Who Lives in Your Wallpaper?

Over the years, I have given out this idea that 'anger' is a sub-standard feeling, which certainly does not require my attention. Earlier, I used to be this dependent, 'I-need-your-shoulder' person. A heart-breaker shattered it. Another bully rubbished it. I started voicing my views, by when, it was too late for the receivers to accept it. No, I was still not practicing anger-outbursts, but saying 'no', and prioritizing according to 'my' wants and needs. Gave me very many labels. More than any set of birthday gifts in which they were stuck with signed names. More than I was ever 'recognised' for willingly subduing myself. I am now 'obsessed', 'selfish', 'high-handed', 'mad' and oh (my favorite) 'celebrity-like'. By the millions of Goddesses on the roads now, I bloody am! How I bloody wish I were indeed.

It is incredibly tragic that on a festive occasion, I am writing this. Not that I care for the festivity, but because, the break from work means I can put more into the work I like. It is tragic because I have extrapolated from a very astute observation that I found my 'calling'. And, not my 'friend'. When I was undergoing my divorce (a neat game), a wise someone had commented to my very concerned mother, 'Do not bother. She loves reading. She will never lack companionship.' Reading, writing, drinking (coffee late at night and alcohol right in the morning), eating, lazying, working -- whatever be it, go! Find your calling! Before you need to call out on a friend, before you fall out on another. Before you believe that you are selfish, believe that your calling awaits you. Eagerly.

I feel better. Having defeated anger. I am too pricey for it. One day, without regrets, I will leave and not return. Roots are not very good things when you have wings. 

My wings are coloured in an urge to explore. Often it kicks off with an intoxication, not necessarily external. My desires know their limit. I am ordinary but would love to win the Nobel Prize, or the Man-Booker. This pattern of disorder is my wallpaper.
I  s k y w r i t e  ...

Who lives in yours?