Living in and out of reality as I chase my dreams sky high.

Thursday, 18 February 2016

How do I explain the beauty of Winter to a skeptic?

How do I explain the beauty of Winter to a skeptic? Is it the cold, the smog, the feeling of death in the air or the unforgiving winter chills that scare people away? Maybe its a combination of all, or maybe it's just the absence of the sun.

I don't know. 
I don't know.

But beyond the grey skies and the bare trees, there is a secret.







Maybe it's just my secret.
Maybe it's just my view.

The Winter cold strips away my past, my sins perhaps,
It strips me bare of all old, of all bad but mostly of all dead.
Then it is like looking as though you're in a snowglobe as magic fills the air,
And sparkling white dust falls on the ground.
It covers all bare and decomposes all dead,
And takes away all the impurities to create a brand new slate,
So that the world can now once again start painting with all its colors.
I think they call it Spring.
But look.
But look.
The world hasn't started painting yet, so maybe I will embark in the magic just a little longer.








So now how do I explain the beauty of Winter to a Skeptic?
Maybe it is the cold, the smog, the feeling of death in the air and the unforgiving winter chills that scare people away?

No!
It is a combination of all, but for sure it's just the absence of the sun.

I know.
I know.

Because beyond the grey skies and the bare trees, I have a secret.

It's just my secret.
It's just my view.

The Winter cold strips away my past, my sins perhaps,
It strips me bare of all old, of all bad but mostly of all dead.
Then it is like looking as though you're in a snowglobe as magic fills the air,
And sparkling white dust falls on the ground.
It covers all bare and decomposes all dead,
And takes away all the impurities to create a brand new slate,
So that the world can now once again start painting with all its colors.

They call it Spring.

But look.
But look.

The world hasn't started painting yet, so maybe I will embark in the magic just a little longer.
So how do I explain the beauty of Winter to a skeptic because even magic falls short of awe for them.

But maybe I won't tell them about my secret.
It is mine to enjoy.


Sunday, 14 February 2016

Practicality: The Steps of being a good Indian daughter.


In the driest of seasons I've found a solitude of happiness, how could it be that in the darkness I learned to shine and in the coldest I learned to melt?

All my life I've been told what was practical in life. The practical job for a girl, the practical age of marriage, and the practical age to have children. When you tell someone what not to do, it's second nature if not first for them to want to do it anyways. No matter how obedient that child is, after awhile we all take a chance at getting burnt. I think it's the thrill of being impractical that catches you by the hand. Maybe that was the trick all along right? Even Adam and Eve took a bite of that apple so how could I not? I didn't realize that something so sinful so wrong could feel so right. If practicality is so great then why have I never gained any happiness by being practical? All I know is that when I sit in a Literature class talking about poetry or sit in my Politics class and debate about the world all I am is enriched with beauty and filled with happiness. I have a sense of purpose, a sense to be someone to do something. When I attend my Theater class, I suddenly have the wings to fly high. But it's impractical to want to be a poet, an actor a politician. It's not a practical job that will pay the bills, nor the practical job that could possibly support a marriage or a child. It's impractical to hope to be that one in a million, but what is one in a million? I spent all my life running after practicality, I spent my entire college career running after that practicality in which I achieved so little in. I am now almost at the end of my college career and I am going the reverse direction because now I've got the time to be impractical and let's be honest this is the best moments of my college so far. So maybe it's impractical to be taking a class about poetry, or sitting in a class and talking about politics but I don't care. I followed the rule book too long and it got me nowhere. But here I am smiling, I am happy, I am laughing but mostly I am excited every day to wake up and go to class. If impracticality feels soo good why would anyone want to be practical? Shouldn't we measure success through happiness anyways? So then why do we make calculated guesses? Why do we rely so much on probability rather than chances? Truth be told I myself don't have the answers, but I've found a place of happiness much larger and greater beyond the ideas of living a practical life, and so they might call me a fool but maybe only after 21 years of existence have I really understood the key to life, and so I'm throwing every rule book out, because now I'm not afraid of hurting other people's feelings, nor be apologetic about who I am. I'm not that girl who stood out, I was never the star student, or the most liked. No. I'm the girl who went about unnoticed yet created a storm as she passed by, I'm the girl who could never be the trophy daughter yet demanded society's attention anyways. I'm the girl you didn't know, nor cared about but the one you couldn't ignore. I'm the girl whose face you might not care to look at but the girl whose name you'll always remember. I'm Serena, and I'm impractical. Sue me if you want, but I don't plan on holding back now, and to all my critics you better watch out now because I've only just begun stirring up a storm!

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