everything was the same, and it wasn't, then it was supposed to be. But Akeeko was different. She had something not many people in her land possessed. Something big and powerful - a commodity in the eyes of many. For Akeeko, you see, had a foreign boyfriend.
By Dasilva Arthur4 months ago in Fiction
Ode To My Ponche
I had it all planned out. I would begin with a visit to ‘El Alcázar’, that mediaeval marvel with its pink hue and towering turrets, so much a fantasy that it couldn’t look more like a fairytale castle than if Walt Disney had designed it himself. I would walk across the path where a drawbridge once lay over a deep endless trench, the moat long since a dried up and faded memory, until I arrived at the entrance. I would pay the 8 euros to walk through the cold stone halls, which dripped in elegance and decadence, stand next to ancient weapons of mass destruction, and view thrones where royalty once sat. I would stand and stare in awe at ‘El Acueducto’, the ingenuity and craftsmanship of the Romans on full display for all to see. No amount of snapshots taken could ever do it justice. Yes, I envisioned exactly how my day would transpire, where I would go and what I would do. But all too often when one is sure of their path in life, fate intervenes. You see, what I did not expect to find as I meandered through the narrow yet charming cobblestone streets of old Segovia, was you.
By Dasilva Arthur2 years ago in Feast
Lunch Break
He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Vihaan tried to find an empty bench but on a beautiful summer afternoon, the park was full of midday lunchers from the office buildings just across the way, out to enjoy the sun. He settled for a secluded one away from the sea of pinstripes, pantsuits, and ties, and sat next to a harmless-looking old man. He too was dressed up but didn't strike Vihaan to be part of the regular nine-to-five crowd.
By Dasilva Arthur2 years ago in Fiction
Welcome Back
Welcome back, your dreams were your ticket out… For sure. My dreams, though never defined, definitely involved traveling abroad, determined to make it out of my jacked-up neighborhood and even more jacked-up town. I’d left once before several years ago and came back, so technically this is round two. In both cases, wherever I was traveling in the world, there was an ever present thought in the back of my mind. It was there on the island of Koh Chang in Thailand, while walking along the beach in the moonlight with a French girl I’d just met, almost too pretty to be real. It was there at a party in the Swedish embassy in Tokyo, wine glass in hand, surrounded by rich types, feeling like an extra in a Bond movie. It was with me at Café de Flore in Paris, as I sipped my café avec Chantilly and nibbled on a croissant. I made sure to enjoy every minute of every moment. Because I knew. I knew I was on borrowed time. Sooner or later the jig would be up and I’d have to return to my reality. Sure enough, here I am, back home where I started.
By Dasilva Arthur3 years ago in Wander
Alternative Angst
During my high school days teenagers liked clearly defined categories and placing people in them. In a world where you were either popular or you weren’t, you could be a metalhead or a hip hop head but not both I was a 'blerd' ahead of my time. I had friends from different backgrounds and I didn’t easily fit into one category. My musical tastes were as eclectic as I was and because people couldn’t pigeonhole me I became “that weird black guy”. It wasn’t long before the teasing and ostracising took its toll, causing me to be withdrawn and depressed. With a divorced and overworked mother and shouting siblings, home wasn’t exactly a safe haven either.
By Dasilva Arthur3 years ago in Beat
My B.E. Moment
While I sat waiting in the rotunda, my brain went into overload. Random thoughts. Questions. What ifs. Remember to smile and be friendly, I tell myself. Look confident, but not too confident, or you’ll end up looking arrogant. Is my shirt tucked in? Did I manage to get those curls on the side to look less nappy? As if they’d even notice. Would they notice? As much as I told myself ‘don’t be nervous’ my body didn’t listen. It wouldn’t be the last time that it would ignore my commands on that day. I looked through my notes again, trying to rehearse answers that wouldn’t seem rehearsed. Despite what it may have looked like, I felt prepared. I felt ready.
By Dasilva Arthur3 years ago in Motivation