the resignation from fear

_{DAY 23 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘“HOW DOES ONE FIND COURAGE TO DO SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARILY COURAGEOUS THAT IS ILLOGICAL TO others?” SHE ASKED HERSELF.’}

“How does one find the courage to do something extraordinarily courageous that is illogical to others?” she asked herself before pressing the send button of her email.

She thought about it for a couple of moments and began staring into space.

It was the email to resign from the firm where she had worked for the last 13 years.

It was like a second home. But this home of hers had been crumbling piece by piece since her colleagues knew that she was leaving.

She had decided to take photographs of street artists and tell their stories in a blog with no monetization strategy in place. It was like jumping in the dark. She didn’t have huge savings but some faith in herself.

There is no more dangerous person for the status quo than the one who believes in oneself.

Did her act of taking control of her life challenge her peers? If it did, she didn’t know.

She was as vulnerable as a mother in her first few weeks of unplanned pregnancy.

Like such a mother, she sensed a dramatic change in the behavior of her colleagues towards her.

First, they tried to make her feel that they were with her all the way. Then some of them tried to make her believe that she should not behave emotionally and tried to instill doubts in her.

Eventually, when she didn’t accept their common wisdom, they termed her as a person becoming increasingly emotionally unstable.

It was really difficult for her to digest such a response from her peers as she expected to seek support from them, not this.

For a moment, she even reconsidered her decision. But it dawned upon her that her colleagues are simple people like her, dealing with their own monsters, and any weird or strange thing like jumping in the dark scares them.

In that moment, she got a newfound courage to send her resignation letter.

PS – This is the 23rd day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

shoes and habits

_{DAY 22 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to continue writing after the sentence ends ‘WHY IT IS HARD TO BUILD HABITS AND BREAK THEM,”SHE ASKED HERSELF’.}

“Why it is hard to build habits and break them,” she asked herself while tying her shoes for her evening walk.

It was not easy for her to walk that day. It was the 21^st day of her commitment to walk everyday for 365 days.

She woke up quite late and then started working on the emergency project given to her at work.

By the end of the day, she was so tired that she fell asleep.

She didn’t even realize that by the time she woke for dinner it was already 11PM.

It was not suitable for her to go out for a walk that day.

At that moment, she pondered over the myth of 21 days. It goes like this – if you do something everyday for 21 days, it becomes your habit.

She never believed in any of such things but coincidently it was her 21^st day and she was about to break the habit of walking.

After thinking for a couple of seconds, she put on her shoes and walked for about 40 minutes in her living room.

“Was it worth doing?” she asked herself as she finished walking for forty minutes.

“Maybe not but by pushing yourself to do this fruitless walk for keeping your routine, you have boosted your level of commitment and strengthen your resolve to keep doing it when the odds are against you.” she replied to herself and patted her back.

PS – This is the 22nd day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the manager who asked questions

_{DAY 21 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to continue writing after the sentence ends ‘Sometimes, we do things that are against our nature as a human being…’.}

“Sometimes, we do things that are against our nature as a human being. We get those alarming signal…we get depressed but we push on and on until we stop recognizing those signals and eventually ourselves. Who are we then?” Rachel uttered these disturbing words during a session with her psychologist.

“I feel that somebody has rightly said that we are the product of our choice, not of environment. I don’t feel alive anymore. I feel like I am a vessel of some sort, serving a purpose of running a giant human machine to serve a meaningless purpose of making huge money for some people at the top.” She continued.

“Why do you think so? Aren’t we all supposed to work? What is it you that you want to say?” asked her psychologist.

“Well, we are supposed to work. There is no doubt. But should the sole outcome or motivating factor of our work be money? Like I have seen botanist in my organization who never get the chance to see the real forest across the year. And the ones, who press for it, are sidelined and termed old school. I have even heard the argument that forests should be destroyed as we have a way to make oxygen and managing forests isn’t cost efficient.” added Rachel.

“You are thinking too much, Rachel…it’s not your job to think. There is a department in your organization to think about all this. So just don’t obsess over such things.” psychologist responded.

Rachel went back home thinking if she is overthinking or she isn’t allowed to think.

PS – This is the 21st day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the girl who fought back

_{DAY 20 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘HER LIFE WAS NOT THE BED OF ROSES…’.}

Her life was not bad. In fact, it was a good life.

She was born in the 60s of northern England. It was a time of the great change.

On the surface, things looked good. People were still building great houses, buying expensive cars, and throwing lavish parties.

But under the surface, the economy was slowing down. The industrial decline was silently pushing people out.

Many people moved out. Her father didn’t.

He relied on the promises made by the politicians that the next year would be better from economic point of view.

But each year was worse than the previous one.

When his father decided to move but he couldn’t as his elderly parents needed him there.

He hoped to find a way to make money locally. But the more he tried the more he entangled himself in economic burdens.

Some years later, struggling with mental health and under the weight of a dozen loans, he took his own life.

She was only 12 then. She grew up without a father.

But his absence gave her a purpose to fight the economic & political forces which took the lives of many people like her father.

She grew up to become an economist and later politician who brought service sector which resulted in strong economic growth.

PS – This is the 20th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the crimson red

_{DAY 19 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to continue writing after the sentence ends ‘“It takes patience and courage to do extraordinary things…it’s difficult, no doubt, it is. But it’s possible and I am the living proof of this.” She finished her speech this sentence.’}

“It takes patience and courage to do extraordinary things…it’s difficult, no doubt, it is. But it’s possible and I am the living proof of this.” She finished her speech with this sentence.

It was not a normal day for her.

She had waited twenty years, to witness this day, to stand on the same pavement, where she had lost her father, when she was just five.

Looking down at the yellow colored pavement, made of square shaped concrete blocks, she could still see the blood, draining from her dying father’s body, forming a huge stream.

She didn’t know that her entire life would be shaded with crimson red – the color of blood.

Twenty years ago, her father was killed for making a movie highlighting the systematic oppression of one section of society by the fascist government.

Standing there, she was moving in and out of her past and thanking movie watchers and journalists in between.

Growing up on the street without a father, she had learned the ways of fighting long wars.

Working as a teacher & journalist for more than a decade, she had created an audience which knew who she was, what her struggle was and why they loved her.

She knew that it was a much stronger resistance than just saying the right thing like her father.

She was her father’s daughter but not her father.

She had created a much stronger film on the atrocities of the fascist government but it wasn’t just a film.

It was the bugle of the war that would be waged on street from tomorrow onwards.

The fascist leader knew it yet instead of fighting back, he was holding back, hoping that the storm would soon pass.

PS – This is the 19th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

a resignation letter

_{DAY 18 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to continue writing after the sentence ends ‘“why do people behave like they have no spine…,” she asked herself.’}

“Why do people behave like they have no spine?” she asked herself.

It was not new for her to ponder over such questions while coming back from work.

Maybe it was the naivety of her to think that there are people who still value truthfulness, honesty and doing the right thing.

She was known for finding a middle path even with people she considered workplace vampires.

It was her way of living until the day her company announced mass layoffs.

It was a total bloodbath. More than 3500 were asked to leave. People were packing up their things, crying internally, pleading their managers to give them one chance.

Some even asked to keep them on job at only 50% of their salary. Yet, it was a call that came from above.

She was not asked to leave that day. She should have been feeling lucky that day but she was questioning herself.

Sitting in her office, she asked herself, “Am I like this wooden table with no power whatsoever to do something for the injustice faced by her colleagues?”

“Well, I can’t do anything…,” she replied to herself.

“Really?” She questioned herself.

“No, I can’t work with reptiles.” she told herself and emailed her resignation.

PS – This is the 18th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

an old church

_{DAY 17 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “She was cycling through an isolated field and stumbled upon an old structure behind the bushes…}“

“She was cycling through an isolated field and stumbled upon an old structure behind the bushes.

She found it intriguing since there were no signs of human habitation for miles in any direction.

She was cycling from Britain to Portugal, when she came across this structure.

She dismounted from her bicycle, examined the structure closely and moved ahead to take a better look.

It was a church made of wood and reclaimed by surrounding forest.

Some wild vines had twisted its wooden walls, causing them to warp and bend over time, resembling twisted paper sheets.

The vines had also penetrated its roof, and the floor was now claimed by young roots.

here was a cross on the front wall, still untouched by vines. It looked somehow different from any cross she had seen before.

Vines and leaves adorned the cross, prompting her to reach out and touch it.

“But as she touched the rough surface of the cross, she was transported to a world where there were a lot of vines, wild flowers, and a grand image of the cross hanging high in the sky. It had designs of vines and leaves, she saw before.

“But there was one more design. And it was of her own.”

PS – This is the 17th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the white robe

_{DAY 16 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO “CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “SHE APPROACHED THE UNFAMILIAR DOOR AND NERVOUSLY TOOK THE KEY FROM HER POCKET. SHE TOOK A DEEP BREATH, UNLOCKED THE DOOR, PAUSED, THEN OPENED IT. TO HER HORROR SHE SAW…”}

She approached the unfamiliar door and nervously took the key from her pocket.

She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, paused, then opened it.

To her horror, she saw something, she never expected in her ancestral home. It was a white colored robe.

There wasn’t much light in the room. She kept moving clearing spiderwebs ahead of her.
Soon, she was right next to the robe.

There were some old books, an old spectacle with perfectly curved arms, a brown colored hat, and a walking stick. There was a thick layer of dust on these items as if they haven’t been touched for a century.

She looked at these things closely but what caught her attention was the symbol on the right side of the robe!

It was circular in shape. The center of it had a plus sign with a brown background.
She touched the symbol. It wasn’t painted but embroidered on the cloth with a rich thread. It was a fine work.

Belonging to a family of liberal democrats, she knew the meaning of this symbol and the robe.

There were some stories that some notable history figures of American politics were secretly members of the Klan.

The thought that one of her forefathers could have been among them shook her to the core.

PS – This is the 16th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

a dead woman’s world

_{DAY 15 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO “WRITE A STORY BASED ON A NIGHTMARE.”}

“Was it just a dream or something else?”, She asked herself.

To her, it felt like something else like a glimpse into the past world or into the future.

She wasn’t sure.

Still half asleep, she sipped some water and tried sleeping again, hoping to not experience the same nightmare all over again.

But as she fell asleep, she was back into a world, she didn’t recognize.

She saw women dying within a fortnight of their partner’s demise. Yet, it didn’t bother people, not even the elder women.

It made her feel strange.

She was watching all these events happening at once, as they were alive and dead to her at the same time.

She was seeing their marriages, child births and their deaths at the same time as if she is looking through a wedding album.

As she was focusing on the cause of the untimely unexplainable deaths of these women, the ringing of her phone woke her up.

She was back in her real world but she wasn’t really out of the world of the dead women.

PS – This is the 15th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

Her name, her job and her…

_{DAY 14 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to “WRITE A STORY ABOUT A CHARACTER WHO WAKES UP WITH NO MEMORY OF THEIR PAST.”}

That morning, she was no different than a new born child.

She woke up feeling dizzying and thirsty. Like being on autopilot, she left her bed to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

Still feeling confused, she went to the balcony, thinking, breathing fresh air might be able to make her feel better.

She felt strange. She thought that she must have had enough drinks last night, and this phase will end soon and she will be back to normal.

She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds. Her mind was blank. It alarmed her even more.

She opened her eyes.

She looked at her plants but couldn’t recognize them or the house next to her apartment or the people walking in the street.

Feeling bewildered, she rushed back, but it looked like somebody else’s apartment.

It hit her like a huge 6-meter wave.

She tried calming herself down by reminding herself of three things – her name, her job, and her nationality.

She learned this when she was in army. They used this strategy whenever they were shocked by an IED blast or a sudden attack.

But she failed in the beginning only by not being able to recall what her name was.

PS – This is the 14th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.