Dating Life

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'I went on a date with my diary.' This is a cliche I use whenever I go out alone. I was sipping my latte, some old Hollywood melody was playing in the background. Whenever I have not heard of any English song I simply call it Hollywood. It doesn't matter to me. 

I took out my diary and pen and tried to scribble a bit. Scribbling when turned into doodling, doodling when turned into pricking pages, pricking when turned into tearing down the page I didn't even realise. When you have suffered from lifelong feelings of you are not allowed to be loved it often becomes hard to love people around you. First, we ignore this feeling like we don't care. It doesn't matter but somewhere, deep down in our hearts, this feeling starts to prick up. Pricking becomes digging and leaves a hole which becomes almost impossible to fill up. 

Whenever I sit alone or lie on my bed every night, I ask myself what have I done wrong. I asked myself this question again. How badly I want to not pass on this guilt to the next generation if there's ever going to be one. Why does this never end? I tried, failed, got up, succeeded, and failed again but why does failure always leave a scar and not success? My bag is empty. I want to fill it up with genuine laughter and smiles, stuff it with kindness and innocence. 

A little girl about five or six years old was sitting at the table next to me, with her mother and aunt. As the song was ending she stopped her dancing and with the beginning of the song her performance began. A little later, I realised her dance was meant for cheering me up. With the curtain of mist, we become too blind to notice the presence of trees, plants or grass there. It seems, she thought as I was sitting alone it was her duty to cheer me up. I couldn't resist smiling at her and encouraging her to sing the wrong lyrics at the top of her voice. My little bit of hand movement was enough to make her cheerful. I closed my diary at once and started to observe happiness around me. This was the happiness I decided to take with me to make my heart little light. Vacating a little space for others in my heart. 

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Nidhi katoch
A silent observer in search of her TRUE HOME. If you like my writings, do comment and share... Views are extremely personal and are original writings of mine.

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