Click Click Clack

Click click clack
Go the keys on my keyboard
Changing the white landscape
Staining it black
Click click clack
Words turn into lines
Trying to make sense
Of images in my mind.
They’re all parts of me
That I’ve click click and clacked
I’ve put myself out there,
Do you see that?
Do you see me,
In the words that you’ve read?
Disjointed, yet flowing
These thoughts in my head?
Click click clack
It grows more intense,
With every word
Line and sentence.
Do you see me?
I must ask again,
Or does my keyboard
Click click clack
In vain?

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100 Word Challenge

Written for 100 words hosted by Tara at Thin Spiral Notebook. The prompt was “paper“. This was my take. Do check out the other posts. 

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Growing Up

When I published that little post the other day after all those months of…hibernation?…Yes, I think that’s probably the best way to describe my state of being…I realized just how much I have missed writing/blogging regularly. Moving to a different country brought with it change of proportions that I didn’t expect to encounter so quickly and for a while I was almost struggling to cope. My “home” here was the last thing on my mind. You see, when I first moved to Bahrain in July 2014, the husband and I thought it was time we took the “We two, Our one” (for the time being at least) plunge and try to extend our little family of two. Never did I expect to see those positive lines on the home pregnancy test just a month after we made that decision. I couldn’t digest the fact that at that very moment, I was already playing host to a baby and would be for the next nine months! Could I really be that lucky? I wouldn’t allow myself to believe the test. Truth be told, I think I only accepted that I was going to be a mother when my doctor pointed out the tiny little speck that was to be our child at my first ultrasound. (I needed her to show me where the baby was twice, because I couldn’t spot the baby the first time. I am hoping that is no gauge for how I will fare as a parent…sigh…)

I spent a lot of the first few months of my pregnancy like most other women, with my head bent over a toilet unable to tolerate the smell of food let alone eat it and shed weight so fast that at any other time in my life, the weighing scale and I would have been friends for the very first time. But, I was not in the mood to make friends and instead anxiously worried about the baby. I was also really lonely because since it had been just a month that I was in Bahrain before the onset of the morning sickness, apart from the husband, there wasn’t anyone else who I had the time to get to know well enough in the country to even spend an afternoon with to take my mind off things. Being at an emotional and physical low point (and being allowed to be extra fussy since I am expecting), I convinced the husband to let me have the delivery in India; in surroundings I know and with more people I love close by. So, here I am…back in the settings I ached for when I was all those miles away.

I didn’t write…couldn’t in fact…for months and months, but now, having reached the stage where my belly has begun to enter a room before me and people no longer just ask how I’ve managed to put on so much weight, I feel the need to get back to writing. In a little while, if everything goes well, the husband and I will become completely responsible for another human life. Am I excited? Of course I am! I adore children and knowing that I have one of my own on his or her way makes me thrilled. Am I also scared? No…I’m plain old terrified! I am after all the woman who for the longest time truly believed her baby’s movements were just gas… When I think of that part of me that wants to write, I wonder if I will be able to sit at a laptop or desktop and have the time to write what I feel. Somehow I don’t see that as a sure thing in the near future. But, I’ll never know if I don’t try.

I suppose it’s time for me to accept that the girl looking back at me from the mirror has grown up and a new chapter is about to begin – motherhood…won’t you wish me luck?

UBC20: Following that dream

When I was about eleven or twelve, I started keeping a diary. But, I didn’t write about my day. I wrote poetry, short essays, stories and scripts instead and when I was fifteen, I printed them all and spiral bound them in something I called “The literary works of Preeti Farias – Part 1” ( Fancy title don’t you think 🙂 ). Even though my parents thought I had a decent bit of talent and I was encouraged to write; the idea was to treat it as a hobby, never as a career. It was looked at as something I could do when I was forty-five, had earned a fair bit, and had chosen to retire early from a regular job. The regular job for me (since I had no interest in medicine or engineering) is a finance one. So, I write on the side.

Today, parents are a little more accepting of “alternate” careers. Photography, journalism, anchoring TV shows, music, writing were all career-390757_1280supposed to be hobbies when I was growing up. But, it’s changing. These days, a lot of people with insistent parents end up pursuing professional courses only to start doing what they are passionate about once they are through. They end up having the added benefit of having the more “acceptable” degree to fall back on in case it doesn’t work out like they want.

True, it might be a while before just about any child of Indian descent can walk up to her/his parents and say s/he wants to be a chef in a restaurant or something like that but, there is hope! The tide is turning and I honestly think that the drive to follow dreams is thriving in the new generation.

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Written for IndiSpire on Indiblogger as well as for the Ultimate Blog Challenge

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