Hurt??? Are we really

Hurt. . .are you really? Hurt, pain, grief – does it really exist? Do we really feel as if hundreds of knives have been stabbed into our hearts? Do we really go through pain as if needles are pierced into us? Do we feel hurt, betrayed by every single thing? Are we a paper that once crushed can’t be brought into its original self? Or can’t we be a cloth that can be ironed and can be worn a second time? Is it so that second times can’t be true?

Hurt, some might have never come across that feeling while the others feel it consuming them away. Grief does exist and it does vary from being hurt. It is not a synomyn for hurt or pain as a matter of fact. Grief is an emotional cause of depression, a keen mental suffering, but hurt can be physically painful and mentally straining. Hurt does exist but it can never be so bad that we lose hope, that we choose to give up.

The results of X and XII are up in India. It is a festival for the scholars but what for an average mark gainer? What about them? Because of this society, their reproachful eyes, would not they feel hurt?

Yes they do. They have every right to be. But feeling grief-struck could lead to dangerous consequences. The mockery is momentary and they need to learn to be unaffected. You have no connections with them. I might not be a tenth grader yet and so they might say that I can’t feel the pressure. But I know people who have been through this. And trust me tenth and twelveth graders, suicide is not the option. No universal force has the power to break us down except that within us. When we have so many people at our back, helping us, supporting us and caring for us, suicide is no justice. Neither to these people, nor to us, our body or our soul.

A hundred knifes do stab us when we are hurt. Parents of those who have committed suicides do feel that. They have put in millions and millions of efforts to nurture you into a good human without expecting anything back. I had recently held a small tiny baby in my arms and the time stopped for me. The bundle of joy suddenly meant more than anything else in the world. She made a sweet place in my heart without even opening her eyes. For me she meant so much without even she being my creation, my flesh. And that made me think about the feeling her mother must have felt when she must have embraced her. I certainly couldn’t really decipher the feeling that must have rushed though her and her husband. And those kids with parents who must have gone through the same feelings simply gave up their effing lives. Is it that easy? I feel nothing is more hurtful than losing your child.

Failed Love Stories are another reason of pain and hurt. She love him. He loved her. He found another her. And she was left alone. Then, she left the world for the one who left her. Needles pierce and then hurt. But it is temporary. Just as the needle pierces in and comes out while sewing the cloth so does the needles that cut through the heart. It comes out and sews the heart into a much more prettier piece than the plain cloth that it was earlier. Hurt and feeling painful for every thing is not understood. It is irrational. It is a mental disorder and one should surely consult a psychologist. That’s it for the post. Pain is omnipresent but the overcomers are the champions.

Keep relaxing.

Keep smiling.

Keep writing.

Keep reading.

Lots of love, ‌

Hrida Shukla!!

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Espérer or Abandonner

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Is giving up a rescue to all the problems? Is giving up so easy? Is giving up so less painful that it has ended up being the most used solution? Is giving up so helpful? Giving up has always been a heavy word, isn’t it? Or does giving up vary from episode to episode?

Giving up is the sentimental form of acids that eats away elements like hope. Hope, another deep word, can only be germinated when when one has those essential ingredients to nourish it. The ones that hold the guts to hope, finds giving up a way too impulsive way to fight situations. Hope holds second chance. It holds emotions that are heartwarming and concerned filled. Hoping doesn’t expect a person to be mature it just makes him mature. Hope is love. Hope is passion. Hope is a desire and hope is a dream.

Life is way too calculative when is comes to throwing problems at humans. Those problems are a metaphor to mathematical problems. There can be more than one way to find the answer but not all lead to the accurate and satisfying.

Society says life is an exam, you only succeed when you are prepared. The question that strikes in is, what is preparation of life exams? Authors do publish books for a spiritual and simpler life but not all of those facts are applicable to all. Then how can one prepare for the toughest examination?

Life will itself preach a way for preparation. And it will always be a two way out. One hoping and the other giving up! Hoping will give peaceful results and giving up, dreadful ones. But will life always be easy when you hope? Society says ‘A person is what his life makes it’ whilst I believe ‘ Life is what a person makes it’. Karma will be badass when you give up but it will be equally challenging you when you choose to hope. And so giving up is not a solution.

But somewhere down the line, deep in the heart, hoping will provide serenity. Giving up will give short term peace but a long term grief and maybe that’s why it is the most useful of the mist impulsive ones. And trust me the chase of hoping is much more vibrant and adventurous then giving up.

It does vary from circumstances to circstamce but but it will end up weakening the persistence level, the endurance limit. But hoping will be the protein drink to your heart that does nothing but strengthens it.

Hoping is positivity. There is always a little positiveness even in the well masked and self proclaimed monsters of the universe. So what are we when it comes to positivity, maybe a treasure box of good vibes. Just take a little time, discover yourself and you will find hope to be the best way out. Let that positivity in you self nourish, cherish it, water it, and wait for the result you will turn up taking the hoping way to end the dark phase.

Be positive.
Be self-motivating
Keep en espérant

Water Personified

I was at the beach the other day, adorning the the water that collided with the rocks producing a beautiful melody. The water, the way it played with sands beneath my feet, made me find it unusually beautiful. It was as fathomless as a nothing yet held a mystery, a beautiful meaning of its own. The mystery had become more conspicuous, as it had been three years I visited it last, and also, I had grown older enough to notice it. Of course.

On looking at it, I no longer had a doubt on why the writers were so fascinated by it. The sea was beauty personified, it seemed to be a secret, it screamed morals, it sang volumes, instigating me to know it deeper and deeper. I felt a sudden urge to unsolve it’s puzzle and swim to the end of its fathomlessness.

The water there was as majestic as the universe.

Science told it to be colourless still whenever it rained and the sun peeped out it would reflect the beautiful seven colours, the ‘vibgyor’, the rainbow. As a child even I had the rainbow watching memories. At that time, I didn’t find it colourless and just as a naïve child, I felt it to be colourful. Maybe it always was. That refracted light had always been nature at its best.

The water there seemed to be grief-stricken, shattered but it felt that it knew how to mend itself, it seemed to be independent enough. It did spread happiness. The beach spread good vibes. It did spread peace. It spread selfless love and harmony. It did know that isolation was surely not an escape from pain. It did know that people needed it and so it continued to help. Help the thirsty. Help the hungry and help the curious souls like me to discover the ways it mend itself

It wasn’t just showing others its happiness. No it was not that. The waves and ripples of water did sing a happy song. Not that it was never felt weak again. It did. The water did recede back during the black, motionless, melancholy night but by the morning. It was back to its place. Happy and joyous like nothing happened cause it did know that reclusion was not the way out of it.

That little drop of the huge self faced many hardships, got turned into vapour, got electrically charged, got condensed, hit the ground hard. That might have shattered its hope of gaining happiness. That might have strained it to no end but, like I said, it did know how to rise.

Now, I knew, that whenever I was down. Whenever I felt low . Whenever I cursed my life. I just had to remembered this great self. I just had to remember water. The personified the form of water that I met that day.

          
     

                                                ~ Hrida

A/N
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Get to know ‘me’

I am Hrida Shukla, as the blog name already suggests, a young chainreader ( that’s what they call me). An adolescent writer with a mind buoyant with thought that are conspiring to escape out of their prisons. I am a pretty curious soul with  numerous questions jumping out of my talkative mouth. I tell you, writing a blog was never a thought for me, it just came all of a sudden. But as we say sudden occurrences can turn out to beautiful adventures, I thought of giving it a shot. Cause social networking sites can not always be helpful to young reader, I feel WordPress could be an awesome platform to showcase my talent and help me pen down thoughts I  usually cant express!!!! 

Meet you up in the next post,                                     for then, 

Keep reading and keep writing,                                Hrida Shukla ⭐