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As I stood, a gust of wind washed away my blanket with everything on it..even the pages that I had gathered in a pile.
It was 2 AM and I was writing my diary in bed. I usually wake up really late on Saturdays and obviously keep up all night. Night is my creative time – time to get more vulnerable, to blog, solve those problems I couldn’t solve at work, realize how cute my dog is etc. A random beep on the phone and it’s Google photos. I mean who else would I expect to hear from, at that time of the hour, anyways. It prompted me to re-discover that day, from 3 years ago. The collage it created was so beautiful, it left me feeling nostalgic. And it’s then I remembered that my old diary was still lying around somewhere discreet, probably catching dust. I rampaged my room going from one suitcase to the other, the document folders, my clothes rack and finally happened to find it. I go back and tuck myself into bed, comparing all my days to those from 3 years ago. Laughing at how naive I was back then, I almost didn’t notice when I slipped into sleep.
As usual woke late the next day too and realized that the world is almost half done with their chores while I was busy dreaming. I have to admit, I love such lazy weekends. My calendar on weekdays is so swamped that I hardly get to sleep anyway. It’s winter so the sun usually went down by 5 PM. Well, I still had 4 hours to catch some sun before it goes down, so I jumped out of my bed, brushed, fed my dog, walked him, took a quick shower, grabbed my keys, spread some jam on four slices of bread, all set to go on a drive. As I got to the door, I realized that I had left my diary half-read last night. I grabbed it real quick and set on a ride. Where to? A beach, around 40 mins away from home. The weather was nice so why not, I thought.
I just got lucky that the Bakers beach hardly had any visitors that day. As soon as I got there, I took out the emergency blanket from my trunk, took my belongings and walked in the sand, with slippers hanging from my little finger. A nice shady spot against the rock, invited me in.
I sat down, bit into a piece of bread, as I widened my eyes to look at a couple walking in a distance. The waves added a beautiful melody to the scenery in front of me. Dusting my hands off, extending my legs, I felt the warm sun on my feet. I sat there to take in the views for a while and when the beach was almost deserted, I grabbed my dairy with a sigh and started where I left off. The header on the page I was reading, said “What’s mine, will always be mine”. As I begin to read page after page, I felt like going back to the old me and giving her a tight hug. The old me was way innocent, overly trusting and gullible. I want to believe that I am not the same anymore. Is it a good idea to do this? I wondered as I start to re-experience all the emotions from years ago.
A part of me wanted to chuck it all, but another part of me felt like reading it all, feeling it all over again. I needed to feel the hurt because that is how I will grow stronger, that is how I will grow out of it. I wanted to be hurt so bad that any amount of hurt cannot hurt me no more. And that meant, reading the pages no matter what. After a while, I gave up.
Practicality kicked in to remind me that I should never pen down my sad thoughts, ever. I needed to discard the pages, all of them. Because it matters no more. It shouldn’t matter anymore. I slowly pick and choose the ones I want to get rid off, tear the pages and put them beside me in a pile with a small stone as a weight to hold it from the wind. It is almost dawn as I hurried up to stand up so I could stretch and walk along the water.
As I stood, a gust of wind washed away my blanket with everything on it..even the pages that I had gathered in a pile. I ran behind, chasing them, trying to hold my hat with the other. To my surprise, I see some human running towards me from the other side of the beach, with my blanket, a ziplock and probably a few pages from my diary. I thanked him, as I takeover all the garbage and saw him stare curiously at a page. This page had a sketch of a car on it. “ Is that your car? ” he asked and I nodded with a smile. “Well. You’re a good artist” he said and went on “Is there anything else you lost?” I took a deep breath and replied, “Yes and I don’t want it to be found.”
Image via Pixabay
A Software Engineer by profession with a penchant for art and writing. An ardent believer in the power of positive thinking and the need for self-advocacy. Loves to travel and explore her passions. read more...
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. 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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Dear Women’s Web Community Member,
You may have wondered at our being on the quieter side during the last couple of months. Thank you for your patience, and we wanted to come back to you with a detailed note on what’s been happening at our end of things.
When we first began Women’s Web, as a blog from one woman’s desk along with a few like-minded souls, little could we have imagined the heights that it would soar to. Over the years, Women’s Web has published over 20000 stories (almost all by women), empowered countless women with the ideas, community and resources to chase their dreams, employed hundreds of women in core and project-based roles, and in the process, emerged as the OG women’s community in India. It has also inspired many others to build communities of a similar nature, all enabling women (and other-underrepresented groups) in their own ways.
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