Something random

PArt 2

"If the heart could bleed and not kill while doing so, use the blood as ink and write. Write, write, write... Bleed so much that you inscribe your existence permanently into this doomed world." He used to say. He was a writer, at least that's what he told me when we first met. Writing books for the broken hearted and the lost soul is where I find my peace he will muse as he took a sip of the coffee that stay on his table for almost half an hour. I never asked him if he either forgot to drink the coffee when it was warm or just that he liked his coffee cold. He was always calm, always with that small hint of smile on his lips. He was handsome too. He had those thick eyebrows that never were too much that it overshadowed his beautiful golden brown eyes. He always had a clean shaven face, not a hint of facial hair. Except for those eyebrows. His hair was always short, I have never seen it ever grow out and tangling by his eyebrows or touching his neck. Never leaving me to wonder if it tingled when his hair touched his neck. He had a broad shoulder but had a lean figure. Something that people say I was lucky enough to explore. Lucky. Well, those be jealous talks. He was taller than me, by half a feet or one. That I never thought to measure. When he walks, he seemed to walk with an air of freeness. Always ready to make people comfortable. And at times, very comfortable. Very very comfortable.

I sat looking at the paragraph I had written and took a deep breath and closed my eyes with folded arms. Is this how I am going to start my book, I pondered. Is this really what I want?

I slowly got off from my bed and looked through my room window. There was a light breeze going through the whole neighbourhood. The houses in this region were cluttered and if one opens their window, that window will be in your neighbors property, to which much bother isn't given. A forgiving, giving people. My mother was making dinner for our family of three at the moment; my mom, my dad and me. A brother was in another state pursuing his agriculture degree. The loud whistling of the cooker brought in the smell of fried dal and another utensil had boiling pork and bamboo shoots in it. It was a pleasant evening indeed, only if my mom wouldnt shout at me to come out of my room to help in making dinner or worst, doing the dishes. With lost of inspiration and motivation to continue with my writing, I went downstairs to the kitchen, only if to stop my moms nagging.

"Ah, there you are, the queen of the house! What do you do in your room whole day? Cant you see Im working so hard in the kitchen?" she starts with her questionings to which if I answer, will lead to more nagging so I keep quiet and take a cup to make tea. "Here take this cabbage and make salad for dinner." she hands me the cabbage. I put it in bowl and proceed in making my tea. After which I start slicing the cabbage into small thin pieces, the way she taught me. I take a sharp knife and cut the cabbage in half. I hold the half cut cabbage from its base and start to slice from its outer back to its inner part, in thin, short elongated pieces as possible and go round the circumference. After that I take some green chillies, a tomato and a red onion and chop them into similar small pieces, but this time using a chopping board. I do not mix them and cover them with a lid and place them inside the refrigerator. The salt will be added and the items mixed right before dinner to have that fresh taste and thus prevent the onions from getting stale and making the salad spoilt. My mom took off the dal and pork from the stove some time ago and she went to feed the chicken after which she will continue with her basket weaving. She gets easily bored when she isnt doing something. Meanwhile I clean the dirty dishes that stay lying on the sink from the cooking.

I take some warm water in a glass cup and slowly sip on it as I sit by my room window and look at the neighbourhood. My mom is busy with her basket weaving and a neighbour aunt had dropped by to past their time together. As I look at the cup of lukewarm water I remember my roommate in hostel who told me that warm water is better than cold water for overall health and therefore I inculcated the habit of drinking warm water whenever possible.

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Just a writing I penned down when I was a little imaginative