We all have different stories. No two people living on this planet can have the exact same story. Each one of us has a different set of the past, the present and the future. We can have similar stories, and sometimes that’s how people connect. But at other times we have our stories so entirely different than those around us that we may find it very difficult to connect. There are no connecting dots or no parallel lines or – if geometry interests you that much then, I’d say – no concentric circles!
Yet, we – as social beings – have to find ways to connect through those differences.
Every day is a new day. Each day brings us new hope, new opportunities, new experiences. Some days are good, while some are not as good. But they are part of our story, aren’t they? The good days, the bad ones, the ones where we cried for a small bar of chocolate and also the ones where we cried out of joy at the birth of our child. They all help in creating an outline of our story – the particularly major ones.
I believe that our stories create us as an individual, as a human. Yes, our decisions mould us into an individual. But what are those decisions based upon? – our experiences! And what are those experiences? – our stories!! So take wise decisions and make your story the best one of all, let it reverberate throughout the histories of the future.
Good luck. Have a nice day!
Some memories get etched onto our minds.
They make themselves stronger than diamonds, in the sense that they become so stubborn, they won’t ever leave, not even when you want them to.
Those memories are also lighter than feather, at times they’ll come to you when you least expect them to.
Memories are your assets, but don’t get too attached to them, they also possess the power to destroy you.
She was unnaturally calm today. Like the firm pebble in the river, true to its weight. Like the delicate roots of a plant, loyal to gravity. Like the young leaves sticking strong to its branches, even as the current of wind shakes the tree roughly about.
She had no feelings of hatred today. Nor of spite, or remorse or helplessness. But there most certainly was one thought in those tiny brain cells, interrupting her calm demeanour: Till when? When should she stop ‘acting’ mean and egoistic? Is it even necessary to lower her moral for another roguish person? Will it be forgivable to taint her own soul for the mistakes of the other? When would be ‘The End’? Is there even a chance for any ceremonial end? Or would it simply be a full stop without the opportunity for a goodbye? She took a deep breath. Tried to think about a solution. History repeats itself, she read it in the book she was trying to read. Which did little to lift her spirits.
I like the letters, randomly scattered around – desperately waiting for someone – to twirl and twist them into words. I’m fond of these made up words, killing time, for when they would be stitched into meaningful and lovely sentences. Then, we find these abandoned sentences strewn around, wanting to flow into each other like a swift waterfall – or in other words – a paragraph. Or perhaps a stanza. After a short hiatus, these paragraphs, clash together to form chapters of varying lengths.
Later, when added up together, these chapters form into a book. An entirely different world. Not made up of atoms or molecules or cell, but of tiny letters and words, entangled into one another. Finally, like a little cherry on top of a cake, we decide a name – a perfect topic – to suit the book. Not that we hadn’t thought about it initially. We went through all the related topics since the very beginning right until the end; but now that it all comes to an end, we give it a final touch. We stick by that one topic, that one phrase, or rather that one word which completely delineates the entire collection of our words.
This book is a gift to our own-self and to those around us. A gift that comes straight from your heart, sprinkled with the thoughts from the brain and adorned with the words from your mouth.