To be remembered.

We all want to be remembered. And I am no exception to this. On the contrary, I have this feeling more than the 'normal'. I remember a friend telling me, "I don't know for what, but you have this deep desire to prove yourself." When I first heard it, I couldn't digest it. But as I filtered thoughts and went deep inside myself, I realized how true that was. And I knew the 'why' too. I just couldn't (and still haven't) get over it (reason). 

All my life, I have craved for love. I read (so many times, over and over) that the craving for love ceases in giving (and not receiving/begging). Somehow, the more I have tried (giving, in all truth and honesty), I have found, in the end, craving for all the more. I am yet to be sure if the craving is still in back of my mind while giving. But whatever it is, the thirst never quenches. 

Right now, I am right next to the person I love most (and who loves me most, equally). Yet, the craving hasn't ceased. Sometimes, I wonder if it's all in my mind; if this emptiness is just in my thoughts? I don't know.

But I do know the 'why'. It's because of the simple fact of us humans - to be remembered. I vividly remember a lot of (unpleasant) episodes of my childhood and adolescence – years when I desperately wanted to be acknowledged, valued, and loved (for what I was). Right from the time when I have understood the meaning of 'life' (which keeps changing, by the way), I always wanted to touch a person's life, to leave that indelible mark. Maybe I would have, over the years, the voice inside me tells me that, in a manner I am yet to comprehend. But the mind just refuses to accept. 

Never in my life have I actually achieved or got what I really wanted. Maybe my time wasn't right or maybe my efforts weren't of the level required or maybe due to wavering wishes. I couldn't figure why, on that part. Somehow, by touching (changing/transforming) anther life, I want to beat that incompleteness. I know this isn't right, but that is how it is. I won't deny it. 

And now, as I see my love peacefully strolling in dreams, my mind wonders if he is 'the' one whom I have actually touched in a way no one hasn't? Is he the same man who couldn't sleep at nights as the things he have been through tormented him during darkness, which turned him in to an insomniac? I have touched him in a way probably no one ever has, for, I love him in all honesty (no, not 100%, that minus 0.1% remains :P), and he has touched me in a way no man has ever. 

Maybe, my innate desire to leave a legacy, to be remembered, is meant for him?

The blank page

There lies the blank page

dressed in pristine white

lifeless, wordless, hopeless, 

unaware of its purpose, 

unaware of its reason of existence. 

What is its story?

Does it has the same identity (like all others)?

More the emptiness, more springs the questions, 

flying aimlessly in search of answers. 

On a rainy night, it becomes a boat

in little, tender hands;

to a roadside vendor, 

it becomes another wrapper; 

in hands of an housewife, 

it becomes never-ending, pending list;

in an artist's hands, 

it becomes a beautiful moment; 

but only in the hands of a writer, 

it becomes a timeless, priceless, flawless piece of treasure. 

Image Source: Deluxe Vectors

Lost & found

I long 

to break this endless crowd,

the voices are 

strangling my breaths,

my identity

floats in the nothingness,

my thoughts 

are obscured,

my fragile heart

longs for freedom;

I wander aimlessly

in this grey world -

in search of colors 

that may add a sparkle

in my dark life.

My feet turns me

on a deserted path

where autumn rules

and silence resides.

My heart rejoices

seeing the empty lanes

for there I found 

my lost voice again..

Image & Prompt Source: A Week for Writing

Sporadic Thoughts

I wish I was a poet, or could be one. I could have said so much, hide layers of meanings in few words. But then, I'm not. Heck, I'm not even a wordsmith. I'm just, well, a normal human (?) who craves to express artfully, but ends up scribbling another journal, piling among the countless existing ones.

They say life is dreaming about something you can't be, that lures you towards the dreams, for to be it, you should first dream it. That's true. But then, there are so many dreams which are born and die on a daily basis, sometimes even hourly basis. We kill a majority of them, citing wishful thinking. That's a God-given trait, for which we are more victim than guilty. It's in DNA. Anyway, I'm just going off somewhere else. Again, the incompetency bites me. I wish I had knew enough words so that I could avoid a lot of them, and pack my feelings in the most refined ones. But then, raw always has its beauty. That's again nature of the law. Although beauty pleases the eye, heart loves the raw, unrefined, unpolished, and simplicity of truth.

Ever since I have come to know the growing of a life inside me, a lot has changed and keeps changing. Sometimes I am elated, and next moment, it seems like 'my' life is over. Of course, a lot of it had been wishful thinking for which I was meticulously planning to tick off the list, the news of it has hung a huge block of load on it. I'm not blaming anybody, except for myself or destiny at times. Of course, it's a beginning to new leaf. But then, words of my husband keeps haunting me, few words which he said, which I'm not okay with, but strangely finding them to come true. I wish I could do more now. I know few months down the line, this same line of thought is going to occur. I just want to change that. There is a lot, in fact, I need to change. For the future. But in that effort, let me not slip through the present. Let me take one step at a time. Let me gather my thoughts. Otherwise, just like this rant, life won't make any sense. Neither to me, nor to the readers.

Let me learn the words, and the meaning of their silence. 

Twist in the tale

It's hardly been a month and my life seems to have taken a whole turn. For good. Professionally, what seems to be a hurdle, personally, it's called promotion. It's just a matter of time. And on second thoughts, it's actually a long time. Things won't be same. Well, they are never meant to be same. But right now, amidst all the confusion and questions, I'm happy. And that's all it matters. Right?

The next chapter

We are all the writers for the story of our life. Yes, few characters, few experiences, and few tears come unexpectedly, without our knowledge, without our willingness. But then, we write a major part of the story - especially the plot line and the intricacies of emotions. There are times when we read the story ourselves, and other times the audience is someone else. At times, words flow, forming their own tune, and at times silence has a long part to play. There are always confusions, but take a step back and breathe, listen to your heart, and all seems just mountains of mole hill. No doubt, some chapters leave scars behind. But then we, the designer of our story, make the main characters, move on. Because that's the philosophy and truth of life.

And that's how I brought the twist in the plot of my story. For, we all like adventure, suspense, and thrill. The adrenaline rush it gives makes us hooked to the plot. And me being both the reader and writer of my life, I decided to take this venture, to leave behind the corporate world and plunge in to the entrepreneurial world, which seems foolish and a mindless, unplanned decision. But then, the pen is in my hand, I decide the course.

It's not going to be easy, and that's what I want. I am at a nowhere point, at a nowhere place. I just know what I want, the end road I am going to reach. Without a penny in my pocket or food to satisfy my hunger pangs, I must travel. The journey is to be made - be it rough or smooth. And I will. For, listening to my heart, even when the whole world, my husband, the love of my life, doesn't appreciate the idea of me going solo, hasn't deterred me, nor for a second felt I was making a mistake. I am following my heart, and that is all, my friends, the only signal one ever needs. For, only the end of one chapter paves the way for the next one. And smooth plots never touched a soul.