To feel is an art and seldom do we get it right.-Damini
Right from the day we are born, it is the world around us that tells us what attributes we have. What's good, what's bad, what needs improvement etc, is decided by other people around us,including our parents.
All throughout our lives,our thoughts, feelings and beliefs are governed by these individuals, who by some power have the authority to determine who we are.
Oh! She doesn't talk too much but he talks a lot! He isn't as fair as him but he's not as intelligent as him. You should be more outgoing, while you should be a little less and so on and so forth.
By the time we grow up and embrace our reality, we realise that we haven't really grown up as fully functional beings. Rather, we are fragmented versions of ourselves;waiting for the world to put the pieces together so that we can make sense of ourselves.
Constantly basing our judgments about our own sleeves, on the basis of those very people who are nothing more than fragments themselves.
Then how does their world view come to encompass our very own? Despite having our own language, why do we hang on to their every word and wish to speak the same like a parrot?
At the heart of every human being lies one simple wish - to be loved and accepted by the ones around us so that we can feel safe and secure in that very world, that fragmented our souls and left us to find the pieces and join them in some disconnected manner.
And in the end, when half of our lives have gone by, we realize that we did everything except love ourselves.
We ran behind everyone except ourselves.
We were so busy making others happy, trying to live up to their utopian ideals of perfection, that we lost track of who we wanted to be.
After feeling apologetic for simply being the way we were designed from the start, we didn't know who we were
What was left behind ,was just a fragmented version of ourselves where parts of us started seeming like wholes.
Only if we could learn in time that the only love we need is the love that we have for ourselves, we wouldn't be the fragments we realise we are.
Only if we could learn,that what we feel for ourselves is also an art.We can decide what we want to paint,the colors we want to use and whether to cherish what we have made of ourselves or simply start again.
We would still be flawed but at least we would be complete and in love with ourselves. And only then, we would truly embark on a journey taking us closer and closer to who we are truly meant to be - flawed and in love.
May be It's not the time May be not the momentMay be It's not rightBut just for the moment Let's forget what ought to beAnd just let things beJust for the momentHold my hand and set me free I know deep down you feel it tooAnd it's not the thing to sayBut life didn't promise us rosesIt wasn't fair anyway Put your feet on the ground And feel the earth beneathLet something change inside you Because it would anyway Look into my eyesLike you always wanted toAnd tell me you're there And hear me say the same to youBecause you know I'm there Smile at me like you smile from withinA smile that reaches your eyesHold my handLike you always wanted toAnd let's go there A place where we are free.. Time is not what binds usTime sets us freeAll you need to do is hold my hand
She sat next to her phone, waiting for it to beep.. Like every other day. Waiting for that one message, that one 'hi' that would put a smile on her face for the whole day.. Sometimes the whole week.. or may be the month.. Her friends wondered what's wrong with her. Why does she always obsess about this one message? Agreed, she liked him. May be, he liked her too. Well, he never said it openly. Perhaps, she just assumed he did. But she knew better. She didn't just like him;she loved him. It was that always, forever, eternal sort of love. A love, often seen in the movies, written about in books. A love, where there is a happy ever after, in its most absolute sense. And she knew, he only liked her. He loved her as a friend.. or so he would say. He loved everything about her and would notice even the slightest change in her voice. They were so tuned to each other, that she had begun to preempt those once a week messages and those fortnightly calls. She would just sit by her pho…