winter aerial photo of crossroads in Canada


Photo by Avijit Singh

Chela, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl existing in this maze of life. Her smile lights up the room and she is the reason I believe the Creator had favourites yet she has this shadow following her. A cloud hovered over her dazzling personality.


Dear Diary, I am torn between wanting to be the belle of the ball and the fly in the corner completely unbothered. I want to find a sense of purpose. To exist for something greater than my being. There’s a gnawing sense of rush, I am growing old with nothing to show other than a degree that I don’t know how to use.

My mind is travelling at a speed that would get my driving licence revoked for life. There’s a whole world war between my mind and heart. One wants to look for a rational, well-established and respected career path with the possibility of bagging a couple more degrees. The other dreams of pursuing love through art and charity.

It’s an easy decision. Rationale always wins somehow because the idea of regret does not look appealing and time is not coming back. Dear diary, a part of me wants to be set free. To be that carefree girl that dances in the kitchen and cries watching soldiers return home. I crave to be seen beyond this toughness, this hard exterior that I wear as armour. At the same time, I don’t want to bother any soul, many carry their burdens gracefully, so why can’t I? 

I want them to experience me in my fullness but I am scared they’ll hurt me. The little things I love about myself as Chela. My hair, my voice even though I cannot sing to a crowd, the beauty that is my soul in totality and the crevices where I stash my secrets.

Damn! The loneliness is getting to me although it’s hilarious I have never been alone. There’s a trampoline spread out all around me but I tend to miss it. Clumsiness should be added to my personality. C is for Clumsy Chela and her three left feet with no sense of direction.

Here it goes again, the jokes to hide the pain and fear setting up camp in the depths of my being. Anyway, I’ve got to give props to my therapist because writing out these thoughts makes it a little clearer and less muddled.

Dear Diary, I could use a holiday or two and maybe add like a job into the mix because they lied. Money really helps the situation.

From the loveliest penmanship to ever grace these pages,

Chela with all of that sass.

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