It all started as a diary.
I wrote rants to crumple them up and then burn
To forget those moments of an unexpected turn,
That no one cared to inform me about
Because I was a child and I need to learn.
It went on to become realisations
All those brilliant epiphanies
And life lessons and philosophies
That could flow from a 12-year old mind
Of wishes and whimsies.
It turned round the corner to confrontations
To see myself and figure out
My difficulties, my dreams and my doubts,
That I died to reveal to someone
But I didn’t dare signal or shout.
It went on to become dreams.
Dreams that I know wouldn’t ever be real,
But I still wanted to feel.
But dreams clashed with realities,
So hard that it took forever to heal.
Today I write,
For all these reasons, and more
Like to comfort and amuse and explore
All the dangers that I can’t.
I write to get out of the door.
This is a collection of my moments, my dreams, my thoughts, my beliefs, my wishes, my secrets, my fantasies, my favourites, my insecurities, my diary entries. All given a form of a story or a poem, or just, words.
Writing has helped me channel my confusions and sort myself out. I have began to understand the subtle eloquence of words. Someday, I hope to understand the world through my words.
Proceed. Would you like some juice? (I don’t make tea. Especially for a stranger.)