Beaches, bikinis and babes! Read on:
http://epaper.sakaaltimes.com/SakaalTimes/18Apr2010/Normal/Spice/page2.htm
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Dancing Dots
I squeeze my eyes shut, but those colourful sparks no longer break the darkness. It's pitch black – there are no dancing red and blue dots, and no abstract circles. Instead, it gets foggy, a thick cloud of tears...
Sometimes life's like that. You can see the small circle of light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel's too long, almost unending. The darkness continues to stalk, and nothing you do can shake it away.
Sometimes happiness is like that. You see the other side of the fence, and your naked feet long to enjoy the coolness of the carpet of green grass... but, the fence is too high to cross over. The wires are too sharp, and sometimes, you get a jolt, a shock of Volts.
Sometimes smiles are like that. You can already feel the imminent joy that the curve will bring, but your lips are too dry. The chapness worsens as you wet them and the cracks get deeper. The redness burns inside, and the smile never reaches the eyes.
Sometimes love is like that. Deep down, you know it's enough to make up for the dark tunnel, the jolts and the cracks, yet you block it out, in fear that it won't reach you; in fear that an obstacle will block its path; in fear that it won't bring the dancing dots back...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The silence is deafening
I don't know Vikas well enough to be called a close friend, but I know him enough to know that he didn't deserve to die like that, in a blast of hatred and terror and cowardice.
A leg amputated, furious burns all over his person, failing kidneys... and what was his fault? That he chose to have coffee at German Bakery on February 13, at 7 pm.
The week that was, was of prayers for him. Those prayers are still with his soul that has crossed over. But his going has left behind a dreadful anguish in the minds and hearts of parents, siblings, family, friends – close ones and the ones like me. It will never go away.
My eyes will never forget the lifeless, far away look in his eyes, that I saw today at his funeral. And my mind will also never forget all those times I've met him and laughed and joked with him, oblivious to the fact, that soon, very soon, he'll only be a memory.
My emotions are troubled. They're confused. They don't know whether to feel deep sorrow at this loss of a lovely human being, or to feel justifiable hatred and uncontrolled anger at those who committed such a hideous crime, such an unpardonable sin...
It's been a week since blast, and a day since Vikas left us all, and the papers carry a headline: 'Even after 8 days, no breakthrough'.
I want to yell out to the ATS, to the government, to anyone who will listen:
'Will it even make a difference if there is a breakthrough?
Will the perpetrators be given a 'fair trial' like Kasab (26/11)?
Will I still hear explanations that a fair trial is a must because we're a democratic nation?
Someone tell me please: Are we a democratic nation for the citizens of India or for demons like Kasab and whoever is responsible for the death of Vikas and 14 others?
Will this terror ever end, or does our country want us to get 'used to' losing dear ones?
Will our Vikas ever get justice?'
My mind is constantly screaming. But still, there's only silence around. No answers. Only silence. And it's deafening.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
FOR MY DEAREST BHAGWAN
This one's for Bhagwan Sri Sathya Sai Baba, only Him... for there is nothing truer than Him and I have no better Best Friend than Him...
Love You Baba...
Our boat was sinking, or so we felt,
We closed our eyes and before You, we knelt,
With a wave of Your hand, You calmed the storm,
In a flash of events, You took away the tears, the mourn.
We were drowning, or so we thought,
But the touch of Your hand was enough to bring our fears to a naught,
You didn't let a drop splash upon our person,
You came to save us, just when we were beginning to think our lot would worsen.
The darkness kept creeping on us, or so we assumed,
'Where is God when we need Him?' we fumed,
And then You whispered, 'Why fear when I am here?'
Our eyes opened, and there You were standing ever so near,
And we saw a light, of a most wondrous hue,
It surrounded us, and then became You.
We were falling, crashing, hurtling down, or so we imagined,
We could see the sinister rocks below,
We could hear our screams, the din,
We clenched our fists, and shut our eyes,
We tried to subdue our fear, our cries,
We tried to show courage, but in vain,
And in our panic, we even forgot to call out Your name.
Still, the crash never came.
Our eyes opened,
And instead of deathly rocks, we lay on a bed of love,
We looked straight up at Your smiling face above,
And you said in a voice of unmatched love and kindness,
'My dear child, You may forget me, but how can I?
I live for You, for Your happiness.
Even when you are not looking, I'm standing right there,
Even when you don't feel it,
You're enveloped in My armour of love and care.
Pain and sorrow are a part of life,
But look once towards Me,
And I'll give you joy that's unchallenged by trouble or strife,
For you may not know it, but I've descended to love you,
A love that's the deepest of deep, and the truest of true…'
Love You Baba...
Our boat was sinking, or so we felt,
We closed our eyes and before You, we knelt,
With a wave of Your hand, You calmed the storm,
In a flash of events, You took away the tears, the mourn.
We were drowning, or so we thought,
But the touch of Your hand was enough to bring our fears to a naught,
You didn't let a drop splash upon our person,
You came to save us, just when we were beginning to think our lot would worsen.
The darkness kept creeping on us, or so we assumed,
'Where is God when we need Him?' we fumed,
And then You whispered, 'Why fear when I am here?'
Our eyes opened, and there You were standing ever so near,
And we saw a light, of a most wondrous hue,
It surrounded us, and then became You.
We were falling, crashing, hurtling down, or so we imagined,
We could see the sinister rocks below,
We could hear our screams, the din,
We clenched our fists, and shut our eyes,
We tried to subdue our fear, our cries,
We tried to show courage, but in vain,
And in our panic, we even forgot to call out Your name.
Still, the crash never came.
Our eyes opened,
And instead of deathly rocks, we lay on a bed of love,
We looked straight up at Your smiling face above,
And you said in a voice of unmatched love and kindness,
'My dear child, You may forget me, but how can I?
I live for You, for Your happiness.
Even when you are not looking, I'm standing right there,
Even when you don't feel it,
You're enveloped in My armour of love and care.
Pain and sorrow are a part of life,
But look once towards Me,
And I'll give you joy that's unchallenged by trouble or strife,
For you may not know it, but I've descended to love you,
A love that's the deepest of deep, and the truest of true…'
Monday, November 30, 2009
Modern-day condolence?
A to B: “Lovely kurti... Where did you pick it up from?”
B to A: “Oh, thanks! Picked it up in such a hurry from Camp just today morning!”
C to D: “You have to, have to, have to come home and taste the chocolate mousse I've made. Have joined this new class...”
D to C: “Really? You toh don't invite me only. Gaayab hi ho jaati hain...!”
E to F: “Arre Neeta, ladki ki shaadi kab kar rahi hain?”
F to E: “God knows ya! She says she wants to focus on her work right now...”
Regular 'women' conversations. They have to be, considering the topics are clothes, cooking and a wedding. Nothing to write home about, right? Wrong.
These seemingly random conversations between two women-friends didn't take place at MG Rd or a parlour or a kitty party or a mall. They took place at a chautha (fourth day after a person's death). I know, because Neeta's 'ladki' in the conversation above is me.
I was aghast when mum recounted the hushed whispers she heard, sitting at the back of the hall where the solemn function was on to honour the dead. She herself was shocked that she was asked about my marriage at such a place and time.
It made me think and wonder why these women had even gathered for the chautha. Is it really just a formality, where they think 'Shakal toh dikhani padegi!” Whether you're whispering or talking aloud, sitting at the back or right in the front doesn't really matter here. The point is that that talk is sheer disrespect for the one who has passed away, and for his or her family members who are grieving the death.
Since when has offering condolence become such a farce? Have we become so caught up in the material world, that we think of what clothes people are wearing to a funeral? I didn't know that a chautha was just another social gathering, as if there aren't enough already. But I know now, and I'd rather not attend such a function than be party to such distasteful behaviour.
Agreed that it's in our nature to talk and gossip, but that gossip can wait till after you've left the function, or can't it? And if you have to talk, then why not talk about how the person for whom you're present at such a function touched your life? Why not talk about the good the person has done? Why not honour him or her by showing the family members that you're there for them during this hard time?
They say souls stay on for some days after death, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the ultimate purpose of a chautha would be to pray that the soul rest in peace. I don't think that knowing where a kurti is bought from or when I'm going to get married is in anyway going to help the soul rest in peace. But then, correct me if I'm wrong.
Nupur Chaudhuri
B to A: “Oh, thanks! Picked it up in such a hurry from Camp just today morning!”
C to D: “You have to, have to, have to come home and taste the chocolate mousse I've made. Have joined this new class...”
D to C: “Really? You toh don't invite me only. Gaayab hi ho jaati hain...!”
E to F: “Arre Neeta, ladki ki shaadi kab kar rahi hain?”
F to E: “God knows ya! She says she wants to focus on her work right now...”
Regular 'women' conversations. They have to be, considering the topics are clothes, cooking and a wedding. Nothing to write home about, right? Wrong.
These seemingly random conversations between two women-friends didn't take place at MG Rd or a parlour or a kitty party or a mall. They took place at a chautha (fourth day after a person's death). I know, because Neeta's 'ladki' in the conversation above is me.
I was aghast when mum recounted the hushed whispers she heard, sitting at the back of the hall where the solemn function was on to honour the dead. She herself was shocked that she was asked about my marriage at such a place and time.
It made me think and wonder why these women had even gathered for the chautha. Is it really just a formality, where they think 'Shakal toh dikhani padegi!” Whether you're whispering or talking aloud, sitting at the back or right in the front doesn't really matter here. The point is that that talk is sheer disrespect for the one who has passed away, and for his or her family members who are grieving the death.
Since when has offering condolence become such a farce? Have we become so caught up in the material world, that we think of what clothes people are wearing to a funeral? I didn't know that a chautha was just another social gathering, as if there aren't enough already. But I know now, and I'd rather not attend such a function than be party to such distasteful behaviour.
Agreed that it's in our nature to talk and gossip, but that gossip can wait till after you've left the function, or can't it? And if you have to talk, then why not talk about how the person for whom you're present at such a function touched your life? Why not talk about the good the person has done? Why not honour him or her by showing the family members that you're there for them during this hard time?
They say souls stay on for some days after death, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the ultimate purpose of a chautha would be to pray that the soul rest in peace. I don't think that knowing where a kurti is bought from or when I'm going to get married is in anyway going to help the soul rest in peace. But then, correct me if I'm wrong.
Nupur Chaudhuri
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Looking inwards first
'Three Indians attacked by a gang of 70 teenaged Australians.'
The headlines screamed out on Sept 16, and the words are still ringing in my head. For some reason, I find it so very hard to associate this horrible, insensitive and racist behaviour with Australians. Only because I've lived amongst them and have been loved by them.
I spent a year of my life in Australia, I made Ozzie friends, I ate at their restaurants, I partied at their nightclubs, I studied at their University and I even lived with an Australian family, complete with an Ozzie cat and dog, who I'm sure found it hard to understand my accent! But the country welcomed me, and not once did I feel like an outsider. Their culture was different, but I was never made to feel like a stranger. Instead, everyone I came across expressed the keenest desire to know more about the land of India, to know if elephants really roamed the streets, and if we knew ancient magic, like the Red Indians.
It will be a year in December that I finished my studies in Australia and came back. Yet, the memories make me smile, and make me want to back. But can I now?
The very fact that it's now unsafe for me to go back to the country and people who made my stay so memorable scares me. It's the same fear that sometimes grips me when I'm travelling home alone at night, or am walking on a street dotted with groups of men.
We call the Australians racist because they've been hurting and telling Indians to go back to their own country. I will not dispute the allegation, but I want to ask what name would we give to the group of 80 men or so who attacked and molested a girl at the Gateway of India in Mumbai a few years ago on New Years' Eve? One girl fondled by 80 men. Do we call the men vulgar, cheap, maniacs, perverts, psychopaths or then plain and simple cowards?
Just like the 80 molesters knew that the girl would not be able to retaliate, so also the 70 Ozzies knew that the three Indians under their attack didn't stand a chance of giving back to them a piece of their disgusting, cowardly behavior. What then is the difference between them and us?
During the recent Ganpati visarjan, as I weaved my car through the different processions a day after the visarjan, the men whistled, hooted and insulted my dignity, and all this while the Ganesha idol, its eyes covered with a cloth, sat behind them. Is this, I ask, a better quality than racism, or sickeningly worse?
Today, I feel as unsafe in my city as an Indian man would at an Australian pub, bus stand or railway station. So, maybe it's time our men give answers for their cowardice before questioning the Australian racism.
The headlines screamed out on Sept 16, and the words are still ringing in my head. For some reason, I find it so very hard to associate this horrible, insensitive and racist behaviour with Australians. Only because I've lived amongst them and have been loved by them.
I spent a year of my life in Australia, I made Ozzie friends, I ate at their restaurants, I partied at their nightclubs, I studied at their University and I even lived with an Australian family, complete with an Ozzie cat and dog, who I'm sure found it hard to understand my accent! But the country welcomed me, and not once did I feel like an outsider. Their culture was different, but I was never made to feel like a stranger. Instead, everyone I came across expressed the keenest desire to know more about the land of India, to know if elephants really roamed the streets, and if we knew ancient magic, like the Red Indians.
It will be a year in December that I finished my studies in Australia and came back. Yet, the memories make me smile, and make me want to back. But can I now?
The very fact that it's now unsafe for me to go back to the country and people who made my stay so memorable scares me. It's the same fear that sometimes grips me when I'm travelling home alone at night, or am walking on a street dotted with groups of men.
We call the Australians racist because they've been hurting and telling Indians to go back to their own country. I will not dispute the allegation, but I want to ask what name would we give to the group of 80 men or so who attacked and molested a girl at the Gateway of India in Mumbai a few years ago on New Years' Eve? One girl fondled by 80 men. Do we call the men vulgar, cheap, maniacs, perverts, psychopaths or then plain and simple cowards?
Just like the 80 molesters knew that the girl would not be able to retaliate, so also the 70 Ozzies knew that the three Indians under their attack didn't stand a chance of giving back to them a piece of their disgusting, cowardly behavior. What then is the difference between them and us?
During the recent Ganpati visarjan, as I weaved my car through the different processions a day after the visarjan, the men whistled, hooted and insulted my dignity, and all this while the Ganesha idol, its eyes covered with a cloth, sat behind them. Is this, I ask, a better quality than racism, or sickeningly worse?
Today, I feel as unsafe in my city as an Indian man would at an Australian pub, bus stand or railway station. So, maybe it's time our men give answers for their cowardice before questioning the Australian racism.
Killing the compassion within
My family is synonymous with 'animal lovers'. Even mom's converted, and has been bunking her walks to take our dog out to play instead! So when a cousin dropped by and told us of the cruelly shocking way in which five dogs of her society, near Pleasant Park, Wanowrie, were murdered, we were naturally aghast.
The dogs were poisoned. They were tempted with food, a feast that led them to their death. I read in the newspaper some weeks ago that PETA will award Rs 10,000 to anyone who comes out with information about the killings. Thank God for animal rights activists, and thank god for money, I say. If not for the love of creation, then at least for the love of money, we might have someone offering information.
What did the dogs do that brought death upon them? They were vaccinated and spayed, and had no diseases. Their only fault was that they were dogs. They weren't 'stray' as they were being looked after by different residents of the society. They had never attacked or harmed anyone. They were friendly with kids as well. So what then must have irked someone to resort to the lowly act of murder? That they bark at odd hours of the night perhaps?
I have a family with little kids in my society; and when they were babies, they wailed at every other hour. Now I'm not particularly fond of kids, but I didn't sneak up on them and poison them! It would've been a horrid crime, wouldn't it? So how then can socially 'normal' people residing in a good area poison innocent dogs just because their 'barking' could be a nuisance at times?
Just because the dog clan can't voice its opinion, or take out a morcha to fight for dog/animal rights, doesn't mean we humans can exploit and play with their lives.
When will we learn that we are only a 'part' of creation? That we're meant to live in harmony with other forms of nature and not kill them for pleasure or selfish purposes?
I'm not saying I'm a saint. But I'd never do something so cowardly and so disgusting; something that reflects upon my race and tarnishes the intelligence and compassion we've been gifted with.
The anti-stray or anti-animal folks may say my view is absolutely biased. I will not dispute them. Biased or not, it's a view that condemns the act of taking away something that you do not have the power to create, and in this case, it's life.
The dogs were poisoned. They were tempted with food, a feast that led them to their death. I read in the newspaper some weeks ago that PETA will award Rs 10,000 to anyone who comes out with information about the killings. Thank God for animal rights activists, and thank god for money, I say. If not for the love of creation, then at least for the love of money, we might have someone offering information.
What did the dogs do that brought death upon them? They were vaccinated and spayed, and had no diseases. Their only fault was that they were dogs. They weren't 'stray' as they were being looked after by different residents of the society. They had never attacked or harmed anyone. They were friendly with kids as well. So what then must have irked someone to resort to the lowly act of murder? That they bark at odd hours of the night perhaps?
I have a family with little kids in my society; and when they were babies, they wailed at every other hour. Now I'm not particularly fond of kids, but I didn't sneak up on them and poison them! It would've been a horrid crime, wouldn't it? So how then can socially 'normal' people residing in a good area poison innocent dogs just because their 'barking' could be a nuisance at times?
Just because the dog clan can't voice its opinion, or take out a morcha to fight for dog/animal rights, doesn't mean we humans can exploit and play with their lives.
When will we learn that we are only a 'part' of creation? That we're meant to live in harmony with other forms of nature and not kill them for pleasure or selfish purposes?
I'm not saying I'm a saint. But I'd never do something so cowardly and so disgusting; something that reflects upon my race and tarnishes the intelligence and compassion we've been gifted with.
The anti-stray or anti-animal folks may say my view is absolutely biased. I will not dispute them. Biased or not, it's a view that condemns the act of taking away something that you do not have the power to create, and in this case, it's life.
For the city Maamas!
I awoke that morning, and was surprised at the dreariness that enveloped the city. The sun hid behind the thick, thundering clouds and and the rain pelted against the city and the wind whistled eerily, as if warning us of more to come.
I dragged myself out of bed, and soon was on my way to work. The car was soaked in rain, and the wipers worked over-time. I was warm and cosy inside though – the heater was on. And just when I was marvelling at my good fortune of having a four-wheeler, the traffic slowed to a halt. I peered through the droplets splashing on my windscreen, and noticed that the signals were out. “Drat!” I muttered.
Slowly, after four-five minutes, the cars ahead of me crawled on. And as I crossed the zebra crossing in front, I saw four traffic cops, their yellow raincoats drenched completely, busy directing traffic.
Caps covered their faces, and you could see them squinting ever so slight, while steadfastly doing their job.
And that's when I stopped marvelling at my 'luck', and was filled with respect for these men and women. Come rain or sun, they're always out there, amidst all the pollution, doing their bit in serving society. Just as I was thinking this, a biker, ignored their call to stop, and whizzed ahead, turning around only to jeer at them, as though he had accomplished something.
It's sad that we take our traffic cops for granted, sad that we accuse them of taking bribes when we are the ones who offer the so-called 'bribes' in the first place. Not once do we think that they are people who stand on the street, breathe in vehicle fumes and control a maddening rush. A job that I would definitely never be able to do.
Most people have a nonchalant attitude when it comes to dealing with traffic policemen. One too many times, I've heard friends chuckle and boast, “The maamu stopped me, so I paid him fifty bucks and he let me go!” Maybe now, after watching them stand for hours in the relentless rain, without even tree cover, guiding traffic so as to save us from traffic jam delays, they'll be respected more. Maybe we'll realise that they work not for themselves, but for this city, for us. Maybe we'll follow traffic rules more and make life a tad easier for them. Maybe our 'chalta hai' attitude will change.
I know mine has.
I dragged myself out of bed, and soon was on my way to work. The car was soaked in rain, and the wipers worked over-time. I was warm and cosy inside though – the heater was on. And just when I was marvelling at my good fortune of having a four-wheeler, the traffic slowed to a halt. I peered through the droplets splashing on my windscreen, and noticed that the signals were out. “Drat!” I muttered.
Slowly, after four-five minutes, the cars ahead of me crawled on. And as I crossed the zebra crossing in front, I saw four traffic cops, their yellow raincoats drenched completely, busy directing traffic.
Caps covered their faces, and you could see them squinting ever so slight, while steadfastly doing their job.
And that's when I stopped marvelling at my 'luck', and was filled with respect for these men and women. Come rain or sun, they're always out there, amidst all the pollution, doing their bit in serving society. Just as I was thinking this, a biker, ignored their call to stop, and whizzed ahead, turning around only to jeer at them, as though he had accomplished something.
It's sad that we take our traffic cops for granted, sad that we accuse them of taking bribes when we are the ones who offer the so-called 'bribes' in the first place. Not once do we think that they are people who stand on the street, breathe in vehicle fumes and control a maddening rush. A job that I would definitely never be able to do.
Most people have a nonchalant attitude when it comes to dealing with traffic policemen. One too many times, I've heard friends chuckle and boast, “The maamu stopped me, so I paid him fifty bucks and he let me go!” Maybe now, after watching them stand for hours in the relentless rain, without even tree cover, guiding traffic so as to save us from traffic jam delays, they'll be respected more. Maybe we'll realise that they work not for themselves, but for this city, for us. Maybe we'll follow traffic rules more and make life a tad easier for them. Maybe our 'chalta hai' attitude will change.
I know mine has.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Magic of my Sai
Just last week, a colleague said to me, “To get rich in this country, one only needs to become a godman.” This she said, referring to godmen in general, and Sri Sathya Sai Baba, in particular. About the 'particular', two things stand to be corrected: one, he has made this country far richer and in terms that go even beyond money; and two, for me and the 40 million people who worship him the world over, he is God, and not a godman.
When I say 'richness', I refer to love, happiness and hope. He only teaches about the path of love, and his service to mankind has brought joy where there was none; and has given hope to those who'd given up on hope itself.
A news channel spent all its Sunday hours in saying Sathya Sai is only a magician. I commend them for their insight, because he really is a magician. This magician has done magic that even the world's best magician can never master. He has transformed the hearts of people. He has made humans more aware of humanity.
While the channel's belittling of Sathya Sai was a TRP-raising stunt, I wonder why they didn't give a more wholesome picture of his 'magic'. To be more specific, he has started schools, colleges, and universities that offer absolutely free education. He introduced Education in Human Values (called Educare), that the UGC (University Grants Commission) has taken up at a national level, so as to promote these values which were hitherto lacking in our education system. He has started Super Specialty Hospitals that lack only in one department – the billing department. There is no cash counter in any of the hospitals, and to top that wonder, the visiting faculty are the best in their industry from India and abroad. He also took up the cause of villagers who had to walk miles and miles for water. His Rayalseema Water Project reached out to 731 villages in Ananthpur District (Andhra Pradesh) and later, water was also supplied to 320 villages in Andhra Pradesh. In 2004, the mounting Chennai water crisis was solved as the Sathya Sai Ganga (officially named so by the Tamil Nadu Government) found its way to the gates of Tamil Nadu. Then there's grama seva, that's on in full swing in every state and city, including Pune.
So why then didn't the channel flash these aspects of Sathya Sai's contribution to the field of 'magic'? Not newsworthy enough, eh?
When I say 'richness', I refer to love, happiness and hope. He only teaches about the path of love, and his service to mankind has brought joy where there was none; and has given hope to those who'd given up on hope itself.
A news channel spent all its Sunday hours in saying Sathya Sai is only a magician. I commend them for their insight, because he really is a magician. This magician has done magic that even the world's best magician can never master. He has transformed the hearts of people. He has made humans more aware of humanity.
While the channel's belittling of Sathya Sai was a TRP-raising stunt, I wonder why they didn't give a more wholesome picture of his 'magic'. To be more specific, he has started schools, colleges, and universities that offer absolutely free education. He introduced Education in Human Values (called Educare), that the UGC (University Grants Commission) has taken up at a national level, so as to promote these values which were hitherto lacking in our education system. He has started Super Specialty Hospitals that lack only in one department – the billing department. There is no cash counter in any of the hospitals, and to top that wonder, the visiting faculty are the best in their industry from India and abroad. He also took up the cause of villagers who had to walk miles and miles for water. His Rayalseema Water Project reached out to 731 villages in Ananthpur District (Andhra Pradesh) and later, water was also supplied to 320 villages in Andhra Pradesh. In 2004, the mounting Chennai water crisis was solved as the Sathya Sai Ganga (officially named so by the Tamil Nadu Government) found its way to the gates of Tamil Nadu. Then there's grama seva, that's on in full swing in every state and city, including Pune.
So why then didn't the channel flash these aspects of Sathya Sai's contribution to the field of 'magic'? Not newsworthy enough, eh?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I Promise me
I will not allow anyone to take me for granted.
I will never forget how important I am to Me.
I will never underestimate me.
I will not allow anyone to hurt me beyond repair.
I will let go of the past, because the past is never gonna happen again. It’s over. It’s gone.
I will live in the present only. The future’s too far off and too unpredictable to depend on.
I will learn how to say No.
I will never say no to love. Love is the only healing power.
I will never depend entirely on anyone, except God and me. I know together we’re an awesome team.
I will value every smile I smile.
I will never waste my tears. I’ve learnt how precious they are and how irresponsibly I’ve used them.
I will thank the Universe for everything that it’s given me. The good and the Bad. It’s me who’s asked for them, and the universe has given it.
I will not blame anyone else for my pain. I allowed myself to hurt.
I will never break a promise. I’ve experienced the pain of broken promises.
I will do whatever makes me happy. If the world doesn’t like it, too bad. It’s my life, not theirs.
I will be a Princess. And I will have a Happily Ever After with my Prince.
I will never forget how important I am to Me.
I will never underestimate me.
I will not allow anyone to hurt me beyond repair.
I will let go of the past, because the past is never gonna happen again. It’s over. It’s gone.
I will live in the present only. The future’s too far off and too unpredictable to depend on.
I will learn how to say No.
I will never say no to love. Love is the only healing power.
I will never depend entirely on anyone, except God and me. I know together we’re an awesome team.
I will value every smile I smile.
I will never waste my tears. I’ve learnt how precious they are and how irresponsibly I’ve used them.
I will thank the Universe for everything that it’s given me. The good and the Bad. It’s me who’s asked for them, and the universe has given it.
I will not blame anyone else for my pain. I allowed myself to hurt.
I will never break a promise. I’ve experienced the pain of broken promises.
I will do whatever makes me happy. If the world doesn’t like it, too bad. It’s my life, not theirs.
I will be a Princess. And I will have a Happily Ever After with my Prince.
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