The story of my life

It is really tough for me to say thank you. For anything at all. As obnoxious as it may sound, I hate to give the credit to something else that played a part in my happiness.

Oh yes, I was very stubborn, once upon a time. I never let anyone inside me. Since everyone around seemed convinced, I guess I was doing a good job of putting up a show. There was only one person who knew about the way I felt, and that was me.

It all came when I wrote. Poems of being stuck in life, despairing about the woes of the world. Poems of hope being barely there. Poems of doom.

I thought sorrow was wonderful. I could connect with it anytime, anywhere, with anything. From small cracks in the wall to broken pieces of furniture, I saw the story of my life being reflected everywhere.

Craters. Oh yes, there were craters. Hidden behind fake smiles and pretense. Brick by brick, I had built up walls. Painted them with wonderful shades of grey. I stayed among them, content. I occasionally enjoyed the company of the stars, the ruby sunsets, the chirping birds and the sparkling dewdrops.

I saw stories in places unimagined. In the nooks and crannies of railway stations I found the next Slumdog Millionaire. In the quite alleys of bustling lanes, I saw the heartbreaking eyes of those malnourished. I searched their eyes. Some full of fantasy, others filled with wide wonder and some filled with bitterness.

Every sunrise and sunset held another story. A story of its own. Though different each time, I noticed repetitions. And the hymns of doom returned.

I trudged along the streets, iPod stuck in my ears, searching for my next story.

The story that would provide answers.

Why was I still in the same place?

Why couldn’t I be myself once more?

Was I holding on too tight?

Why did I feel so inconsequential?

Many other questions like these swarmed in my head, like bees over a hive. And I continued to trudge along.

One day, it came. The answers, along with a person I deeply admired. Perhaps my cloud did have a silver lining after all. I wasn’t stuck. The quest for outwardly manifestations blinded my vision within. I hadn’t been looking well enough. I had, as a matter of fact, changed. Evolved. I was stronger than what I was a year ago, perhaps even wiser. I had been a good student. I was learning each day, each hour.

I wasn’t holding on to fear. I was holding on by hope. My walls had crumbled ever since. I did not wish to build them again. Yet, I was afraid of being alone. Of staying in those dark grey walls once again. But for the record, I have done pretty well.

I guess I have a few more blessings to count for now. And saying thank you gets easier everyday.

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7 thoughts on “The story of my life

  1. Very well written. Simple & Sweet. Keep it up. Keep working on it and saying Thank You will come instinctively 🙂

    It’s a rare gift to see stories in things, that most of us overlook or take their existence for granted. Try to post some of these stories.

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