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Stress can be a real monster that sucks everything from your life, but letting the light in can guide you to a place of peace, freedom, and dreams.
There must be a place where forgotten dreams reside,
With the real you, before you let the others decide.
Where earnings are measured by simply a heart’s content .
The part of you they killed, smiling, with your consent.
Where lessons from fairy tales still guide your day,
Where you stop to smell the flowers and kick stardust on your way.
Where your life isn’t strangulated amidst this rat race,
Where the struggle isn’t with somebody else, to keep pace.
This must also be the refuge for the thoughts you crowd,
To some corner of your mind, to hush out the noises loud,
To be dealt with later, or simply to live in denial forever,
Only to haunt you when you don’t see it coming, until sleep becomes a difficult endeavor.
The monster stays dormant only until it grows on itself,
Until the things you refuse to talk about are the only things you know about yourself.
A war you waged for so long- but its intentions you now doubt,
You see the scars, but have forgotten what the fight was all about.
You shut down, hold back, shout, sometimes speak–
to conceal; a call for help is after all, only for the feeble minded, weak.
The two worlds collide when this monster breaks free-
To conspire with your dreams forgotten, to perform a feat of alchemy.
They take possession of your demons ugly and breathe language into their ears,
It throws open your windows, to let in the light, preparing for the final release.
To help let down that burden once and for all,
leaving you feeling exposed uncomfortably, but finally at peace.
Your fists loosen to paint pictures on the walls you once punched, your silences find music,
words strung together in the depths of the night, now look a lot like your life line;
And just like that, one day, with the sun shining bright, the winds blowing free,
you’ll find that you mean it,
when you tell the world, “I’m fine!”
A version of this was first published here.
Image source: videoblocks
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Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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"I chose to go out into the remote, wild, unknown, and make it home," says entrepreneur Kiranjeet Ahluwalia Chaturvedi, who owns Birdsong & Beyond.
The story of my mountain home Birdsong & Beyond started taking shape in 2009, on the internet, the way many stories do these days.
My childhood fascination for a life in the Himalayas led to an internship with a central Himalayan NGO instead of a much prized corporate assignment. But when they offered me a full-time job, I refused. I was overcome by fear and a lack of confidence.
My other longings pulled me away – the longing to fit in, to earn validation from others. By my mid-30s, with all the trappings of a middle-class urban life in place, the call of the snows couldn’t be ignored anymore. So I got to work on it with clearer intentions and a stronger sense of what I needed for myself, and why.
Many Indian elderly are firm believers in enslaving a daughter-in-law in the name of tradition which is actually a tradition of oppression and not of religious faith.
Albeit, the popular culture has interpreted scriptures as suggesting that Kanyadaan is the supreme form of donation given to someone, the connotation that the word donation alludes to definitely objectifies the girl.
Even when the exegesis justify the act of giving away the daughter, considering it a ritual to mark the initiation of the daughter into her husband’s gotra and her becoming the part of his family tree.
There is no denial of the fact that this initiation is not required on the part of the groom thereby formally denoting the end of the filial ties with the daughter as it was popularly instructed to the bride during the Vidai ceremonies:
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