The House That Made Me

The House That Made Me

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I was only 12, what did I know then. All giggles and excited as we moved into our new home. It was a duplex and only a few blocks away from our former house. But- This house was bigger, way bigger. We had 4 bedrooms, each with a bathroom. An extra guest bathroom for visitors was situated at the ground floor; A massive kitchen which brought pleasure to my mum and two extra rooms in the ‘boys quarters’ which is an extension of the house at the backyard.

It was all very fine, fun and homey until we had to share the house. My dad was getting a second wife and we had to pack our things and move to the ground floor. It wasn’t funny. I loved my room which was beside my mum’s. It was bigger, and it was upstairs where all the other rooms were. I couldn’t understand it.

And then, slowly and gradually our home became a mere house. Built of four walls and filled with drama- my raging teenage hormones didn’t help. Family dinner at the dining table stopped; watching TV with my dad stopped- my step mum isn’t exactly pleasant company. Most nights were spent in my mum’s room, that became our solitude- my siblings and I.

Next came the lies; I had to make up stories to explain why there were two women living in our house. Polygamy isn’t really common where I live. I went with, ‘the woman’ was my mother’s sister, which they believed. To date, some of my high school friends still don’t know she was my step mum.

Those four walls hold stories, memories that some might find unbelievable; but they were real and they happened. That house broke me, but it also made me. It was there I learned to appreciate , love and cherish my mother.

And that’s one thing i learned in the house: houses may change, rooms may change, but my mother’s love and support, it will always remain.

Day 9: Unknowingly Intertwined

Day 9: Unknowingly Intertwined

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

The Man couldn’t believe his eyes. In the hands of an old woman was a red sweater that looked exactly like his little girl’s own. In the split of a second, his eyes randomly searched around. His heart was racing, he was wishing, hoping, maybe his little girl was somewhere around. Tears welled up in his eyes as it dawned on him; his little girl had been gone for two years now. And today was her birthday, is her birthday, he corrected himself. Red is her favorite color. And for a second there, he smiled at the memory of his little girl; donning her favorite red wool sweater, asking him
“Daddy, how do I look?”
How he wished he had paid more attention to her. He took another glance at the old woman knitting, he couldn’t hold it together anymore. The floodgate was open.

The Woman‘s grip tightened, he didn’t notice. The sight of an old woman with a red sweater in her hands brought back all those memories. She felt a lump in her throat but held herself together. She had to, for him. She had gifted his daughter a similar red sweater which she was wearing, the day she got missing. Everything changed that day. It’s been two years, she knew his wounds were still fresh. But she loved his little girl like her own.
And today of all days, she felt anger towards the old woman. In a second of ill-thinking, she cast a furious glare at the woman silently knitting. What am I doing? She snapped herself out of it and redirected her emotions. He needs me, that’s all that matters. She made out for his hands and held onto them, tightly.

The old woman didn’t realize the couple nearing towards her. She was happily drifting away as she completed the final touches of the wool sweater. I hope it looks perfect. She raised her head to see if there was anyone around she could ask; she noticed the couple. Before she could mumble out her request, a sniffling sound came to her ears. It was from the man, she decided to hold her tongue. A cold glare caught her stare. She lowered her head and went about her knitting. There was something familiar in the man, a resemblance. To whom? I’m getting old, she thought to herself, oh well. Her daughter was bringing the little girl around today, the one she said she’d adopted. Finally after two years, but at least she’d get to see her now. I hope she likes the sweater, i made it exactly like the one in her picture. And with that, the old woman went on inspecting the sweater, forgetting all about the man and woman that passed by her.

WHY.

WHY.

why

Why do we lie and say we’re fine,
when really we feel crappy inside?

Why do we wall out those we love,
despite knowing they’d do anything for us?

Why do we hide and cry at night,
instead of showing yeah, we’re not fine?

Why do we lock-up memories of our past
instead of dealing with them right now?

Why do we stop our hearts with pills,
rather than feel something…anything?

Day 8: On my way home…

Day 8: On my way home…

     ‘That stone better not hit me’, I mumbled, staggering through the narrow road which served as a shortcut from the school to my apartment. Children in their grey and white uniform were bustling all around, screaming, jumping and playing with stones. They didn’t mind the heat of the 41 degrees radiating on their skin or the coarse clay path hindering clear cut movement- I did.

       Shuffling past the energy-filled kids, jealousy crept up in me seeing the parents in cars lined up on one side of the path; what I’d give to be in one of those.

          I glanced up at the sky, nope, no sign of a storm today. Patches of wet mud were visible, I evaded them. A little further, and the trees obscured the penetrating rays of the sun.

     The voices of the children were faint, which was a relief. The residential homes situated on this part bestowed it a villagy look. The bungalows were arranged linearly in varying colors of cream, green and yellow on either side. The bumps increased; I relocated to the sideline of the houses. The floors were wet.
The blaring of horns and screeches of cars filled the atmosphere- I wasn’t bothered. Standing across from me was the three story apartment I called ‘home’. Joy was only for a moment; the flight of stairs was awaiting my arrival.

Our Friendship…

Our Friendship…

I hope you think of me,
Wherever you may be;
Above the sky, beyond the seas
Between a rock and a tree

I hope you dream of me,
Wherever you fall asleep;
In a bed of thorn or roses,
Or gold, silver or steel

I hope you sing my hymn,
When you hear the birds frill;
The tune of friendship so sweet,
Pleasant memories, joy within.

I hope you die in peace,
Wherever you may leave;
And go somewhere above the rainbow,
Where your soul shall rest in peace.

Day 7: At The coffee shop

Day 7: At The coffee shop

Today’s prompt: Focus today’s post on the contrast between two things. The twist? Write the post in the form of a dialogue.

“But he’s too clingy”, Mona complained

“Yeah, and it took you a year and an engagement ring to figure that out, congrats!”

“Ally, don’t mock me. I’m being serious here.”

“Alright, I’m sorry”, said Allison.

The strong smell of Turkish coffee filled the air as a waiter set their order on the table. Mona’s worried expression instantly changed as she lifted the coffee pot and poured it into what she thought was too small a cup. To Ally, the smell of coffee was torture, but seeing her friend’s smiling face as she lifted the cup to her lips, with the steam evaporating into space, she couldn’t help but be pleased, for a moment.

“Okay, so let me get this”, Ally began “you like him, he gave you a ring which you accepted, and now you want to return the ring cause you don’t like him anymore?”

“Who said anything about returning the ring?” questioned Mona, placing the cup briefly on the table.

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Day 6: The Lady In Black

Day 6: The Lady In Black

Today’s writing prompt is ‘character building’; it is the hardest assignment to me so far because description is one of my weak points. But as they say, practice makes perfect, so here goes:

image
Coffee in hand, she roams the street
Cares on her sleeve- she sips, she blinks
Looks to me, then turns away
The lady In black- but a mystery

Never a hello, nor a goodbye
Walks with the world beneath her feet
The men agape- in love they say,
The dark haired lady- sways away

Oh but a mystery- she is,
Cold stares but i caught- within the blink
A story to tell, I think they yearn-
The red lipped lady, never speaks.