But I am a stupid woman for I haven't seen Greenland or Iceland. I wouldn't know which is greener or colder. I too have heard few lies but different from your truths. I am insane for I look at the dying sun and feel anew. I see a new night coming in with stars and moon and breeze and love. I am a fool for I do not walk by the set rules of practicality. I walk the road less trodden. And I do not know the algorithm to live the coded life. I know I will either make it or break it and the chances are high that I will break it. I know!
Red for courage, Pink for energy, Orange for vitality, Yellow for wisdom, Green for life, Blue for peace, White for purity, Black for stability…
But don’t mistake this letter as a gratitude; this is an apology. My dear dear mother, I am sorry - from the core, from the depths of chasm, from whatever deep there is out there- for whatever you did and had to do for me. Very few people can see my eyes swollen- not with joy and pride- but with pain and regret whenever I talk about you. I wish I could take it all back and fix all the broken pieces.
One day when I was teaching, I saw tears rolling down her cheeks without her own notice. Her face was mystical in that particular moment because her tears showed no grief and her plastered smile showed no happiness. Her face expressed paradoxical feelings- she seemed happily sad and at the same time sadly happy. She was like my Monalisa- keeping two opposite secrets in perfect harmony with each other.
Poverty crushes a person in so many ways. My mother's husband (he has lost the title of a father for eternity) was a victim himself. He was not as strong as he thought he was. Otherwise, which father on earth would even think of giving away his own blood for some money. But that man did and hence he is not a father anymore to me. Only the devils of hunger know, he was innocent and I am still awed at the courage he might have had when he decided to sell a seventeen year old.