Sunday Story -i

                 

                                     

                       Thinking Barefoot

I watch the sky through the tree tops, tree tops through cable wires, the wires through a net, and the net through my soft-lashes

And something about the day has got me thinking….

So I am not leaving this couch or the view until I make up my mind.

The thing is that I can’t tell what I woke up to this morning… the way I used to.

Like the time when I woke up to be a painter or a blogger or a nomad or someone's muse or whatever...

But This day has something I have never woken up to…

clearly because it has taken me the whole day to pick what-i-woke-up-to.

There's a nice couch under me, sweetest melody in my ears, weather that makes my skin glow,no voices partying in my head..

And a feeling that everything is alright with the world because it’s just what it’s meant to be.

I don't know what to make of it as i watch the sky changing colors over hours, lying on the very same spot.

A peaceful day in a row of messy ones. No rush whatsoever...

Dear setting sun, i can see you are trying to tell me things...things like i am where i am meant to be the way you are, the way every other thing is... 

Well, that could be it. 

Will see you next week.

#Melody courtesy: song for you - Alexi Murdoch

AURORA : The goddess of dawn

Another last chapter

What better way to look back at gone years than letting your diary paint them for you...

Whooshing visuals of conversations, stolen glances,endless laughters, so many faces... i can't even name them all now, campus rains, overpowering adrenaline; all of it in between those sentences of pointless blabbering, pouring of heart, dreaming, drifting, complaining and onesided discussions i had with paper, which never seemed like stories until i sat down to write the last page!

In this maze that our brains are, we never know which tiny neuron is treasuring which memory for us or when it decides to surprise you with things long forgotten, to leave you smiling and wondering...

Just as i leaf through the stories of my four years of college, i realize so many things have different meanings now. 

I'd call it perspective. Things changed as i changed perspectives and yet for me, it's them who changed...I have come to hate the same rains i had danced with, love the same winters i had spent scooping inside blankets... well the list is long.

But the journey was not just about changes. I can't sum up saying that a lot changed... because changes never stop. Only, we see them much later.

This journey was more about going out there and being someone i had never dared to be before that and having a brand new chance at that every single day!  

College life is bound to give such wings to all of us. That raw-immature-fresh spirit to step into the unknowns is something i miss the most. Those little wonder-struck hearts we had when it all started, aren't the same. They all got torn, bullied, sewed up or glued together, warmed sometimes and then pelted with ice on the way...

But all for the good.

In the last chapter that i write to my diary tonight, i'll  try make myself a backpack of memories to keep. ummmm... a few conversations, some faces, a lot of high fives and chuckles, lessons learnt, best books i read, a birthday present, may be a secret or two, all the admirers ( ^.^ ) , things i didnt say, all those friends who stood the test of time and that one last moment of turmoil of leaving behind everything i ever knew....

That's all i guess.

Farewell Diary, i'll let the dust be yours in the darkest corners of the shelves for i will come back when all my memories in that backpack are stories to share; because the older a memory, the meaningful it is !

 details of the backpack rest in my diary only, didnt't put them here for obvious reasons

Would you wear a parachute in space?

                                        

If you have got a #dream, what makes you think you might not live it? Is it because it’s a dream, or because you couldn’t find it when you woke up?

But then, how does it manage to make your heart beat faster… and slower at the same time? How does it make you want to see yourself doing somersaults in your head?

What is it? Material or air? Where does it exist to be real?  Where do you go to meet it? How does it reach you?

Why do you see it when the lights go off and silence engulfs you? Why do you turn to it for hope when there’s none? How does it make you wake up every day and chase it?

If you have lived one, what does it look like in person, for I have only seen it in distant lands, at unreachable heights, and in unrealistic places that don’t seem to exist?

Why does something inside me keeps screaming for it but my hands never follow, never reach for it? Why do the #fireworks die inside with time and dust and #doubt and lust?

Why do I wear the shackles when I want to run for it like a mad dog! ? Why do I (or maybe all of us) wear a parachute in space, pretending it would land me on that star (the dream) ?

I might not have the answers today but they will find me,  that’s what I heard my dream whisper to me. It says , puncture your parachute and trust your hands for I am ‘everything ‘ they deserve to have!

The author is talking to herself, not the reader or anyone in particular.

The Invisible Bridge

Staring at the horizon where two worlds seemed to kiss, Smara could sense life in the sand pressed inside her hands. Last rays of sun kissed her eyelids and the sweetest breeze teased her hair. She called it meditation because this way she could see her insides and the books said that was meditation.

As the sun disappeared and cold started to set in, Smara closed her eyes again and opened the back-doors of her mind. Setting free all her thoughts, fears, dreams, regrets, mistakes and fantasies.
She had chosen this full moon night to let go of them because on one such night two years ago, she had lost her father in presence of these stars. That night had seemed like the end to her but it wasn't , just like this one. Life was difficult but she knew it wasn't the end.
Since then full moon nights were her hope to find her father in  those stars.

Tonight, as she untamed the back doors, a pool of thoughts came flooding and she went through them all, letting them go one by one. Each thought went out to become a star and took its place in the sky.
At the end of it, Smara opened her eyes and joined the stars to make out the shape like we did in primary school . Joining the dots of her life on the beautiful canvas of the night sky she drew a magnificient 'bridge': a glowing path joining two platforms, one brighter than another.
Sand slipped out of her hands in that moment, lips curved in a pout and eyes blinking dreamily. She knew exactly what the bridge symbolised. The universe had succeded in giving her the visual that contained all the answers she had ever asked for.

It then started to pour and shook her out of her trance. She gave a last look to the bridge and started walking back home. Every cell of her body alive and speaking of the bridge and all the answers it had.

The bridge doesn't answer just Smara's questions, it is everybody's answer.
our life is a series of bridges. Bridges taking us from one point in life to another.
We leave the previous baggage on every platform we touch and take on to the next bridge with new lessons . The bridge is invisible, you can't see it but you are on it, constantly.
When life seems impossible tell yourself its the bridge, not the destination. If we keep going, we will definitely reach the next platform, the one with better light and a better life ahead ofc it.

Dear Dillema

Dwelling on dillemas is what a lot of us do for most of our lives. Standing on crossroads,staring at the distances and weighing options sometimes or badly stuck in labyrinths at other times. But we are never ever stuck for-ever. The way out has always been there and will always be. Who comes out a winner, is the one who stepped in with that faith in his heart.

Whenever I have found that way out, I have stopped to turn around and think of  'how'. How could that seem so difficult on the other side? How could i not see what I now see  so crystal-clear ? what I realised is that dillemas are nothing but 'veils'. Veils, that block our view. Keep us from seeing things for what they are, from looking at situations for what they mean.
What catches my imagination is the sheer frailness of this veil and its immense hold over us. We keep playing this game of 'A-or-B?' ,when all that needs to be done is to snap out of the veil to see that A and B didn't exist. Because the answer that meets you on the other side of the veil is what you always knew deep down inside  .

So basically, " Faith is where you will find your wings".