Tuesday, 12 December 2017


I have never been an early riser.

Scratch that. In my younger days I used to be an early riser, when the situation demanded it. What I am not, is a morning person.

It takes me a couple of hours to finally become fully awake and aware of my surroundings.

As a sit at my chair at my workplace, I glance at the windows on the opposite side from my cubicle. On sunny days, the glowing orb in the sky has a miraculous way of slanting its rays down through the glass windows. As the sun moves along its path across the sky from east to west, the direction of these slanted lights change from one way to the opposite. Following the trajectory of the sun, these slanted rays show me, like olden times, how the day moves and ends.

I like watching that, though it brings about a gust of melancholy in me.

I can't help but think how fast the sun moves across the sky. Another day ends.

The inevitableness of the whole situation makes me want to cry.

Mondays are the worst. It is the beginning of the work week and starts the whole cycle of melancholy.

Am I becoming too depressed?

Sometimes when staring at the computer screen at work becomes too monotonous, I like to take a peek at the window. I wish I had my own window, but alas, my cubicle is by the wall. Although on other days, I feel very grateful for my little nook. Some days you don't want to see the world. Some days you don't want the world to see you.

Routine can be a good thing. It keeps my mind off of stress. Isn't that funny?

Wait, why is it funny in the first place?

I sigh.

Sometimes domesticity can become dull. The excitement of cooking in your very own kitchen wanes over time. You still need to eat, though.

Sunny afternoons bring lazy moments and dark thoughts. Who knew sunshine could be monochromatic?

Blank pages on the computer screen are evil. They are my ultimate enemy. I have so much to put down on them. I don't know where to begin, so my fingers hover idly over the keyboard.

I genuinely want to stop writing some days. Pack it all up, throw it all away. I don't see a point in continuing.

A tiny voice reminds me how far I have come. So does my husband. And my sister. And my family. And friends.

The tiny voice becomes a cacophony.

Then my heart leaps when I see another new subscriber has joined my mailing list. Something to look forward to. Another new person to reach out to.


Wait, what's that smell? Did something burn?

The daal!

*Scampering sounds*

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