The Stories we tell

I’ve always liked stories but lately I’ve been growing an obsession to the stories behind the smiles and tears. Not one of the stories I’ve heard have bored me… every one of them is unique and beautiful. This must be a weird thing to say but I’ve been inspired by the smiles, the tears, the stress lines on their foreheads and the dimples on their cheeks. Have you got a story too?

There’s a story behind every smile and every tear. To us it’s all but a confusing world… rude people and fake smiles. There’s a reason behind the way that he smiles… there’s a reason why he wears a frown and pretends like he’s still fine. There’s a reason why she avoids the crowds, there’s a reason why he never seems to shed a tear.  How could we be so narrow minded and judge the smiles and tears the way we see it? How could we throw words at people without knowing that these very words are what haunt them over and over again till they drop down in the end. And when they look so sad, we ask them what was wrong. We sound like we care but really if it was not for us they would never look so sad. Just so that he never has to hear that again, he winks when he sees you. We are all ignorant and stupid to think that he’s having the time of his life. We are Stupid. How could we be so? He’s not just keeping silent because he wants to… no one wants to be cornered out. We pull him into the game and ask him to play along. When he drops the ball, we ask him to get a life. We ask him to get a life when we took it away ourselves. When she turns around angered we ask her not to be angry, we tell her it’s stupid to rage over such a simple matter… but only in many years will we know that it was not for that simple reason she raged. She had the world on her shoulders and we laughed about how something as simple as that could put her off so easily. Would we, in that place, have been able to carry the same load and still look so fine… would you and I have stayed calm when people just asked us to keep calm? They hold stories. Beautiful ones, the best ones. True stories always have their own beauty. No one’s just happy or just sad or just angry… they’re telling us a story with the emotions they show the world. If we are a little more careful we might even hear their voices telling us the stories. We might be part of their beautiful storyline, a part of the reason for the smile on her face and still never know if we don’t listen. We’ve got our own stories to tell as well…  and till these stories are heard we would also be a bystander with a messed up brain to someone who walks past.


The Alphabet Game – Grand Finale

I didn’t play, I had some other work… but while I was working I did watch them play and pass the ‘Memory Hat’ around 🙂 To be continued on the 26th February 2013.
Memory hats off to the final three!



Brown Ink on Yellow Paper

“Long handwritten note deep in your pocket…” Taylor Swift (Sad Beautiful Tragic)

I held two flowers with a yellow folded paper tied together in a bow. I held it close to me, it meant so much… the boy asked me to read the note and I opened it… it was a long hand-written letter. The kind I love the most. My hands were shaking as I read how it was dearly addressed to me. Word by word, sentence by sentence I read it. The words reached my heart and touched my memories. The handwriting that I had known all my life seemed so angelic and beautiful. I read every full stop and punctuation mark. There was nothing I wanted to miss. Not a letter, not a pen stroke mistakenly drawn. I was out of words. Literally. All I could manage to say was that it was really nice and that I loved it. That was a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful letter. When I had done reading it the boy asked if he could read it too… I handed him the paper and he would have known exactly why I wore that expression on my face when I read the brown ink on yellow paper.

THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR MAKING MY DAY SO SPECIAL!!! Special Thanks to Amruth for the loudest wish 🙂

My Friends made my day!

I had the most amazing time, and I have a feeling they all did too. My favorite had to be when everyone went looking for their envelopes and the expressions on their faces when they opened them up and read the letters to themselves. I videoed their hunt, with the funniest being Aru trying to figure out whose envelope she was holding (She was so caught up in helping the others that she didn’t realise that the picture on it was all about her). We had a heavy lunch with all my friends blaming my mother for how much they had ate, we played table tennis, chatted about Bling, spoke of school (as if we don’t do this all the time), laughed our heads off, and took photos until it was time for them to leave. I owe thanks to all… they made me feel like the greatest friend of all time. Thank you so much people!They spoke about adding these photos as cover pics on facebook… I guess it doesn’t matter then if I share this with my friends from the blogging world as well 🙂

To What’s Gone

I said I’d post this last Saturday.

Beautiful skies they were, clouds the shapes of hearts,
Meteor showers were a beauty as we watched out for stars.
We looked at kites and wished for ours to fly higher,
All was good, and through all we were together.

Trees seemed taller when we sat beneath them
We learnt our ABC’s there and counted to ten
Green grass and us, we danced to and fro
We embraced the hellos and hated having to go.

You always used to hide and I always used to seek
Because without you by my side, I was always weak.
In our pretend play and  games we acted out the future
We didn’t know keeping distance was part of human nature.

I see you now but you run away like I might harm you
I wonder if you know that what you do hurts me too.
What we’re doing now is not fair for the past we had
Not having you here as I write this is just really sad.

Did you really have to step away and leave me in the track?
I waited long enough to understand you wouldn’t come back
The path’s paved and nice but no one can walk it alone
I’m still waiting for you to take my hand and walk me home.

Do you see the tears I shed, do my memories make you smile,
Or have you let the old memories drift away for a while?
Couldn’t you bother keeping a door open, a window maybe,
Am I really the only one who knows that next to you should be me?

Have I changed so much that you can’t even recognize me?
Is that why you turn away from everything you promised to be?
How will I ever know without you telling me exactly why?
I wish for the old you back every single time you walk by.

Start Over

I don’t think I mean this… 

I want to start over, begin again, take a breath and not look back. I’m going to throw away the fears and jump in head first. I want to see what the world holds. I want to look at the distance and beyond that. I’ll keep my distance but I want to start over. I want to look at people without the fear of being stared back at. I want to stand there in front of them as if I’m not afraid of what’s going on in their minds. I want to start over like nothing in the past matters. I’m here and I want to be here tomorrow… only better. I’m doing it with every word and every action. I thought change was bad but change for the better can never be so bad. I’m finally here and I’m confident. I know I can handle this. I’m going to start over. I want to be fresh and new and I want to be better. Better than I am now, and getting better with every second. I want to start all over again. When I was at the age of understanding instructions, my parents must have said to me that I’ll meet people in my life and that they’d be nice to me. They must have taught me to be nice to them and to trust those around me. It must have been with their advice that I grew to trust people… and it was that trust that broke my heart. I lived up to their words but I didn’t get what I wanted… I didn’t get the happiness from those who stabbed me time and again. I gave up hope… I think I’ve given up for long enough. I think I’m ready to start over. I’m going to start over like I didn’t know anything about it… like I have just been taught to trust people and to believe the words they say. My parents say the same words to me still and they might be wrong but I’m ready to start all over again.

Previous Older Entries