Each of different people

I wonder how long it will take. But I guess, just like any good book, if you knew the ending beforehand then you wouldn’t enjoy the story as much. You wouldn’t bother about the details as much because you know what ending will come. I don’t think I want that. But I’m not going to lie – the wait is getting excruciating. I don’t know whether to turn right or left, I don’t know if I should ask for help or face it alone. This road gets lonely very easily. At times, I wish I could follow the roads of others; but I know I have to find my own purpose, otherwise I’ll always force those around me to live up to my great expectations. That’s not good for to them, either.

I wonder if it really is the numbers and responsibilities that is holding me back; or is it just a fear of the unknown. You can’t be great unless you are willing to do great things. I guess then, it really is just fear. So then, how do I overcome it? Should I? Or should I knock some sense into myself and continue building up my walls. So I will be safe and secure within these walls, no matter how cold and alone they may be.

 

I don’t want to be near her. She who puts me down at any chance, who questions my abilities and shuns and dismisses them. I don’t want to hear her speak, her mumblings and humming irritate me more than I care to admit. How I wish to say to her that here caste is not prevalent; we have no concerned of that. We value young and old, new and experienced, but only to the extent that it is valued in return. Who do you think you are? I ask her.

 

Did I do something wrong? You avoid me like the plague, and though you’ve been gentle (for your normal standards of harshness) I have noticed how irked you seem of my words and ideas. You seem to like her though. Well, you spoke to her, though. Which is, by your standards, a lot more than what you are willing to do to others. Fine then, I’ll pack my bags and go. I guess I have no more value here.

 

I am not made of ice. Stone, perhaps, but certainly not ice. I can be hot, warm, or even cold; and believe it or not, I can be of all those forms without giving up my true shape and form. Ice melts. I don’t melt. You see me as cold and unwelcoming because that is the air you project onto me. I can only return the favor for I am not like those flimsy crepe papers that sway and rustle according to the wind. I am heavier than that. I am stone. You may try to carve me into a sculpture that you please, but in doing so, you are chipping away parts of me that might be the most valuable.