lets begin at the end...

Zarreen is experiencing a shift in consciousness. I can see it happening for her. But there’s two ways this can go. And I have written two ways in which the book can end. Both choices are part of her reflections; or rather they flow from it. Both will turn out okay. They won’t be dead end. Just that they will be. And that they will signal a kind of finality with future prospects.

And still, I have this nagging feeling in the back of my head, that there’s another way of doing this. A way that I must discover for myself. A midway almost, but not.

Zarreen must have these choices and so must the reader. I want to leave these choices to both parties, and not be the one to make it for them. Zarreen must be willing to make that decision; it’s what regaining her sense of self and her essential autonomy is all about. And for the reader who has journeyed with her, I want to honour the same respect for that kind of choice. That level of engagement. And not to take it as my own, my right as the artist of these scenes; I am just the one documenting and giving form to these reflections, these choices, these bits of life that no doubt, every one of us do and will encounter along the path that we tread.

So there’s one thing that I am sure of… It’s not only my choice to make.

odd bits of dialogue

“People don’t always follow their hearts” he said.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I guess I did what most do” he said, rather nonchalant.
“I survived. I did what was expected of me. And everyone was happy”
“Everyone except for you?” she said.

ok now im just clowning around...

It was almost comical the way she did it. She squinched her nose in the mirror, rolled her eyes and then pouted her lips in that way fish do. Then came the sounds, the carnival tunes, the muffled voices of children's laughter and the glorious feel of the crowds applause. Deafening. Exciting. But it also filled her with a familiar dread.

And yet, this was her chosen ritual to calm her nerves before she took to the catwalk.

Her mom had been queen of the trapeze. Until that fateful day when she fell to her death. Her own life wasn't anything less of a circus act. The same anxiety. The same thrill. The applause and the adrenalin seemed to feed off each other. Fueling fear and delight at the same time. It was her rendezvous with heroine that kept it all in balance. Just like those glamorous trapeze artists.

Candy-floss pathos...

She loved that drive, past the city lights in varied colours not unlike the festive and merry fairgrounds of her childhood; and more so when it rained and the colours became a watercolour canvas of streaks and striking expressions of glee, almost as if to re-enact the sounds of children squealing in delight all around because of pure elation and the highs of candy-floss overdose. This time, the canvas of watery colour looked somewhat different. But the same. Just, without the glee. Warm tears streaming down her face just highlighted the pathos of human life. Everything seemed meaningless at that point, because a handful of pretty marbles are a delight to look at; but they're just marbles after all. Who can make a life of small, delightful things made of glass and colour. Real life needs earth, water, air. And solid rock upon which homes are built. These castles in the air were becoming far too costly to her sanity. It was time to let go. To grow up. To get real. She didn't think she knew what all of that meant. So she picked up the phone and dialled with fingers of sentient apology. And then retreated to the cave, knowing full well that she would emerge less replenished than ever before.