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The Diary in the Attic

Within a pile of pages
Lies hidden, forgotten,
The story of my life
My best and worst years
Truths, hopes, fears
The ones who knew it are gone
But they only saw parts of it
Never the full picture
I forget why I wrote
Perhaps, in confession
Maybe I went unheard for long
Or was scared to share myself
Yes, I was hard to understand
But I found it harder to talk
I was, probably
Too deep to bother digging
Too twisted to unravel
I gave up trying to connect
And they gave up on me
Too soon, and that hurt
I withered away in misery
Anyway, I wrote
At length, for someday
Someone else might
Sneak up to an attic to hide
And find in me a friend
My words a solace
My experiences a lesson
For I have things to say
About what I never did
But should have, could have
To survive and thrive
I could be a confidante
I think I will be, soon
Footsteps like thunder
A teenager in agony
Barges into dusty emptiness
Restless, furious, hurt
And thankfully, alone
I was her, once, but
She must not become me
A master hand waves
And my book falls open
It’s time to start.

the_confidante_2012_A3L

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The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award

Thank you Lillian, for having me share this space with those who belong to the Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award group. I admit it has taken a long time, but they are here! My responses to all your questions!

  1. Honestly speaking would you rather have money or happiness?
    I would have said money if I found peace in it. Truth is, I have only found peace when I used my money to make someone smile, so I would say happiness is my choice.
  2. What’s your most embarrassing moment?
    Tons! I have tales to fill a book, trust me. Ever happened to you? You are at a mall and you think you are talking to the person you have come with, but all the while it was someone else standing next to you, minding their own business as you rambled on and on?
  3. Do you believe in a God/Gods?
    I don’t believe in a fancily-dressed God, but I do believe that someone out there is making note of our sincerest prayers. How else would they come true just when you tried and tested everything else and resigned yourself to the worst?
  4. If you could own any piece of art what would it be?
    Starry night, Van Gogh.
  5. Where do you see yourself in 10 years’ time?
    Hopefully alive and traveling around the world, 10 years older. C’mon, I cannot answer questions like a soothsayer! 🙂
  6. What would you have for your last meal?
    Chocolate. One last sin 😉
  7. How many piercings/tattoos do you have if any?
    I plan to have at least one, soon.
  8. If you could spend a day with anyone dead or alive who would it be?
    A tête-à-tête with the voice in my head. I want her to step out and face me when she gives me that annoying-‘cause-she-is-right advice.
  9. What’s the best piece of advice you have ever been given?
    ‘You ought to take care of yourself too, once in a while, you know.’
  10. Favorite song of all time?
    This is tough! But I have fallen in love with ‘Chasing Cars’ by Snow Patrol.

I would like to ask the same questions to the folks here:
http://chocolatenchaturangas.com/
http://thewhisperingpen.com/
https://thedeviantdaydreamersays.wordpress.com/
https://elusiveconquests.wordpress.com/
https://myoverflowingthoughts.wordpress.com/

Please take the bait! 😉 I would love to read your answers too.

girl

P.S. Any other reader who wants to give it a shot, please do and let me know!

Daddy Dearest

A father is not superman. He is mostly ordinary, with an average way of life, family, and the occasional bad habit or weakness. He is mortal, and so I will not wax eloquent about the qualities of the super-dad. No, he is most likely incapable of bashing up the baddies or saving lives when the scary villain turns up. Who is he, then?

Assuming you are among the blessed ones, ‘dad’ is the man who fell in love with your mother, and committed his heart to her for life. Dad is the one who dreamed of ‘starting a family’ with your beaming mother; he is the one who was perhaps required to think of how they would manage expenses with a kid or more around the corner. He must have bitten off his nails as your mother went into labour, with the entire household fussing over her. Well, to tell you the truth, folks probably fussed over her all nine months, assuming that the would-be dad was doing fine, no tension and no sweat for him.

Your dad was the one who held you as you slept, as your mother slept. He perhaps worried that you looked too fragile to be true! Handing you over to your mother, he must have gazed anxiously and attentively while the doctor went on and on about caring for you.

Your dad must have looked into places he never bothered about before, like schools and day-care centres, to help your mother decide where the kids will have it best. He is the man who may have kicked one or two bad habits, or promised to stop swearing around the house on his rough days because the kids should not be exposed to the bad world at their tender age. While your mother reigned over the household, acknowledged by all as the parent supreme, dad fumbled around to see how he could make life more comfortable for all of you. He was often the villain disciplinarian when your mother was the loving angel, or the parent who enjoyed fooling around a bit while your mother tried her best to officially instill good principles and mannerisms.

Your dad got you a bike, or took you walking if he couldn’t get you one. You probably held on to his little finger so tight because you did not want him to leave you, ever. Dad introduced you to the world in his own way. Perhaps taught you a few things unknowingly. Maybe you started scanning the newspaper just to see why he loved to read it right in the morning, and he patted your back when you read the headlines aloud with the emphasis only a child can offer to reading material. Perhaps he caused you to win the school race just by constantly telling you that you were capable of it alright. It could be that he did not know how to prepare you for a fancy dress contest, but he was right there, cheering you when you went on stage. The poor thing must have cringed to himself when he told you he could not make it to your big event sometimes because, of course, his boss HAD to get the report that very day. How bad it must have felt for him to break the news to the eager kid demanding his attention in the sweetest way possible!

Your dad is the one who may admonish you at home all the time, but will praise you to other parents. He may have seemed distant, choosing to peek into the little aspects of your daily life only when he saw an impending problem that needed action, or was informed of a ‘situation’ requiring intervention. He might not be the epitome of patience, but he sure did repeat things to you when you tugged at his sleeve wanting the explanation all over again. He carried you on his shoulders in the parade so you would have the best view, even when he had to wade through sweaty crowds. Dad is the one who told you off if your manner was whiny, or instructed you to be brave when you were at the doctor’s for getting those nasty stitches. He probably ran pillar to post to get things done for you. Who knows, he might have planned to go catch a game live with friends, but ended up babysitting you in his time off from work, and you took the chance to throw every possible tantrum.

Dad can be part-Hitler part-Santa part-Goofy, and you cannot figure him out half the time! You often wondered if you were important to him at all, judging him wrongly on his grunting or nodding or hmm-ing in conversations, when all the while, he considered you an integral part of his soul. Sometimes you might have been embarrassed about him making jokes that only he found funny, or giving your friends the lecture about their lives when they showed up at your door. Dad just feels good when he knows he is needed, and you most certainly did not assure him of that as you grew older. You probably dismissed him in that polite yet aloof manner when he wanted to talk to you. Do you remember how he sat and admired your toddler-level drawings for a whole hour as you narrated how the accomplishment came about?

Dad honestly does not expect he deserves your 100% commitment even if he demands it aloud; he probably hopes for 10. Could you give him 5 to see the smile on his face, or hear the familiar grunt of approval? Look beneath the bushy eyebrows and the aging jawline. You will find the proud eyes of a man who is but a little child within. All he needs is you to reassure him that he did not fail as a father, that those little shortcomings did not make him less of a dad. For while mothers are the angels heaven sent down, dads are also the fierce guardians of their flock. “My daddy may not be the strongest, but he is still my daddy dearest.”

FathersDay

A Little Love Won’t Hurt

I have a hive of thoughts inside my head,
Hazy with all the signs I think I read,
I see him standing over there by the light,
Staring through me (or at me?)
He could beat the stars at shining bright!

I should maybe pinch myself a little bit
If life is a sweet song, he just wrote it
I find him standing tall and so handsome,
Smiling at me from afar,
Oh hold my hand just take me home!

They say you just need to give love a chance to work
The way I’m feeling now, I think it likely wouldn’t hurt

I think I’m not my same old self tonight
I think the earth has vanished out of sight
I fancy him standing macho by my side
In my dream I’ve gotten so far
He’s my man and I’m his blushing bride!

We both are walking down the road, quietly
Our silences beg to differ; they’re speaking loudly
I wonder how much my soul is set to change
Trust Cupid has raised the bar
He stepped into my world and had it rearranged!

They say you just need to give love a chance to work
The way I’m feeling now, I say it surely wouldn’t hurt
Oh I must’ve got a songbird in my heart
And my sanity is pulling its hair apart!
If he just feels the way I do and says he’ll be mine
I might cuddle up forever on cloud number nine!

Sweet love

My Diary Dearest

Dairies. I love writing in them…even after that time when the golden rule was broken and my diary was poached by a curious parent. All in good intent, of course, but those reasons would not make sense to a hot-headed teenager, of course. Still doesn’t, duh!

I love the way I can just scoop up my thoughts and somehow, pour them all into a couple of pages, with complete honesty. You cannot have been that honest with a real, human friend! Was it a bad day? Whisper my sadness into my diary and expect total discretion. Is it a crush? Spill the beans passionately through pen and paper. The mandatory rose petals from a secret admirer find their way into the book too. Perhaps a photograph of a fun day out with friends? Absolutely! Hmmm…mad at mom or dad? Coop up in a room and write. Spew all the complaints, and then wait for the parent to cajole me into having dinner.

A diary is so special, isn’t it? Let the world tumble along; my words need my complete attention. I scrawl fondly, angrily, sadly, happily…and look at the words another day, living the same story but from a different perspective, maybe. ‘Oh god, how could I have been that stupid?’ ‘Wow, that was fun, no?’ ‘Damn, I should have avoided getting into that argument.’ ‘I got appreciated today.’

I miss my dog-eared diary sometimes. Such things happen. There’s a treasure of memories in there, and yes, the book manages to disappear. I hope to stumble upon it someday, when I am least looking for it. Or, if somebody else does a long time later, I hope they have a good time reading it without being judgemental, realizing that it was a crazy teenage survival kit.

I look out at the dimming sunlight. It has been a good day, and I feel great about writing again. Logging on to my web journal….

P.S. No editing. Just writing and instantly posting.Go Dee!Diary Dearest

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