Showcase: With Tender, Tender Paws + Between The Heart’s Outpouring And The Farewell – My Emotional Memories + The Meds We Borrow

Edited by Vrushali Khadilkar

Welcome to my first Showcase of the month! May has arrived with furious and blazing heat in my city of Aurangabad in Maharashtra, India and you’ll see me chugging lots of water and sipping cool lemonades to stay hydrated. Summer’s arrival reminds me of the times I went to my grandma’s house during vacations and how she used to make my favourite sweet pickles for me.

Since her passing, I’ve missed those flavourful delights and now find myself returning to the recipes she’d carefully written down. In a way, I’m borrowing them to keep her close.

This month, our theme is Borrowed and as I celebrated my birthday last month, I thought of how I had  an opportunity to borrow the time within my grandparents’ lifetime – to be present with them, an integral part of the lives they’d lived.

In this Showcase, I’ve featured submissions that dwell in the quiet spaces of care and memory. Together, they trace the many ways we live through what’s borrowed: time shared with loved ones, words passed down and gestures of kindness.

Our first piece, Martin’s poem,  shares with us how his paw-friend left a mark on his life. It’s tender and offers gentle remembering.

With Tender, Tender Paws

 for Monty (2013-2025)

with tender, tender
pitter-patter paws

you left with luminescent stares
a trail
on my darkened heart
– bark-bark-

you spoke
of everything you broke,
and fixed

(with-)in me
(again)

© Martin X. Labuschagne, 2026

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Now, Andrea speaks of how her dear papa planted a seed which encouraged her fondness of books and writing. She shares with us a story authored by her father, which she found on his social media page.  This is her tribute to him.

Between The Heart’s Outpouring And The Farewell – My Emotional Memories

What is death? It can mean so many things. Someone who has died simply because they are no longer part of your life and no longer matter. Or it can be the loss of someone through natural causes or an accident. We deal with death repeatedly, yet we never grow accustomed to the idea. The absence of those we love leaves an immense void, the knowledge that we will never see that person again or share our life triumphs and challenges with them.

Allow me to open my heart to you. The life of an immigrant, far from their homeland, tries to make the digital world an ally to stay as close as possible to family and friends, but the truth is that nothing replaces physical contact with the ones we love. I was already living here when my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. A cruel fate for all in my paternal family. I remained confident that he would emerge victorious; after all, he was a very strong and special man. I booked my flight for July 2025, as I could not wait until December to congratulate him on successfully completing chemotherapy and radiotherapy at the age of 79 and, of course, to hug and kiss him, for he was the most important and special person in my life.

My father was the person who taught me to love reading and to enjoy history. I remember when I was a child, a man would always knock on our door to sell books. He would bring a magazine with catalogues and synopses of the books, part of something called the ‘Círculo do Livro’ (Book Circle). I remember how, every month, my father would buy four books: two for him and two for me. We had to hurry our reading because there would be more the following month. It was in this way that he nurtured in me a passion for books and stories.

The day of my journey arrived. I could not wait to share with him this passion for reading and writing he had planted in my heart. It was he who encouraged me to write a book that would have made him very proud: Ancestral Brazil – The Truth They Didn’t Tell Us, a work telling the story of a Brazil known by few, made of memories that time made a point of erasing.

When I arrived in my country, I realised my father was no longer the same, but I wanted to believe it was still the effects of the chemo and radio treatments. However, his health worsened, and I saw that it was serious. We are never prepared for death, as I mentioned at the beginning. He was a man so full of life, with such a will to live, a cheerful soul. The situation grew more grave until he passed away one month later.

While still in hospital, he’d spoken about a text he’d written while waiting for treatment. I was so occupied with him, staying by his side 24 hours a day,  I had neither the time nor the interest to read it at that moment. But after his passing, I searched for the text and found it on his Facebook page. He was a retired journalist who still maintained his love for writing and used that social network to share his thoughts, opinions and critiques of the country’s politics and economy. When I came across his text, I realised it spoke about him and perhaps about me too; it was a story of farewell. Perhaps he didn’t realise it, but it was clear to me. I’m sharing it with you here as a tribute.

I’m certain he would be very happy if he were here. This text is more than a memory for me; it’s a reflection of his soul and a legacy I continue to carry in every word I write.  I now present the fable of my beloved father, Paulo Cunha: the story that encapsulates the wisdom and kindness he so greatly valued.

The Pregnant Mare

A pregnant mare accompanied the cavalry (I use this collective term due to the great number of animals that made up the group). At a certain moment, sensing that the birth of her foal was very near, this mare, whom I shall call Sensitiva, began to slow her pace, moving away from the clamour of the hooves around her. I would call this the instinct to protect the offspring about to be born. After a few moments, when the contractions were already underway, Sensitiva noticed the presence of two horses watching her in an almost fatherly manner. Were they, led by instinct, wishing to protect the mother and the foal soon to be born? Whatever the case, the fact is that those two horses remained close to the mother and her foal until the moment the colt was weaned. From that moment on, Sensitiva and her foal began a journey with the instinct to rejoin the cavalry. The two horses that had given them protection, realising the mission had come to an end, galloped away, leaving a trail of dust.

Sensitiva, walking at a slow pace with her little foal,whom I shall call Sensato,wanting the best for her offspring, sought to instruct him along the way on how to behave in the world. She would say: “Son, be wise and always seek to do the right and just thing so that you may stand out.” She said this throughout the day and asked him to repeat it. We know that in the animal kingdom, the young only have the presence of their parents for a short period. At a certain point, the parents detach and even drive them away so that, out of necessity, they may work for their own survival. That is exactly what happened to Sensato.

Following his path, Sensato, remembering his mother’s words, repeated them thus: “In order for me to stand out, I must be wise, doing things that are right and just.” Suddenly, Sensato found himself surrounded by a large herd, whose leader was a robust black horse that contrasted with his own colour, for Sensato was white, almost like snow.

Thinking of his mother’s words, Sensato, a horse of privileged physical build, adopted a very humble posture, though not one of fear. This fact, somehow, caught the attention of the herd’s stallion, who made a point of approaching him and welcoming him.

Days and weeks passed, and the two grew ever closer in friendship. The stallion even permitted Sensato to have an affair with one of the mares of the herd,whom I shall call Aparecida,who insisted on being by his side at all times.

After some time, Aparecida became pregnant. The two were nuzzling one another when, suddenly, an elderly mare appeared before them, drawing close to Sensato’s side. He, showing a certain empathy, lowered his head towards the mare’s head. And she said to him: “You were wise, you did everything right, and you were just. Now I can die.” And so, she drifted away.

© Andrea Cunha, 2026

Connect with Andrea on LinkedIn: @andrea-souza-da-cunha

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In this piece I traced down a shift from momentary street-side joy to sudden discomfort. Within the theme of borrowing, I try to reflect on how, in a vulnerable moment away from home, one borrows not just medicine, but care, presence and support from friends.

The Meds We Borrow

Ate some good food,
that day on the street side,
It was Gol- Gappa that was yummy,
in that given time, was a momentary joy.

Moments and hours later,
tummy trembled,
Eating gol gappa on the streets,
is a 100 percent gamble.

Stuck in my room with my friends,
we are on tour,
up hills, desolate.
My tummy went on loose,
No morsel were staying in,
I couldn’t fathom gulping another sip.

Pinged my friends, about my state,
they jumped outta their bed,
and then,
I borrowed some meds,
from them.
I borrowed some help,
from them

© Vrushali Khadilkar, 2026

Connect with Vrushali on Instagram: @aprilautumnservices

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I hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s Showcase and I’ll see you next week!

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