As a woman, I have my own dream, that is to say, not only for defining a dream, but also a dream that accepts the reality which provides some achievement. 'Every human being lives depending on some dream'. This was what was written in a letter to me by my very close friend. At that time, in fact, I had certainly got an opportunity to think a little about my own life an a strong woman.
Why does the mind turn peace while I am walking? The word life is such a gulf of life from where I constantly try to escape to an endless journey for life.
I began the journey maybe, in order to keep my days safe, or perhaps for a possible honor after death, where I broke myself up and now, am walking for peace, love and forgiveness. A human being has a short existence and I am not an exception.
Perhaps to go on being shattered constantly is to escape from time and to be unable to shape the circumstances according to the needs of the time is not to succeed in keeping life in equilibrium. And again, seeing my own life, I would be as peaceful as I am now as a woman.
One of my good friends is chronically sick. She is incapable of coping with a situation with enormous difficulties that emerge due to limited financial income.
I know that her father, like in the past years, will not send any letters or offer any communication - she does not know if he is dead or alive. My friend became chronically ill, crying all the time with the thought of her father's harsh treatment.
I too get completely exhausted trying to console my friend. Her father left her to join the foreign work when she was almost six years old. She faintly tries to remember him, but a dim memory of a shattered girl and her father has no value.
Her mother goes on relating to me how she met her husband for the first time at the market. "My Kamala, I was poor, I used to gather firewood and carry it to town to sell. In the meantime, my husband came home from the job on leave. He was quite handsome to look at. We fell instantly in love with each other. I left the village and my dear friends, the forest, to come to here in a big city. He went back to his job and returned to me every year. He brought many things for me. I was happy."
Her mother couldn't control herself further and cried bitterly. I know it fully well that after this, her father didn't send any money to them nor did he visit them from then on. Her mother started a small tea stall and they made their living somehow. The tea stall was their necessity in the process of living and they have spent years working on it.
I become very sad when I see my friend's stories of failure. I don't want to hear about it. As a good woman, I want to be like a flower. I know the flowers, trees and small plants are dancing with the music of the wind. If I am a flower, everybody will appreciate me and say, "What a lovely flower, how pleasant! How charming!" Maybe, people will insert me into their hair and maybe others will compose poems seeing me.
From the roof of my home, the moon I can see. In my room where a dim lamp is burning. When I listened to songs, I felt like submitting myself to the music all through the night, just sitting down right there. I felt like coloring my life while I listened to the tune of music.
I want to spread love, companionship everywhere. I know, my desire will spill everywhere and I will not be lost, unable to control myself within myself. I observe only flowers deeply and found they are smiling.
As a woman! I do not have to be afraid of anything. Again, there is a flash of lightning within me, and the heart is shrieking. What should I do to meet life?
Kamala is an editor for www.mediaforfreedom.com.