It doesn’t matter how many paths we have to cross to reach our destination. The thing only matters is our journey. Is the journey enough to learn the lessons of the institution of life or not? The sweet memories stay forever with us even after reaching our destination. The bitter ones always remain as the insights of life. So, only memories remain. This week, the theme of WordPress-Weekly photo Challange is Path. Here, is my entry for this challenge.
Walking the path with a like minded people is definitely a walk to remember. The person, whom we meet today, can not be present at our last day. But, the paths, we have crossed with the special persons, definitely remains as the sweet memories of our lives.
We don’t remember the paths we have crossed. We only hold the memories of our journey. Memories are just like the falling leaves that loosely attached in our brain and fall on the ground of mind when the wind of change comes in our present. Hence, we are crossing a path after path, only memories remain with us.
The new year is coming. Let start a new beginning with the hope of brand new stories of our journey by keeping the past memories as the insights for the new beginning. Wishing you all a new beginning with the exciting and sparkling paths of the new year.
There was a dream in my childhood that one day I will be a painter. But, I lost the dream during the walk on the path of life. The dream floated away with the waves of time. Sometimes, this unfulfilled dream haunted me “hey, Painter, did you forget me, completely”. It happens when I see the colors and canvas or art in any place. I feel nostalgic about the unfulfilled dream of my childhood. This nostalgic feeling triggered me to capture these photos.
This is the pot which I painted at my childhood to keep my pen, pencils, and brushes together.
“A hundred miles, a hundred miles, You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles”.
I have crossed more than the thousand miles; still, the childhood memory of my home is not faded by the time and path, I have crossed.When I’m in need of comfort, I love to go back down. It’s been a long year; I’m staying out of the home and my hometown, though I feel so attached to them. My born and brought up in a small town of India. But, last time, when I went to visit my home, I realized a dangerous truth of my life.
I felt, truly, that I was not attached to anybody of my home. I only attached with the walls of my room, the grills of my balcony, the pillows of my beds and so many small things of my small room. They know the tale of my life. They are just like the living evidence of my every pain and joy. They shared my joy of falling in love for the first time. They cried with me in the pain of my first breakup. They are the silent witness of my every struggle, sufferings and success.
It’s not that I’m alone in the house. In fact, I was brought up in a joint family structure of a big house. But, I always felt alone in the crowd of my family and shared my things with the members of my room and my daily journal. I regularly maintained my diary to share my unsaid words. This personal journal helps me a lot to release the pain of my life. They are like my best buddy of life. Now, I miss the excitement of journal writing.
This is the picture of some of my old journals, which I brought here from my home to discover me in a new way by revisiting the childhood again. If someone read it, by any chance, he or she might think, “how painful life of this poor girl”. It’s because I only shared my pain with that pen and paper and hardly ever shared my joy. There were many people at my home and school, who loved to take part in my joy, but, no one is there to share my deep pain.
There was a Pen stand on my table. I kept my love letters hidden within it.
I painted this earthen pot to make it a lovely pen stand. Actually, I made two pens stand, one for me and another for my boyfriend. One is here and I don’t know where another one is. Once, the stand was filled up with lots of pens, pencils, and painting brushes. But, those had been losing with the flow of time. But, still, it is valuable to me as it knows my many secrets of my childhood and young ages.
The great thing I have left behind is my sweet and old house.
This house is 51 years old and very simple. But, still, it is looking gorgeous to me as it carries lots of sweet memories of my childhood and young ages. I don’t know how long this house will exist in future. Maybe it will be given to any builder for a new urban construction. But, it will remain unchanged and precious to me and I will play around there as before as long as I live. And still, if I get a chance I will go back to the place,where I belong like Denver.
“Country roads, take me home to the place I belong.”