tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57104141677558504142024-03-19T14:04:34.224+05:30the heart tells no lieshomelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-89992389402474104752018-01-18T18:46:00.001+05:302018-09-02T21:14:07.459+05:30"You make learning like playing"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
There have been many little things over the past the years that my little ones have told me. Most often, I'm pretty sure they don't know how much it means, but to me, these moments are so precious and they mean so much. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Two days ago, tired and exhausted from a long haul weekend finishing my dissertation, I walked into class for the latter hours of the school day. To be honest, I was in no mood to take an afternoon session that day, and most afternoons, my students are in no mood to work either. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
"Let's do English." I said.<br />
As I opened to the contents page, "Ma'am, I like learning with you." O said, out of the blue.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Caught off guard and curious, I said, " What do you mean?"</div>
<div dir="ltr">
"You make learning fun. I like playing, but you make studying like playing, so I like learning with you."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
"Yes ma'am, I never used to be able to learn, in my old school. But with you, studying is easy." said B.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
A chorus of agreements and similar statements filled the class and I stood there overwhelmed trying to make sure I didn't cry. I don't think I could've explained to them why. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
It took me a moment to recover, but when I did, I think the class was more fun than it ever was before. Or maybe that was just for me.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The magnitude of that statement hit me straight through my heart and even the thought of it overwhelms me. I can only rejoice in Christ for these dear ones I have the privilege to teach. Ever grateful!</div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-25407474778972977252017-09-05T23:41:00.001+05:302017-12-24T07:44:48.528+05:30This Teacher's Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
I remember being about ten years old and wanting to be a teacher, but I have a feeling, that's not when it started. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I remember wanting to run a play school like the one I was sent to - a second home.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I remember wanting to drop science, but still teach, in grade five. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I remember dropping the idea of teaching literature and contemplating computers instead in grade eleven.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
But through it all, I remember that I've always wanted to teach. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I remember someone once close to me asking me what I'd like to be when I grow up, and to my response of 'a teacher', told me that I would change as I grew up. Either they were wrong, or quite possibly, I haven't grown since then, but the wanting to teach hasn't changed much.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Two days ago, someone described what I do as a state of 'being' as opposed to a state of 'doing'. And, that is where I must begin. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Teaching has become what I've come to see as my calling, and for this, I have distinct reasons, with which I shall not bore people with at the moment. But all the same, I have been led to teach over time and over multiple spaces. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
It is a state of 'being' for me, as was aptly put, I think. I do not know what I would do if I wasn't to teach. I do not know who I would have been, if I had wanted something else. Although, I did have the choice that many people seem to feel devoid of. Yet, despite it all, I love that I am and that I do. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I remember a little origami flower I received a few years ago. That was my first ever teacher's day gift, with a little note that held lots of love.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I remember smiling faces and flowers that have been presents over the past the years, and am thankful.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Today was a day that was unlike any other day. It was a day that my students reminded me how special they are, and how much I am loved. It is humbling.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Over the past week, I have been shooed out of class rooms and halls, while students practiced their routines and songs for today. It showed me their care and compassion. It showed me their love.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Today, I was shooed out once again, and then welcomed in with great honor and excitement, to a note on the board and lovely students presenting me with things that mean so much more than what they are at face value. It is an overwhelming moment of emotion to walk into.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Watching routines come to life, having tasks handed out that aren't quite so simple, and seeing the joy on faces as you willingly participate, though hesitant, in things that make you severely uncomfortable.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
To come home to a card from my first and most favorite, is cause for an exuberant overflow of joy to embellish what has otherwise been a splendid day in itself.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Teaching is not walking into a classroom to be the boss. It is not knowing what to do all the time. There is so much more to it, and I am constantly learning from my students just as I hope that they may be learning from me.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
It is a challenge. It requires a lot of time, effort, patience, and all of the other fruit of the spirit. But it has never been anything less than worthwhile.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I am blessed. I am grateful. I am a teacher.</div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-38973861845188855702017-09-04T20:33:00.001+05:302017-09-04T20:33:26.199+05:30One<p dir="ltr">You and I<br>
We are different.<br>
And yet, <br>
Not quite so. </p>
<p dir="ltr">When we are apart, <br>
We are separate,<br>
But connected in a<br>
A distinct flow.</p>
<p dir="ltr">If you and I are we, <br>
And we can be one;<br>
Then perhaps one is not<br>
As lonely a number as sometimes <br>
<u>I</u>t seems to be.</p>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-34632754165690425222016-07-07T19:59:00.001+05:302016-07-07T20:05:53.117+05:30'The Worst Day'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<br />
<div>
Early morning, a death at the threshold. I saw the sorrow in her tears as she fought them back holding on to hope. But in the midst of it, I felt she knew. Part of her was sure that her husband would not come home again. But this is not a situation that life prepares you for. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Life does not prepare you for death. And therefore, I did not comprehend.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To be taken through a nine year old's journey through his grief over his father's death, was quite honestly painful. Albeit, it was 'just' a movie, it might as well have been the story of so many people, since the movie is based on the 9/11 terror attack. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I do not know what Daldry aimed at when he directed it. But, what I have taken from it is the fact that there are things we do, that cannot be undone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But death defeats all. An absolute?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And yet, life goes on. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oskar Schell recalls the day as the 'worst day'. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have loved and lost but once so far. My grandfather. Over nine months ago. I remember my father's call that woke me up. I heard his words and merely passed the phone to my brother. I had no reaction then either. Until my uncle called with plans of travel. Pain in each voice from that moment on. The dead one was gone. The living grieved. Sorrow. And as reminded once again as I watched the movie, the feeling of pure helplessness, There is nothing you can do about it. An upsetting fact. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Perhaps it was one of my worst days. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Nine months later, to think of the fact brings tears and pain. I do not like to talk about it. But the memories of him bring joy, bring strength and the reminder that LIFE persists. It cannot end, There is little comfort in the fact, but there is much hope in the reality that the choice to remember, and yet to carry on, is to let death have no hold. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-11194904072023595762016-04-26T22:57:00.003+05:302016-04-26T23:07:27.636+05:30Water's edge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;">The
water’s edge is a strange place to be in the midst of the storm. I can feel the
wind rising, but its call is but an echo in my ears. The rain has been
battering against the window panes, but even that is only the sound of chimes in
the air. My thoughts are louder, now, than all that is around me. I do not wish
to go back. There is an escape within these waves. The storm is brewing, but I
am still here. It cannot move me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;">My
eyes are closed, but my other senses tell me all that happens around me. The
chill of the rain as it caresses my skin, the cold water that hugs my feet, the
wind that bites the warmth out of me with a brutality that seeks to cause pain.
The ebb, the flow, the howl, it is all but music, orchestrated like chaos. The
scent and taste of salt in my hair and on my lips, draw memories into my
vision. I can’t tell which ones I’d want to let go of, even if I could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;">There
is nowhere I have felt safer, and yet, there is nowhere more dangerous that I
have been to as yet. My strength fades. I fall to the ground. There is no part
of me that is not soaked to the bone, as the sea smiles in victory. And yet, it is in
the darkness of the storm, that I feel the most empowered. It is in the riot of
the wind that the calm surrounds me. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">And it is
amidst this assault on my senses that I feel his arms around me. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px;">I do not need to be in control.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> Relief washes
over me as I </span><span style="line-height: 19.26px;">realize</span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> that he’s found me. The storm rages ever more so, but it cannot tell whether my tears are my own or that of the rain. But I am safe as I
hear him whispering in my ear, ‘I’ll always be here.’</span></span></div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-45424323057307620092015-11-21T15:26:00.001+05:302015-11-21T15:52:48.952+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I dreamt of you last night.<br />
But, I can't remember the dream.<br />
And that hurts, because it feels like I'm forgetting you.<br />
But I don't want to.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-61594491632867228392015-10-27T22:29:00.001+05:302015-10-27T22:29:32.747+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Life is a journey<br />
To each their own.<br />
Death, an adventure<br />
As yet unknown.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-43904261948889923272015-10-23T02:17:00.002+05:302015-10-23T02:17:21.298+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dust returned to dust.<br />
Brokenness that<br />
Wounded;<br />
Scarred.<br />
<br />
I want to feel,<br />
Never again.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-46109493051999430902015-10-17T09:56:00.000+05:302015-10-21T16:25:48.920+05:30Home to House<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The empty shell that was<br />
<div>
Once your home;<br />
<div>
Now a shadow,</div>
</div>
<div>
Across the scar in my being</div>
<div>
When you left...</div>
<div>
But a house.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My memories serve me no comfort</div>
<div>
As I remember. </div>
<div>
The hope taking little pain away </div>
<div>
As I wait.</div>
<div>
<br />
We go on, </div>
<div>
But you went on.</div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-80943077928174046892015-10-13T20:08:00.002+05:302015-10-13T20:08:48.068+05:30Tread<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We are each on a path,<br />
That no other may tread for us.<br />
None other may walk beside us.<br />
Except for the brief moments<br />
That we are allowed<br />
To accompany each other.<br />
<br />
And in those moments<br />
We find<br />
Who we are;<br />
Who we want to be;<br />
Who we ought to be.<br />
<br />
And yet,<br />
Always Incomplete.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-77446689899483872352015-10-07T09:04:00.000+05:302015-11-26T09:04:42.008+05:30Adieu 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The fortnight of your silence...<br />
Soon to turn into a lifetime.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-47066004624691094072015-09-25T11:33:00.000+05:302015-10-17T09:58:55.652+05:30Adieu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
To the man who loved me more than I could ever love at all, I bid adieu. <br />
<div>
And yet, a legacy that touches the world cannot be defeated by the mere likes of death. </div>
<div>
You live on in us. And we live on with you.</div>
<div>
So, this is not goodbye.</div>
<div>
I'll see you when He decides I can come home too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thangam</div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-47671075104521413122015-07-26T21:45:00.000+05:302015-11-26T09:05:17.076+05:30Rat Race Manifesto<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There will be one day when all humans live in peace... Each one caring for only the simplest of things such as food, water, clothing shelter, etc. Anything more would be a luxury that they cherish dearly, a gift of some sort perhaps from someone dear to them. And they will say, “Our ancestors ran a rat race for nothing. They knew nothing of how to live... They used excessively, wasted everything, and realized always only too late. They spoke of change and life anew. They spoke of being able to fix all that they had ruined. But that’s all they did. Speak. Mere words were their ‘contribution’. They were too busy with the race. Each trying to get ahead of the other and using whatever means are necessary for it. Being the best, or trying to, was most important for their survival. They spent so much time competing, that they lost all sight of the beauty that was around them; all the wonder and magnificence of nature, ignored and eventually destroyed.” Or will they?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-c944628b-cb24-4f36-3613-af45653c86b8" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We humans trample over all, thinking we are greater, better, smarter. Yet it is those in sync with nature that know what the Earth needs. They do not cut down trees to construct wider roads. They do not spill oil in the water. They do not pour toxic materials untreated into the water sources. We destroy, they suffer but try to adapt. We destroy some more, they suffer. How much can we expect them to suffer? They do not fight it. When their attempts at adaptation fail, they die out and we grieve for their extinction. And go on with little change.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But this need not be. We can change it. The future is not written in stone. It is carved through the choices we make and through our actions. If not us, then who will help the Earth? Will there be anyone else to come to save it? Will there be anything left for us to even have descendants who think so badly of us? Will they be able to survive on what we leave, that is, if we leave anything?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rat race has to stop. The more we race. The less track we have to run on. The more we help each other, the further the track stretches, but it’s no longer a track, more of a road that we travel together. Cooperation and consideration are the keys.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some say, “What’s the point? It’s all going to perish anyway.” To which we reply, “When we can make things last longer and be of more use, why throw it away now? With your attitudes, everyone might as well destroy all things around them, claiming its just preparation for an even otherwise impending doom.”</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This has to stop. We decide. We shall not be wasteful. We shall not be greedy. When we have more, we share. When we have enough, we try to make it last longer than estimated. We are sympathetic to the Earth’s needs. We seek to find new ways to be less wasteful and more economical; optimum use of minimum resources. We can bring the change. We can be the Difference. We are the Difference.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-85649492425548149562014-08-17T15:55:00.001+05:302014-08-17T15:59:11.500+05:30The Stranger I Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, I still don't know your name. And honestly, I doubt, I'll ever see you again. But, we'll never know until it happens (or doesn't). Therefore, I guess, you and I are strangers. But, I can't say that's true.<br />
<br />
Let me start at the beginning... Our paths first crossed over a year ago, and I'm pretty sure you took as little notice of me as I did you. I remember you were busy being in charge of whatever it was you were in charge of... and I was in my own world trying not to freak out, as always, about having to stand in front of a crowd. I remember seeing you a few weeks later at another fest... You were still as unassuming as you were the first time. I remember because I'd asked a friend why you looked so familiar when you smiled at me. But you were still forgettable. And I did forget you. We were still strangers.<br />
<br />
We still are... even though I'm beginning to sound like we've met... you and I both know that we haven't. But I doubt I'll forget the day I actually saw you. No, we didn't converse; we weren't introduced; we weren't forced to cooperate; I doubt we even have friends in common. But I remember the day I recognized something in you, I'd never seen before. I saw JOY in your eyes. Not happiness. Pure joy. Joy that I'd seen in very few people before and since.<br />
<br />
It was a morning like any other for me, where I left home, got on one bus and waited to get off and board another one. Your bus was stopped at the red light just next to mine and as I tried to figure out why your face was so familiar, just before recognition dawned, you smiled. I smiled back. And our buses went their separate ways. You made a difference that morning; made it special. All you had to do was smile and that joy spilled over - unadulterated. Of all the people I've befriended on public transport, I'd say my story with you is the oddest, because, we still haven't met.<br />
<br />
Our paths crossed again last month, and I still saw that joy in your eyes. Refreshing and bright. Genuine. I was on stage. You smiled with recognition, again... or at least, I'd like to believe it's recognition. I wouldn't be surprised if you were just smiling in encouragement, though. But that joy hadn't changed a bit. I was thrilled to see you, to see that smile. I should've said something, at least a "Hello"; I didn't have the courage. What if you'd never seen me before? Or maybe you would have greeted me back. I guess I'll never know.<br />
<br />
But I'll remember. There's a part of me holding on to that fear, hoping our paths don't cross just so I won't embarrass myself; yet, another part hopes to see those joyful eyes again, knowing that you'll remember me. I suppose I may never know... But next time, I'll try harder to gather up the courage to talk to you. Just so you won't be the stranger I know anymore.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-26487994189507103752014-04-14T14:19:00.000+05:302016-04-27T14:20:24.033+05:30Phoenix<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Faces of you, I don't know.<br />
Phases of you that do not show.<br />
Joy that hides a broken soul.<br />
Sorrow resides in the unknown.<br />
<br />
Void I fell into,<br />
Numb, cold.<br />
Falling further,<br />
This frozen mould.<br />
<br />
Voiceless wanderer<br />
Sightless bird<br />
Flightless phoenix<br />
You now burn,<br />
<br />
From these ashes, you will not rise.<br />
From this furnace, the dark needn't hide.<br />
Grasped in fate and fortune's folds.<br />
Cast into destiny's hold.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-15631758521295306072014-04-03T07:37:00.000+05:302014-04-03T07:37:19.902+05:30Let In<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Won't you open your heart?<br />
Won't you let someone in?"<br />
<br />
"Will I get hurt?<br />
Will I be whole again?"<br />
<br />
"I won't promise that you won't.<br />
No one is ever whole."<br />
<br />
"I'm broken enough.<br />
I'm not coming."<br />
<br />
"Everyone's broken.<br />
Not everyone is unhappy."<br />
<br />
"So many pieces?<br />
No shields? No guard?"<br />
<br />
"So many more pieces.<br />
Even when protected."<br />
<br />
"What's the point of the shattered existence?<br />
Why?"<br />
<br />
"To learn<br />
To love."<br />
<br />
"Love the shattering?"<br />
<br />
"Love the broken perfection."<br />
<br />
"How do I see the 'broken perfection'?"<br />
<br />
"Look through My eyes."<br />
<br />
"I'm scared. I'm scarred. I'm not good enough."<br />
<br />
"I never asked you to be. Just let Me in."</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-68189731876613205102014-03-31T21:16:00.001+05:302014-03-31T21:36:57.477+05:30Seeing Grace<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When the wind goes quiet,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And my heart's in silence,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And the world around me's fading away,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">When words aren't spoken,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And storms aren't for hopin',</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When everything else looks away...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">That's when I see Grace</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Shining down on me</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When all the world is a haze.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Through the darkness I hear,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A still small voice that says,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I've been here always."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">When I've walked in silence,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Amidst the shadows in despair,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And when I'd become one myself,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">There was but one reason,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That kept me believing,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When everything else looked away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">That's when I saw Grace</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Shining down on me</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When all the world was a haze.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Through the darkness I heard,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A still small voice that said,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I've been here always."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">And I can't tell you a moment,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Since or before, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That I haven't traced the lifetime of love.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Though I didn't know the reasons,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Though it took me a while to see, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Once my eyes had been opened, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There's nowhere I'd rather be</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Than in the light of the grace that I've seen!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Because when I saw Grace</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Shining down on me</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When all the world was a haze.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Through the darkness I heard,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A still small voice that said,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I've been here always."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I'll be here always."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-52719803368655191512014-03-20T21:36:00.002+05:302014-03-20T21:38:33.320+05:30Summer Rain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Pitter Patter.<br />
The incessant drizzle.<br />
Drumming in her head.<br />
Drumming around her.<br />
<br />
But the window is open,<br />
Not a drop is falling.<br />
Where is the rain?<br />
Where is the sun?<br />
<br />
Where is the giver of life anew?<br />
Where is that which makes old things new?<br />
Why does she hear it thundering through?<br />
Why can she not see through the draught?<br />
<br />
The silence resonates.<br />
Mind muddled.<br />
Where is the light?<br />
Summer radiates with no sun?<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-66921292581166078862014-02-28T18:45:00.001+05:302014-02-28T18:46:05.540+05:30Have We Forgotten?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If we keep walking,<br />
Keep talking,<br />
Keep moving on,<br />
Does it mean that we've forgotten?<br />
<br />
If we keep laughing,<br />
Keep smiling,<br />
If the world keeps turning on,<br />
Does it mean that we've forgotten?<br />
<br />
If I'm supposed to stand still,<br />
If I'm supposed to move on,<br />
If I'm supposed to make the world turn,<br />
Does it mean I've forgotten,<br />
Or that I shouldn't hold on?</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-46524557280064095872014-02-28T18:41:00.001+05:302014-11-23T19:23:30.847+05:30You Shouldn't Have Gone.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't know why you'd want to do that.<br />
I can't even be bringing you back.<br />
I don't know why you'd want to go there.<br />
Why didn't you tell me you'd need help?<br />
<br />
If you'd just pick up the phone.<br />
I'd have screamed it in your ear.<br />
I'd tell you you're not alone!<br />
I'd tell you that you are loved.<br />
I'd tell you you have a home.<br />
Please, please don't go.<br />
<br />
I know I've told you this over and over<br />
But you never seem to get it through your head.<br />
It's not funny that you'd just up and leave.<br />
You've got people here you never even thought of.<br />
<br />
Why? Why? WHY would you just pick up and leave?<br />
Who do you think you are -<br />
To mess with all those people who loved you.<br />
You left us all behind, though you knew we'd be there<br />
To help and to guide and support you.<br />
NOT COOL.<br />
<br />
But you ran away.<br />
You didn't wanna be saved.<br />
Stupid. Selfish. Sorry, you'd better be.<br />
'Coz I'm sorry you did leave,<br />
You knew the love we had to give.<br />
<br />
Come back.<br />
I'll miss you so.<br />
But I guess that's your goodbye.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-74096471801162490142013-11-05T20:15:00.001+05:302013-11-05T20:23:51.083+05:30Parts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Part of me wants to work harder at something.<br />
Another part says it isn't worth it.</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-27842308849175749672013-08-18T19:47:00.003+05:302013-08-18T19:47:48.364+05:30Indifference<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Rage.<br />
It boils through me.<br />
For a moment.<br />
Breathe.<br />
Free.<br />
<br />
Instigation.<br />
Provocation.<br />
Rage.<br />
I refuse.<br />
<br />
You are futile.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-87100106833148920322013-07-15T00:49:00.000+05:302013-07-15T00:54:54.685+05:30A Single Moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Emma sat at the window,
her gaze fixed on the falling rain outside, motionless. Her green eyes
reflected the grey-green darkness of the world outside, as she lost herself in
thought, numb to all her senses. I saw her shiver, but she seemed not to notice
the cold. She was right in front of me, and yet she was too far away. I watched
as the first tear rolled down her face, and then the second. She trembled and
yet, her gaze never shifted. She made no move to get warm, none to stop her
trembling, and none to wipe her tears away. I understood. This was my fault.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My name is Emily Baron.
Emma is my sister. Or perhaps, ‘was’ would be the apt word now. I’m not there
anymore. Emma doesn’t have a sister anymore. And it’s my fault. You see, I was
scared, I was just plain petrified of life, and so, I found a way out. Except,
I didn’t think about Emma, nor did I think about Mum and Dad. I just wanted to
take the fear away, that pain of feeling so alone. I was sick of being told I
wasn’t good enough. My parents wouldn’t say it, but I know they wished I’d take
more interest in my studies. Emma has always loved studying, but me; it’s never
been my cup of tea. My teachers took joy in making me miserable. No grade I got
would ever be enough because Emma would always have done better. It amused me
how Emma always thought I was unaffected. She told me once that she admired my
nerve to stand up so defiantly every hour, to each new teacher, listening to
the same speech and come away smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But I wasn’t smiling. I
honestly didn’t know how to tell them how lost I was. I’d heard enough of their
speeches to be numb to them. I wanted desperately to become better. I read
incessantly, I wrote and rewrote my assignments, till my fingers were sore and
calluses had formed where I held my pen too tight, for too long. It wasn’t
Emma’s fault. She had an eidetic memory, that is, she could remember everything
she read, word for word, after having read it only once. That’s not something
anyone should have to compete against. Emma always told me to do my best and
leave whatever happens to happen. She was never the kind of big sister to rub
in her brilliance. In fact, I loved her all the more for her humility and her
willingness to help me. But it just wasn’t enough. I couldn’t understand like
she did. I just wasn’t good enough. I never would have been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">So, last year, on the
10<sup>th</sup> of August, I put an end to it. It was just after our end of
semester exams and I really didn’t feel too confident. I’d been moody all week
and my day really hadn’t gone well. Emma had come home for the weekend from
college, upset about the dorm rooms being full of girls who cared about nothing
but their hair and make-up and had no sense of personal space or respect for
others’ belongings. But I didn’t have the patience to listen to her rant about
it. She’d meant it as a joke when she said, “You’re always in your head. When
are you going to think about someone else?” But that wasn’t the moment for
those words. Before I knew what I was doing, I lost my temper at her. I threw
my backpack at her, ran upstairs to my room and slammed my door. Hard. She came
up after me, apologising, even though she didn’t have to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">All I wanted to do was shut her out, shut out the
world, shut out the voice in my head telling me I would never be good enough;
that there was no point in my existence, shut out all those comparisons with
everything I’m supposed to be, everything I could be, but am not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I
broke down, my head throbbed. The voice in my head kept telling me I wasn’t
good for anything. It told me I was a mistake, one not worth keeping, not worth
having around, a mere burden and embarrassment. It echoed in my ears. Over and
over again. I couldn’t make it stop. I tried to sleep it off, but I couldn’t. I
stumbled into the bathroom, drenched in sweat, my face stained with dry tears,
to find the medicine cabinet. Maybe something in there would help. Mum had been
prescribed sleeping pills last week; I thought I’d just take one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> One
didn’t help, nor did two. I don’t remember how many I took. The pain stopped as
I fell asleep. But, I never woke up. At least, not in the sense that people
normally do. I woke up to the sound of sirens, and watched as Mum, Dad and Emma
rushed into the ER behind the medics who were frantically trying to revive me,
in vain. I watched Mum break down into pieces as the doctor from the ER told
her there was nothing he could do; I was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I
hadn’t meant to. But it seemed like I’d found peace. I hadn’t. It took mere
seconds for my heart to break watching Dad struggle to hold tears back as Mum
and Emma held each other and wept in the waiting room, wishing it wasn’t true;
wishing, hoping, praying that I’d wake up, that the doctor would come back
saying it had been a mistake, that I’d woken up, that I would be alright. But
he didn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I’d never known how
strong Dad was till I watched him go through all the paper work the hospital
had him fill out, without a flinch. He went through all the questions stone
faced. I couldn’t read him. And then they let him into the room where my body
was. He was in shambles before he entered, crying his heart out. It was then
that I realised that Dad was always there for me. I wanted so much to tell him
I was there, but I knew it wouldn’t help. I’d been his special helper, his baby
girl. What had I done? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My pain had been gone
for a little while now, but as I watched my family, a new pain seared through
my being, whatever I am now. A spirit? A presence? I don’t know what I’m
supposed to be called. All I know is that my peace, or what I thought was
peace, is non-existent. I live, if you can call this semi-existence ‘living’,
in constant regret and guilt. In my naivety, I’d torn four lives apart. And all
it took was a moment. Unintentional as it was, it could not be fixed. I
couldn’t watch them anymore; it hurt too much to see their pain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That voice I’d heard,
it comes back every now and again, reminding me how Emma at the window now,
trembling in the cold, unmoving, was my fault. It’s been a year today. I
thought she was doing better, until today I found her sitting by the window.
Mum and Dad are at my grave, but I don’t like the cemetery. I’m alone where I
am now. No one to talk to, no one to listen to. I need no sleep and time is
irrelevant, but I spend it all with Emma. I know I can’t do anything to help
her. I can’t tell her I’m in a better place, or ask her to let go and be happy.
Mum and Dad are doing better, Emma’s the one I hurt the most. She blames
herself. I wish I could tell her it’s not her fault. Mum’s tried a million
times, and she says she knows, but if you saw her today, like I do, you’d read
it in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">If I had a moment, a
single moment to change, it would be my last minutes with Emma. I’d hug her,
listen patiently, and tell her that I loved her and that she had been the best
sister anyone could ever hope for. Unfortunately, life was a lifetime ago, and
it has never been known for its generosity in second chances. I just hope
someday Emma finds her peace. She knows I’m sorry, but I wish I could tell her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-17330656499055665252013-04-25T23:25:00.001+05:302015-10-07T19:07:20.790+05:30Weird<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUZwHuKylK2LCfd-9bLFlqKCFiD5k-yKZeTwh8YYZKD53jqlQcbiAtJTLmHm2xsetz8dbTZlOxt21hrArjZQc61576BpJBMQ2PSXpcx-2jpeyOgcXwPCy7aYL9lpnQnuA9kLzWrzUEpS_/s1600/Photo0083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUZwHuKylK2LCfd-9bLFlqKCFiD5k-yKZeTwh8YYZKD53jqlQcbiAtJTLmHm2xsetz8dbTZlOxt21hrArjZQc61576BpJBMQ2PSXpcx-2jpeyOgcXwPCy7aYL9lpnQnuA9kLzWrzUEpS_/s400/Photo0083.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710414167755850414.post-70981776316793708352013-04-24T16:56:00.000+05:302015-10-07T19:07:35.075+05:30Rosette.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I cut up a t-shirt today, just the sleeves and collar and whatnot... But I didn't quite want to throw the cloth off. It seemed usable. Apparently, I was right. :)</div>
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This was the tutorial for the Rosette.<br />
<a href="http://www.everythingetsy.com/2012/07/rosette-necklace-tutorial-diy-gifts/">http://www.everythingetsy.com/2012/07/rosette-necklace-tutorial-diy-gifts/</a></div>
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homelyhearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07062762044874631084noreply@blogger.com0