Writer of my story

Only life had been a movie and I would have been the writer of it

There would have been no sorrows

There would have been smiles and laughter

Peaceful sleeps at night and days filled with love

The mistakes would have been corrected

The faults would have been forgotten

The regrets would have vanished

The dejected memories would have been erased

The anger would have had made peace within the self

The search would have been over

Heart wouldn’t desire anymore for all the wishes would have been fulfilled

If only I had been the writer of my story

The pain of being not wanted.

“When my husband had an affair with someone else I watched his eyes glaze over when we ate dinner together and I heard him singing to himself without me, and when he tended the garden it was not for me.

He was courteous and polite; he enjoyed being at home, but in the fantasy of his home I was not the one who sat opposite him and laughed at his jokes. He didn't want to change anything; he liked his life. The only thing he wanted to change was me.

It would have been better if he had hated me, or if he had abused me, or if he had packed his new suitcases and left.

As it was he continued to put his arm round me and talk about being a new wall to replace the rotten fence that divided our garden from his vegetable patch. I knew he would never leave our house. He had worked for it.

Day by day I felt myself disappearing. For my husband I was no longer a reality, I was one of the things around him. I was the fence which needed to be replaced. I watched myself in the mirror and saw that I was mo longer vivid and exciting. I was worn and gray like an old sweater you can't throw out but won't put on.

He admitted he was in love with her, but he said he loved me.

Translated, that means, I want everything. Translated, that means, I don't want to hurt you yet. Translated, that means, I don't know what to do, give me time.

Why, why should I give you time? What time are you giving me? I am in a cell waiting to be called for execution.

I loved him and I was in love with him. I didn't use language to make a war-zone of my heart.

'You're so simple and good,' he said, brushing the hair from my face.

He meant, Your emotions are not complex like mine. My dilemma is poetic.

But there was no dilemma. He no longer wanted me, but he wanted our life

Eventually, when he had been away with her for a few days and returned restless and conciliatory, I decided not to wait in my cell any longer. I went to where he was sleeping in another room and I asked him to leave. Very patiently he asked me to remember that the house was his home, that he couldn't be expected to make himself homeless because he was in love.

'Medea did,' I said, 'and Romeo and Juliet and Cressida, and Ruth in the Bible.'

He asked me to shut up. He wasn't a hero.

'Then why should I be a heroine?'

He didn't answer, he plucked at the blanket.

I considered my choices.

I could stay and be unhappy and humiliated.

I could leave and be unhappy and dignified.

I could Beg him to touch me again.

I could live in hope and die of bitterness.

I took some things and left. It wasn't easy, it was my home too.

I hear he's replaced the back fence.” 
― Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry

Updates

It has been a while since I wrote something for my blog. Recently I am having a lot of free time. Time to watch movies, read books, go for shopping and sleep my heart’s content. Sleeping hasn’t been my forte since years though. Me and sleep just never get along much. I guess we will find our peace one day…

Just felt like updating. Toodles 

Words Defy to Define What I Feel.

One needs to physically sense the existence of feelings with their closed eyes. The true, happy, giggling, lonely, bursting with resentment, filled with anxiety, secluded and despaired feelings.

I think my feelings are like lights in a jar. Some of them sparkling bright attracting and tempting the moths of desire and some of them faint, blurring reality with dreams. 

Life in Chaos.

What is chaos?  What is life in chaos? how would you define chaos? How would you paint it? How can you feel chaos? Will it be silent, penetrating your ears, drum beats and whispering or a jungle of lines and dots, splashes of color and dirt, murky and shadows? 

Imaginary little party.

So if I had a party.. or lets say a quite elegant dinner who would be the people I would want there to be?

1. J.K.Rowling (Without any doubt)
2. Chris Martin
3. Damon Salvatore
4. Momofuku Ando
5. A.R. Rehman
6. Van Gogh
7. Willy Wonka
8.Chandler Bing
9. Sirius Black
10. Abdul Bari Khan
11.David Ogilvy
12. Bubbles (from Powerpuff girls)
13. Hans Zimmer
14. Sanjeev Kapoor

And I am sure in coming years the list will grow.

7 stages of love

Watched a movie last night and reminded me how beautiful love can be.  I was beginning to lose faith in it. I know it was just a movie. It was supposed to be sentimental and moving but deep down we all know there is a magic known as love and it is the most powerful kind of magic which can create you or break you.  It has a warm and beautiful feeling which makes you feel secure and special.

Read this a couple of days ago that love has seven stages, wanted to share since then.

1. Hab (Attraction)
2. Uns (Infatuation)
3. Ishq (Love)
4. Aqeedat (Reverence)
5. Ibadat (Worship)
6. Junoon (Obsession)
7. Maut (Death)