Broken Armor

I was the one to find my mother inches away from death. Her robotic voice and the obscure words she said to me before I saw her, terrified me beyond belief.  No one can connect with that. The thought of losing something so precious is inconceivable to every child. No one else can understand how you feel, even if their story is similar. We all go through a different hell. I think Stephen King aptly described that emotion in his book, 'The Shining' when Danny Torrance, the protagonist, is forced to face the thought of his mother being murdered.

"Yet he could not equate these simple symbols with the shifting complex reality of his mother; she satisfied his childish definition of eternity, She had been when he was not. She would continue to be when he was not again. He could accept the possibility of his own death, he had dealt with that since the encounter in Room 2.13.

But not hers.

Not Daddy’s.

Not ever."

The only thing that helped me overcome my dark time was the love, support and comfort my family and friends supplied me with. My true family came to visit and did everything in their power to help. They sent food, money, and good wishes. They did so out of love and loyalty and not obligation, and they might never know how indebted to them I  truly am.

My real friends kept in touch. They listened to me vent, they hugged me and held me close on the days I could do nothing but cry. They told me I was beautiful when my face was streaked with tears and when my hair was messy. They supported me and understood when I got uncontrollably upset for insignificant things. They knew, as did my family, without me telling them, that my armor was broken and that I had lost a part of myself.

Self

I recently read the sequel to Bridget Jone's Diary and a key point in the book was all of her self help books.  I think the author (Helen Fielding) had the right idea incorporating that. Bridget Jones is very much an average woman and i think almost every woman i know can identify with her diary at least a little.

Every person wonders about the concept of 'self'. Who am I? What is the meaning of my life? What am i supposed to do with it? et al. I think it's very important for us to ask ourselves what we want  from our life and to decide who we want to be perceived as. I have always loathed self help books as I think they can't plan our lives for us. But my life has just started and I've got a lot of time to figure it out. Here's what i've come up with so far:

1. I want to be an honest, hard-working, determined person.
2. I want to be able to balance all the aspects of my life better.

That's it. just two points. I'm not sure what path my life is going to take in the next few years so I can't pinpoint what areas of my life need change.

I also wonder if Bridget got it right. It doesn't matter how many self help books you read, life is about making it up as you go along.

Dance Dance Revolution

 Recently, My cousin and I went to the an arcade. Yeah we played most of those silly games and then we came upon a game that is the epitome of epicosity.

DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION! W00T!

I'm a gamer girl. So I've played what feels like a thousand games and yet, nothing beats Dance Dance Revolution. What makes it extra amazing is that when you get all the moves right and you think you're Dance Royalty and then you realise you look like a total spaz. I must get the Playstation version of this game.

DDR!

The Tree

The tree was old. He had held onto the earth for seventeen years, protecting it with his all, just as it had protected him.  He had lived a wonderful life and just before the darkness took over, he looked out one last time; Reminiscing.

It was spring once more. The periwinkle blue skies seemed to calmly wave with her pretty cloud hands. The grass was swishing lazily with the wind. The tree stood alone, on a low hill top. His leaves had been waving softly with the breeze, as if saying a polite hello to the grass.

 The Children, never older than ten years old would come to play, indubitably, on that lonely spot every year. The tree was their castle, their giant and their pirate ship. Their laughter, anger and tears filled the air all around the hill. The tree patiently had played along with all of their antics. He had found them beautiful creatures and marveled at their flushed faces full of unadulterated joy. The faces changed over the years, but the personalities remained the same, with few differences.

He was always amused by the bully and the minions. He never understood why they tormented the quiet, peculiar child. He didn’t understand why the little one worried about the bully. It didn't matter. Life was about experiences not understanding.

Spring was a beautiful time. The hill top was hidden from the prying eyes of the world and yet you could see what seemed like the whole world stretched out, from it.

It was summer once again. The cool shade of the tree invited people for picnics, parties and general uproar. The tree basked in the sunlight and happily played along with the people. He saw them as friends.  Of course they were his friends.

It was autumn. The leaves on the tree faded to yellow and some darkened to red. The grass began to fade and the sky was a cold, harsh grey. But he held a proud and unafraid exterior. The tree looked after the squirrels and birds for the winter. He understood they needed his help. He was, after all, created to help others. But he wondered why his friends shied away from him and left him there, all alone.

It was winter. Pure white snow carpeted the earth. The sky was agate gray and just as unfamiliar. The tree realized his days were numbered. The black rot inside him had given way completely. He missed his friends but he thought about the past and let peace wash over him as his lifeless branches fell away.

And the next spring, nascent saplings arose.

Dedicated to Blake Noah De Silva. You won't be forgotten. 

Tag: Feminism

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