loved by stars
kissed by moon
cuddling up sun
dreaming impossible

But there are traces of other impossibilities that make my toes curl, and somehow it appears to be so non-fictional and real.. It’s about the mask that we carry since we became aware of our vulnerabilities during our growth journey. Think of those raised eyebrows, those mouths curled in disdain, those we despised and those we held in our loving embrace, there’s one thing common in their midst – they have real struggles in their lives. Are we just what meets the eye? They struggle with their own failures, their own insecurities, the ordeals of life. It’s just the way we seek solace in something. Some indulge in art, some bury themselves in their work, some prop up the bar, some get hurt by watching what someone is, some encourage others to find their best self-expression rather than becoming a B-grade version of someone else. Some put another down and some uplift others, help them through their journey. It’s just the mask. It’s about what we are made of. Blessed are those who are aware of the beauty of malleability and are guided by their own divine curiosity.

The truth of the matter is we all have real struggles, gut-wrenching experiences of life beyond this trivia. More than who wears what, writes, sings, dances and a million things we allow to affect our lives – merely to gossip away our days. Shaming another person points out where you feel vulnerable. What was your experience? It’s about your agony, your trauma, your insecurities, the fear of vulnerability. It’s not about keeping a lookout for what’s wrong with others but the contrary. Never forget the devil makes work for the idle hands.

We can choose better options whenever we decide. It entails a complete change of perspective. We turn a blind eye when our brothers, sons make mistakes, towards our own character flaws. We are compassionate and generous by nature. We can do better things. Let’s hope for everyone – those who hurt us and those who were hurt by us, find an easier way out of their struggles. Let’s hope they believe in themselves, are more focused on their own gifts. Let’s hope they find the light through their own darkness. Amen.

Published by Smita Ray

Smita Ray is a mother of two lovely kids and hails from the northeastern town of India Gorakhpur. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures with her kids.

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