sinderblogs19

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A hollow room with a shadow of memories.

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Some grief lives in silence. In everyday routines. In the song playing during your evening walk. In the pause you take when the road bends near memories.

This piece is about a day like that— Where your body moves through life, but your heart keeps circling around someone who isn’t there anymore.

It’s personal. It’s raw. And maybe, it’s a little bit like yours.

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I wrote something new 🍊🧩🌞

It’s called “A Jigsaw, an Orange, and My Summer Table.” A quiet piece, born from a slow afternoon — the kind where sunlight spills across your thoughts and everything feels stitched together with stillness.

There’s a puzzle. There’s fruit. There’s a little bit of memory, and maybe, a bit of you too.

Read it if you’ve ever paused in the middle of a day and smiled at nothing. Or if you like simple stories that sit with you for a while.

🪞✨ https://freelancewriter90.wordpress.com/2025/05/14/a-jigsaw-an-orange-and-my-summer-table

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🌫️ “I’m not on the side of white or black. I’m in the middle — the grey. The part no one talks about, but everyone passes through.”

My new blog post explores the social dilemma of being grey in a world obsessed with extremes.

🖤 Read here → https://wp.me/pgr3Fn-2x

If you’ve ever felt unseen in your in-betweenness — you’re not alone.

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If you prick us, do we not bleed?" — These words hit me hard after watching The Pianist and reading The Merchant of Venice. My latest post dives into the connection between art, memory, and fate, all wrapped in literature and cinema. 📚🎬

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Young-hye's husband is the reality of the most in the real world, especially in arranged marriage, which seems to me a disaster. Because as long as you're not a drama according to them — no appeal, no demands, no choice, no discussion, no resisting — you're a good wife. As soon as you start with even a little of your choice, you become an object from a person, which seems too distinct to you. But you were an object for them to begin with. An object or a clay, adjusted, molded as they desire.

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When Life Happens — A Healing Wrap

🌿 Post Content: One night I was glowing, the next—hospital lights and grey curtains. Coming back home, food felt distant… Until I stepped into the kitchen.

A spoonful of veggies, a dash of sauce, Wrapped in lettuce and love. It wasn’t just a bite—it was a step towards feeling okay again.

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Corner of my mind— a snowflake melts underwater.

A quiet poem on fleeting thoughts, soft mornings, and skies that blush pink.

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You, my love, make it happen

What makes life beautiful? If not your handkerchief, then the mess behind, if not your perfume, then your scent lingering behind, if not your letter, then the pen behind, if not your presence then memories behind.

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Oh, good lord! Why, you gave me the beautiful soul my lover loved, but not the appearance to make him resist me at all cost?

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My White Swan under the sun

When you opened up your heart and talked about how you made the sweet dish all by yourself because you missed your home that day. When you oh-so-innocently told me how you sometimes eat with the homeless in a restaurant when you're alone, but the restaurant refuses to let them in and you fight for them. How much you love your family and are grateful to them for everything. Your passion for learning and growing into a big person gradually by working hard day and night, yet still staying grounded and respecting each and every person throughout your journey and after.

You—the you you hide from the world—is like a swan in the water, surrounded by water lilies. White – pure – calm – and under the sun.

You also love listening to my songs, so I sing. I sing in every step of your life, to be there with you at the first step of your initial phase, and throughout your journey, to keep you going between the clouds. Because we have heard that's the destination—and it's all golden rays, flowered aroma, and the things you want: peace.

So I will be there, to get you there. I may not be there by the end of your journey, but I will surely be by your side whenever you halt or stop. I will sing to you.

We'll make harmony. I will meet your rhythm of steps, one by one—and make everything happen.

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Art isn’t just what I do — it’s who I am, the pulse that runs through my veins. 🎨 From the first brushstroke to the beat of my steps, every moment of creation is a piece of my soul. It’s not just a passion, it’s a way of being. Read my latest reflection: https://freelancewriter90.wordpress.com/2025/03/26/why-do-i-love-art/

#ArtIsLife #CreativeSoul #ExpressionThroughArt #LivingWithArt

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The lost world, found beneath the yellow page 🔖

I take steps, one at a time, the momentum enjoyed through the lines and lens of Jahanvi. My new blog is on WordPress, live now. https://freelancewriter90.wordpress.com/2025/04/11/the-lost-world-found-beneath-the-yellow-page/

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In Another Universe, You Loved Me Right

When you approach me, drenched in loneliness and wanting to hold the hand of the soft voice which used to comfort you. Your mind is in a haze because slowly the alcohol is taking over, and you slide into your feelings more — you're not sane anymore. The sane you take care of, takes control of you. The sane is a mask you wear daily — of not caring about anything or anyone — and you keep working to gulp down the ocean of unfulfilled emotion and the bitter hurt and wounds that you carry through your life every day.

At a point where you want to relax, you move towards the poison of alcohol. It’s the poison of giving your mind a chance to breathe, to let your emotional door open, and do the things you would never do when sober — like messaging me "Hey" or saying you miss me a lot, that it hurts. But you pushed me too far away, love. Too far away. You threw me in a deep black pit where it was hard to breathe, when you had promised to fly together to a quiet place with lovely birds around us, holding hands with a big smile. That was the picture you drew.

Then how come the darkness of hurt and pain is not as much affecting my heart as this filthy smell of lies and betrayal?

I climbed up — which was nearly impossible — and cleaned myself in the rivers of self-resilience, love, and care of my family and friends. I tried to find the pill — which, no matter how hard to swallow — could help me forget you, but your traces were everywhere. Your shadow was behind every tree I tried to hide myself from.

So, I became brave and learned to walk the path even with your shadows on the side. I was determined to face you if your cowardly self ever decided to show up — but it never did, nor ever will.

Though your pathetic, lonely self finds its way back to me when no one is there to look at you at your worst or ask about your day — when you can cry about your exhaustion of life and take a moment to breathe and relieve yourself on someone's shoulder.

No matter how hard I try to remember the cut on my heart and how much time it took to make that poor thing pump, to make it alive again, it still has space for you. Where it thinks of you as a little kid with big dreams, betrayed by a friend, and turning your whole life goal into a lesson — and you keep living with it without a single person by your side. At times like that, I could only comfort you with words. It was enough for you.

I was happy to be your yellow light shining above your head whenever the clouds seemed too dark and about to rain. I gave even the last of my shine to you to make your world a little brighter.

So why did you do this to me, darling? Was it pleasurable?

Now that you rot in your bed, thinking for hours about how you used to talk with me — and can't sleep nor come to me begging — because how could you? After all of this?

You take your poison and blame it all on it. And I blame this red fist inside my chest — it talks to you soft and assures you I’ll be there as a friend, so the little child who was betrayed and lost all hope, standing alone, would have a hand — a finger — to hold on to tight at a time like that.

Let’s make fools of ourselves in this maze that we are in — and the sins that we have committed — and become one in at least one universe, if not this one.

In that universe, you have never hurt me or used me for your lonely hours. You genuinely care about my well-being and feelings. I will keep that universe in my mind and run to you whenever you knock at my door — forgetting and leaving everything behind — because I am selfish, and I will love you because I loved you. And only you.

I would keep loving you for the selfish love I have for you. May we stay apart — I know you, you're there — seeing the same moon and wishing on the same falling star.

Let me be in my dream of loving you till I die, and the young love we had — I will think of it as fulfilled. That we both were permitted to stay together forever. We swore to God, lived beautifully — and I would become your widow — because I want to be with you even at your last moment, holding your hand, raising it softly, telling you that I am always, always there.

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the sin of eighteen

I always wondered what punishment from God would feel like. As a child, punishment came in small doses—no favorite treats, a slap for misbehavior, or a teacher's sharp words echoing through the classroom when I made a mistake. In the schoolyard, insults from friends would strike like arrows, telling me I was ugly or too dumb to understand. Yet, I still had the audacity to wonder what punishment from God would be like. I was curious, always curious.

At eighteen, I committed the greatest sin of my life. I was warned, again and again, not to walk this path, and I was afraid—so afraid. But there was joy in it, and peace, a kind of twisted serenity. How vicious of me to find comfort in my wrongdoing. The sin wasn’t just a mistake; it was something darker, something that left me hopeless and broken, the scars of it still aching.

I was punished from both sides. My parents, once proud of the child who won every competition, who brought home good grades with a humble, kind heart, now looked at me with disgust. I didn’t just disappoint them—I shattered the trust they had placed in me. It would have been less painful for them to lose a limb than to witness their child fall so low.

And then, there was him—the person I committed this sin with. He knew all along, from the start. He knew the crime we were about to commit together, and still, he didn’t stop me. He played along, acting out the role of victim, though he was no victim at all. He reveled in the game we played—the word games, the manipulation. Sometimes he would poison me with honeyed lies, sometimes with salt rubbed into my wounds. His eyes held both power and kindness, a cruel combination that left me addicted to his presence.

He was a master of contradictions: a straight posture for the world, but two undone buttons and a sigh for those who knew him well. A smile that was sharp, ruthless, and distant in public, yet pure and kind when it came to those less fortunate. His voice could melt my heart with its softness, but his words were sharp enough to tear it apart. And I loved him for it.

That was my sin—I fell in love. A love that was never meant to be.

When I confessed, it wasn’t with grace or dignity; it was out of anger, out of the pain of feeling used. I had always wondered—was it morally or ethically right for a woman with a husband and child to approach her past lover? Was it right for her to come back into his life, rekindling memories that had been fading? She gave him hope again, while I was left behind, cradling the ashes of what could have been.

He had already given his heart to her, and I was just the lesson. I was there to learn that I would never be loved back by the person I loved. His heart was already full of memories of her, and my confession, full of love and rage, was enough to make him lose all interest in me. How envious I feel now—envious of that woman, so elegant, so pure, who won his heart in ways I never could. She didn’t have to fight for it. She already had it.

I never thought I could feel envious of anyone, but I do. I envy her, the one who holds his heart. While I, who had no place in his picture, was just a passing moment, a fleeting lesson. I was meant to learn that love, for me, would never be reciprocated. My heart aches with the knowledge that I will never experience that kind of love, the kind that is returned.

My eyes won’t stop dripping, and my heart won’t stop hoping for him to come back, to hold me, to ask if I truly loved him. I would give anything to see even a flicker of affection for me in his eyes, but I know now that his heart was already full—full of someone else. And for his happiness, I will endure this bitter poison of separation. I will bleed from the wounds of abandonment. I will survive the flames of betrayal and the sting of being used.

The void inside me grows deeper every day. A black hole where my heart used to be—lifeless, dark, silent. Will I ever get my light back? Even if I do, I fear it will be swallowed by the void inside me, never to return. I will drag myself through the rest of my life, smiling for others while the corners of my lips bleed. No one will ever know.

And I will never, ever dare to commit this sin again.

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I will cry every night , resisting myself to reach out to you.

I will cry in agony of not getting to listen to your voice

I will morron over my pathetic self for going on loving a man, who would pass by my coffin but would not look at it , in unknown fear.

Could i have ever got this chance which i'd waited for my whole life?

Are you the one whom i was waiting for?

I wonder why my stomach twitch , my throat ach and my eyes bould out of salty tears as i remember you

Am i desperate? Deprived of this kind of love? Or am i bound to you because i thought no one would even spare glance at someone like me?

I cant take a single breathe without thinking of you while you can live with a smile let alone some laughs with your friends.

The stone heart you got must have had enough fire to be this hard.

I want to reach that and sawn flower between the cracks

But i am too impure and ugly to even reach the pupil, the heart is a long way.

Though i would still hope you somehow look at me when i smile and you smile and embrace me so tightly that i forget every scare i have ever gotten to be like this

Would this even happen?

No, it will not 

Will someone ever look at me with love in their eyes?

Hug me really?

Hold me as such i feel so deep that i again cry so hard to hitch my breathe 

Not of agony, separation, desperation but out of getting such a pure love.

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