Dear readers, this blog is my safe heaven where I can try things, fail things, not-fail things and succeed a little, be happy, create content that makes a difference. So I'm trying one more thing here, I'm trying to write more, imagine more, be a little more than what I already am. So, this is a new post series, will be posted weekly/monthly/whenever I'm done writing something. I am not good at sketching characters or writing anything at all that makes perfect sense but look I'm trying. This post series is a sign of trying. These are incomplete, improper & totally raw scenes from my mind that I want you all to read. Let's give it a go and stay with me.
"I thought his mother gave birth to a disappointment, I wondered how he managed to be this sad with all the privileges and money and a house so glorious and a family that loved him and paid for every fucking thing he wanted. Maybe it was just that he was too young to understand real life and real problems. Or maybe that he never found a real problem so he created them for himself. He broke his own heart by wanting things that'll only harm him, he got close to people who lived far away from the city he lived in, so the distance made him cry, he pushed away real good things in life, in short, he made everything miserable for him.
I was sure he was going to hell when he dies because this is how we're brought up, thinking we can decide who can go to hell or heaven as if we know, as if God has left this upon us. But now whenever I look back at him, the almost invisible connection we had, I see a broken glass. His parents created him and put him on the shelf of most fragile things in house. But they forgot he was a human being and us humans crave pain to feel alive. And after everything, I don't hate him for everything he did, to himself and all the girls and his family, I think him as a human being who was trying to feel alive but in the way got lost and filled himself with everything bad."
the second one
"But my mother never looked me in the eyes and asked anything. She just patted me after every time I punched a boy in school or on street. I really never realized why she didn't. I thought she was afraid or maybe she was too strong to raise a baby girl who wouldn't make same mistakes as hers. I had a theory about why she never looked in my eyes and scold me or try to find out why I did that: I thought she was afraid to find that I, her favorite daughter, was afraid of something, especially of her. She let me grow up like a wild plant, special wild plant that didn't need care but she took care of me by herself, all by herself, she shaped me in the most glorious wild plant you'll ever come across."
There's a short story in the corner of my mind. I think there are a few more words I can manage to write before the weekend is over.
I guess all I need is a little more courage.