The Perfect Wedding

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The day dawned bright and shiny. It was fall and the weather could not have been more appropriate for getting married. Jacob was so happy. His darling little girl was getting married today. Everything was perfect. The chapel was adorned with beautiful fuchsias and lilacs. The tables were laid with ornate table cloths. The sound of the three cellos soothed everything into a peaceful stability. The smell of freshly baked food wafted through the hall. It was going to be the prefect wedding.

He wished his wife was here. It had been 12 years since that fateful morning when he found her dead in their bathroom from an overdose of sleeping pills. The time had not dulled the pain though. If anything, it had just managed to expand the void left by her death. But today, he vowed, he won’t let that mar his spirits. His darling little daughter was getting married after all. Everything was going perfectly as planned. He had found a nice little gentleman for her. Jacob was sure that he would provide for his daughter very well. She will be content.

He had tried to make his daughter’s life as easy as possible. Growing without a mother was one of the most difficult things, he had realized. But he had given his best shot. His daughter had turned into this beautiful, independent, young woman from the rebellious teenager that she was. Okay, to be honest, she had still retained her rebellious streak. But time would change that. Getting married would change that.”She is just 23 after all”, he thought to himself, “She will realize the wisdom of the decisions he had made for her. She had to see it some day.”

He remembered the argument they had had last night.

“He treats me like a kid, Dad! I dunno if I wanna marry him. Give me some time. Let me get to know him”, she cried.

He walked to her, gave a peck on her tear-wet cheek and just smiled. “It’s all gonna be okay, sweety. Trust me!”, he told her.

That memory left a fleeting ghost of a smile on his face as he walked towards the bridal dressing room. It was time. As he walked into the room, he found her taking a nap on the bed, all veil-clad and stammeringly beautiful the way only brides can be. ‘My poor baby’, he thought, ‘She must be so tired’. But as he walked towards her, all color drained from his face. She was holding a vial of pills in her left hand and in her dying, bridal beauty all she reminded him was of his long-lost wife and her fatal end.

The Sign

ImageAs she drove down the highway, there was a chaos of thoughts running through her head. She was tired. Tired of sticking to the convention, tired of living the “ideal way”, tired of giving up what she loved just because it was different. Living in a society driven by conventional boxes, she was always taught what to do. But she wanted to break free.

She wanted to be in a circus. She had had dreams of being a flying trapeze for ages now. She had worked hard on her body, her strength right since she had first seen the circus when she was 5. She still remembered her wild-eyed wonder as she sat there with her father. The same father who was completely against her decision to be in a circus.

But right at this moment, she did not care. She was 21, fit, ready to explore life with wild dreams in her eyes and almost no money in her pockets. She was excited and anxious and eager and scared and she was ready.

As she sat in that car with Kelly blaring on the radio with I Believe I Can Fly, she looked at the sky with its beautiful hues of orange and pink and blue and she thought to herself “This is a Sign”!

—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

2013 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 17,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 6 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Conversations with an Actor

Interviewer: There’s something that I’ve always wondered. How can anyone act something out if he hasn’t e

xperienced it before. I mean, how can you cry and be sad at the death of your child when you haven’t even experienced his birth?
Actor: That’s very simple and yet very difficult. Let me ask you something back. How do you know that a real-life father is sad when his kid is dead. How do you know that he’s not the one who’s acting?
Interviewer: Umm.. Well..
Actor: The only thing that makes you think that the father is sad and devastated at the death of his kid is because he himself believes in it. That’s why when you look into his eyes even you believe in it. Nothing we ever feel in our life is absolute. Everything is an inherent belief in our feelings and emotions. Everything is an illusion. And a good actor is nothing but an illusionist who just happens to believe in what he’s supposed to feel.
All the world’s a stage and all the men and women just merely players……

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Being Sally

ImageBeing Sally meant having that pe-er-fect body.

Being Sally meant having those long and supple hands.

Being Sally meant having wonderfully lustrous hair.

Being Sally meant moving gracefully.

Being Sally meant playing with fire, yes.

Being Sally meant entertaining all those who thought playing with fire was entertaining.

But no one ever asked what being Sally actually meant to her.

All everyone bothered about was the beautiful dancer who danced with fire.

She was enticing, she was engaging, she was alluring, she was entertaining.

But for her, she was no more than a circus lion on display. Someone everyone was afraid to get close to but everyone wanted to see on display. She was that clown everyone wanted to look at and feel good about being themselves. She was that object that men devoured by their looks and women went green with envy. Yet no one ever dared to get close to her.

She often wondered if she really loved playing with fire. She often wondered if it was really worth being a fire dancer. 

She got frustrated and irritated and mad at the whole world and blamed everything and anything under the sun for her predicament. Until the pay-day arrived. Then she would glance at her cheque and she would think everything is fine with the world.

Being Sally is not that bad after all, she would think.

Being Sally is just her attempt to show the world that she could play with fire. The one within her. And the one around her.

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This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

Knock Knock!! Any Quiz Wiz Here?

I love reading.
I love dancing.
I love writing.
I love rains.
I love winters.
I love sudoku.
I love crossword.
I love puzzles.
And I absolutely love quizzing!
So you can imagine how excited I was when my best friend in the whole wide world developed a quizzing website. I adore it! And for all of those out there who love quizzing too here’s a chance to see if you can outsmart my best friend in the whole wide world.

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Please visit the website http://quizot.com/!

It’s fun! It’s challenging! It’s informative! And I’m sure you guys will have a great time!

Back to School

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As I walk today through this empty corridor of what once used to be my school, I am shocked. Shocked at the change. I mean, everything look the same. The lockers, the corridor, the ever-so-depressing lights, the paraphernalia of childhood. It looks exactly the same. But everything seems so changed.

I am changed. I am no longer the gangly kid with braces and plastic frame glasses. I am no longer the last person to be chosen on any game team. I am no longer the heartbroken kid who doesn’t have the guts to go and tell that boy that I like him. I am no longer the kid who comes up with stories to impress her friends about how cool her father is. Yes, I have changed.

I am grown-up and successful and decent looking. I can draw people’s attention for all he right things if I want to. I can go ahead and buy that pretty dress I loved without thinking twice. I can make good-looking men buy me drinks at a bar whenever I want to. And all this is all that the gangly kid ever wanted.

So why does walking through this corridor make me ache today? Because the world is not the same. Because I am not the same. Because I have realized that the world, as I saw through those plastic frame glasses, is a myth. The “Ideal Life” doesn’t exist. I have lost my innocence. I have lost the ability to give without expecting anything in return. I have lost my childhood. And today, I would give away anything to be back to what I was. To go back to school.

—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

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