Parenting

Just a thought –

Freedom of speech should be the first step towards good parenting

Family Concept

In her mind, “Umpteenth number of women’s life he has cosseted. And he is talking about how parents should be vital for every child. Family should be the primeval priority for every child. “

Her ogling eyes spoke volumes.

In her thoughts-

“Did your mother tell you that in the name of family, you could annihilate other’s family?”

I appreciate this parenting. They have not failed in giving the child the needed love, education, importance of family, customs, tradition and prioritizing things for their own well being. But, they have failed to inculcate the needed human qualities within him. So chivalrously dedicated to his folks that he couldn’t see the destruction to other families caused due to his feats.

I keep conjecturing how would the woman in his mother react, when she hears or sees her son’s true colors. Will she still desire to wrap her arms around him to protect him from his sins?

His family has eternally shielded him from seeing his true self.

****

She tried to talk to her mother. It had taken long pain stricken years for her to find this guts within her. She, her mother, failed to cognize. Her parents didn’t move along with her with the changing world. She tried her best to explain. She failed as a child too.

Her mother wept, tried to protect her, loved, cared, struggled and did what not for that one flaw. But she failed to understand that this kid has gone far, really far for it to come back into her arms.

In her thoughts-

“How do I explain? I feel paralyzed with their overwhelming emotions. I have lost the freedom of speech within my family. The traumatising episodes of the family has always lurked me not to voice my problems. I didn’t want to see another bout between them. I didn’t want to see my mother weeping. I didn’t want to see my father’s weakness. I have always kept quite.”

Tears rolled down making her plight obvious.

Broken families do less damage to children than those families that are having the pieces stuck together unwillingly.

I’m in life’s most foreboding phase. I need my family. I need the feeble love of mother. But all I got to hear is how I should be happy forcefully because she wanted to be contented being a good parent. All I got to hear was how family could break into pieces.

I was forced ardently not to voice my problem.

I chose to keep quite.

Note:

Mom,

I wish you could have heard me.

Love,

Your daughter

If only both the mothers had done the basic of good parenting, the son of one would not have been the reason behind demise of the daughter of another. The girl’s family never saw the sunshine again. It was one of the many that the son wrecked.

Ariana

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Exuberance

Just a thought –

Some occurrences in your journey jabs open your eyes towards the punitive veracity of the world and it’s species.

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She would be easily around 85 years. Yet she luridly remembered him. It was desolating to know that she still reminisced him as how he had chosen to show himself to her. 50 years of human life is a lot of time to hold on to something. I conjectured on the power of the miff.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger – Friedrich Nietzsche

She said this to me and I ended up looking through her. I could sense that. The agony that had the power to inoculate me. For some reason, I was keen on knowing what was it. She is one of the most intellectual women I have ever come across in life till now. Her talks and thoughts were immensely instigating. And she told me this:

I was 23 years, when I met him. When we met, I was victimized to certain life threatening ordeals. But, I never had urging thoughts of giving up on life or on myself. I’m a fighter and I strongly believed in spiritual side of mortal life. I believed in natural justice the most. She has that sparkles in her eyes, when she mentioned it. It startled me for a second.

I continued to listen to her. Our world was so picturesque. He changed my acuity towards the bitter globe. Life is never a bed of roses. I understand the presence of thorns amongst roses, but don’t understand the presence of leeches that can kill the roses. His devious comportment was the leech. Love makes you oversee the flaw in them and that is how it should be to relish a serene soul. But his deceit was so formidable that the serene soul lost its denotation. He thrust me into a dark tunnel with a vicious vigor that I’m still finding my way out of it. 50 years and counting. I have had more devastating circumstances to have gone into the tunnel I’m mentioning here. But I had chosen him as the mace to tumble down. I regret the choice.

Do you know why? She had a tear stagnated at the corner of eye still trying to decide on to touch her cheeks or not. I was stuck in the thought of how can someone emote after 50 years of its occurrence? Baffled on the idea of time heals.

I love him. No, he is not my first love. The arch of her lips spoke volumes. He was my life’s companion. I wanted to share all the days I had with him. It was wrecked. I gave in, thus I gave up.

I subsisted to be only a blank page till now. The journey of subsistence was not at all tranquil. Words can’t do justice to those emotions.

And,

He was extremely devoted to me after that act of pretense. He was devoted to not to care about me, to be heartless to me. The perpetual reminder of that promise probed a lot of me yet kept me going. “A lot of me” would need another lifetime to expound.

With inquisitiveness I asked her, “Will you forgive him?” It is said forgiving and forgetting aids in healing. In a jostle she replied, “Does it matter? If it does, then who? He is and was not sorry for his feats. If he had in anyway, he would have found a way to me. And I don’t think anything could heal those wounds that time fails to heal.”

I was standing there, looking at this woman. Eyes wide open. She was a power in herself. Human emotions are complex however cool you tend to portray them. I shook hands expressing how pleased I was to meet her and slowly walked. In my trance – this could be me after 50 years. But do I have the conviction? I’ll figure out soon.

Name: Ariyana

Place: Waterstones, Piccadilly circus, London

Time: 11:10 am

 

Note:

It is a piece of fiction. My favorite author’s note:

“Neither novels nor their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species.”

– John Green, Fault in our stars