The forgotten girl

Someday one feel insignificant, feeling forgotten by everyone.

Weaving herself a cloak of insecurities to hide herself.
She is alone, Does she not deserve a little attention from her loved ones.
Others call it ego, low self esteem or possessiveness.
One can name it many things.
It might be out of love, or anger or feeling insignificant, insecure.

Don’t cruciate the petty one for things she hope for.
She has never troubled anyone in her sickness or despair but sometimes she put out these tantrums to seek your regard.
Give her a call sometime other than to just give chores around the house. Just a little regard of caring “how’re you” is all she wish for.
Never have anyone seen her pain.
She may have let loose her rage at you, but only to let her relieve the storming agony inside of her.

Somedays she is at her worst, depressed, lost in the dark, never finding the light to guide her.
She feels herself to be the worst sinner in the world.
She is in agony. Noone can help her, but herself. I wish you could.
She tries to be better, then the resolutions peel off faster than the petals of a lily.
Give her some time.
Maybe one day she will be herself again.
The better her.

Hi there

Some time ago I found myself looking for a place to share my raw imaginations and feelings. The thing is, I couldn't just sit down regularly to jot down my thoughts into a diary, only to be read by my nosy lil sister. Even if I did have a diary, I don`t think there'll ever be a documentary on mine. So that's enough reason to pour out my insights and ideas into something others might be interested in. I barely have a full-grown idea on what to write here. But I am delighted that you have landed here on this page.

My name is Anna. I grew up in Kottayam, Kerala. Our town Library had this tall five-tier shelves with all sort of misplaced books. It was my childhood goal to read every novel in there. During Summer breaks,my sisters and I would clean up the whole shelf hoping to find a good old classic. The occasional find of one of the Enid Blyton books or Agatha Christie was a fluke for us. Early on, I wanted to write as well as read; thus began my first efforts. I was on full blast writing mode especially after I had a row with my mother or sisters and I would later on let them take a look at what I had painted with such surge of immature emotions. Never did I ever publish any of my writings nor did I let anyone except my family to see my awful darings. At school, I had won prizes for essay competitions but it never got to the point that I took it seriously. The years went by, I went to college studied engineering in biotechnology at NIT, Calicut and I graduated. Writing helped me substantially to fill up the blank pages of my answer sheets in college even when all I knew of the answer was barely anything. And here we are. So now, I' m home given the gift of time until my masters starts in an island country far away from home. I have got all the time in the world and I wasted off enough already that I decided to start a blog today. Yay!

See you soon.