How many more women are like her?

Shall we divulge to the world? She is not happy with her life right now, and will you believe it? I suppose she’s the one at fault for choosing all the wrong things at the wrong times.

She complains. A lot! Why is she doing all the house chores when she should be in her desk just writing her life away… Away from the world, from the hustles of the city.

But what can she do? She is a mother of three kids. Did she make the wrong decision of marrying at a young age and not being able to realize her dreams before being exposed to the hazards of a married life, of an adult life?

Something was amiss and still is to these days but even she knew it all along. The time passes, the years go by. One by one, as she sat there, frozen. Frozen to her own musings, lamentations, and reflections. ‘What if’ was not the word she chose. Instead, she fancied all good books, the lore and the stories of the world.

Nobody understood. Nobody cared. Or maybe she maintains it that way even if there were people who knew. Putting a distance to whoever wishes to poke into her mind, her world, her uncertainties.

Was she just too weak and ignorant to be trying something to fix her life? She has no answer to that. She just prays, and prayerful as she is she finds solace into the things that she asks. ‘Just a pen and some paper’ would do. That was the answer to all her prayers.

And on and on she goes, into the deep… Into the thoughts of the messed up mind. She discovers the complexity of her simplicity or the other way around.

How many more could be like her? She wonders…

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