With each passing day she contemplated more and more about one particular thing. This thing had engulfed her so much so that she was gripped with bouts of self-doubt. Insecurity gripped her hard and she was forced to question her own passion – How will I spread my words? Are they worthy enough? Something which was initially a savior and then turned out to become an obsession was at the verge of fading away. She tried, tried hard to restrain it from happening but then she couldn’t just stop thinking about it.

She was only aware about the fact that this was something she always wanted to do, to write. For her, writing was synonyms with tranquility. After losing her father, she used to sputter in her own solitude but slowly and gradually she was consumed by melancholy.  If there was something which saved her from breaking apart then it was just a pen and paper on which she allowed her emotions to bleed. When everything else seemed indomitable to her, she realized as if she has attained ‘something’ in her life. As she was going into the dark abyss, this need for that ‘something’ was actually growing.

Slowly, she found solace in the form of writing. Her emotions were clearly marked on paper bearing darker tones of ink and were highlighted with her stories of gloom, dejection and woe. No amount of happiness was celebrated on papers, it was just her grief. Long hours were spent on writing, re-writing, discovering, re-discovering, creating and re-creating. Months slipped into years and she turned 14 but this whole process was not even for once put on hold instead it channeled its way into a more constructive habit. She had attained that ‘something’ in the form of journal writing, she could not put it other way maybe she was too small for that.

After 3 years, her laughter was back. Now she would no more write about sadness for she used to celebrate her emotions on paper. All her jovial memories were animated on paper. She had learnt to master her thoughts, her mind and most importantly her writing. Well, again she started to ruminate, saying ‘I should have faith in this art of expression, the one which saved me from breakdown and the one that shared my joy but I want to take it forward in life. But I am a writer by chance not by my choice, how will I take it ahead? I don’t even care about grammar, spelling or paradigm when I am expressing then how will I become a writer? ’

She found her answer in one of her own writings, she read it clearly, ‘I owe a lot to this pen and paper for it has hindered my spirit to get washed away by the waves of emotions. It would be a mistake if I don’t tell my stories to the world. I may not turn out to be a good story-teller or a good writer but I will treat the human idiosyncrasy with my sheer art of expression. I can just write with zest and that is enough to satisfy the urge of the wavering souls. ’

– Vanshika

3 thoughts on “Reflections

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