| I am generally not given much to social pleasures. More reserved than gregarious, I have my own store house loaded with my idiosyncrasies. I have always been advised my friends and multitude to keep on writing, no matter what it is. So, I decided to take it seriously. Apart from my poems and articles. I took to my diary.
Well..........advises just flowed in… and so were applauds of sticking up to it. Till one day, I was told to write what happens if there was no moon........It’s been years since I last thought of such zany a topic. Last time I did....was for extempore in my school, all weird topics - my forte. So, the idea caught my attention. It made me feel young....and somehow mind boggling. So, as I wanted to think what it would be like My thoughts congealed. May be I wouldn’t have been able to write. May be I wouldn’t be me. The night would not have been so beautiful, the thoughts never so intense and the dreams would have been charred in the scorching heat. Who would nurture the visions? Who would accompany the stars? Who would be with me in my loneliest of times? Scary enough it seems. My entire gamut of thoughts seemed somehow linked to the queen of the night. In all her beauty, she was majestic. More than a simple moon. Slowly, silently , walked the moon…………. |
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
WHAT IF THERE WAS NO MOON.
Monday, August 02, 2004
THE PIZZA MAKER
having a working mom, has its own pro and cons. we were happy. i remember back in our childhood, we were abslolutely shunned form the kitchen. but , our urgency of tastebuds at times took us to that forbidden space. our forte was within maggi and omlette , thats all we could try and then obviously the major task of cleaning up, the enire mission being under tight lipped secrecy. that was fun!! years later , the secrecy was gone. we could walk in and out, but did not much about cooking.till....... i was in my hostel , where the food served was so unworthy , that even the left overs which was most of it, were even refused by stray dogs. the reason being , that most of the girls did their own cooking? well , yes..alll experts in the culnary art. and here i was only maggi and omlette! survival became a issue. so, though i managed to gulp down whtever i got , after a while it bacame too strainuos.so , i decided to try my hands at cooking. lessons all via phone from home.a few utensils , jus very basic and turned my only holiday into my cooking practise day. achievement-fair enough. started with just rice and vegies all cut in various sizes and shapes went along with it. but tasted yum....well...because i cooked it and also was a big relief from the horrible food. the triump was also celebrated over phones. i graduated in cooking along with my studies...with lectures on cooking from my expert friends and my endless trials...i ended up being a master chef. cooking every dish on earth i could imagine and doing it faster than the time thinkable. that became my speciality. i had my own recipes to cook faster, and invited friends to indulge in my newly acquired degree. till date, i still am on my way to add final touches to my skills learnt back in hostel. and with yesterday ...have turned into a profesional pizza maker it seems. one after the other and stunningly yum!!! the journey continues......any assistants? |
Thursday, July 29, 2004
POP IN PLEASE!
Well ,as i wait for my friend to pop in....and i am literally not so happy , for not keeping to the time......just wonder to scribble in a few lines. its been long since i had posted in my blog, though i manage to puch in a few in my hand written diary everyday. so , after the few pics that i finally posted after long trials, i decided to write again today! nothing much happening i guess, except trying to pump in the challenge in front of me , and more i try to get the feel , alienated and difficult it becomes. so , just to relax myself , i flip through the paper, stare at the glossy magazines trying to read in the thoughts behind the lip gloss, and hop tv channels...to pick up the best! well nothing much changed..am still the same..one who loves to become simply invisible and suddenly leap back in case its really needed. the secrets might be kept in the depest of chambers , yet at times its a relieve to vent them out. and finally , u end up feeling like a free bird , freed of the shackles!!! whoa!! thats life! still waiting , no sign of my friend yet.i fume, sent messeges to no avail. last night seemed so special , its like ...i dont know...er...well...something different...and all those messeges and suddenly no ones there. how long can i wait? patience i dont have much, but at certain times i seem to compensate posing all calm and taking on mission impossibles. hey, can u come please!!! i am tired waiting and dont have much to write either...though thts the only thing i can do better than the rest.so , though i start with an emty mind , theres always a overflow of water to fill up my empty brain. nothing happens yet....it seems more like waiting for godot, the play by beckett- and i remember the first time we read in the calss, it was like going nuts. nothing happens but u still got to read it and analyse why nothing happens. thats making a lot out of nothing!!! yeah , u got it right.....still not arrived...guess i need to get in some food here..am really famished.so ....thinking of what to have....er..well may be should stop waiting , have my delicacies and just hit the bed...ormay b should wait. no way, this time i decise , i am going to get my stuff done.the cyber world might be crazy , but it has the last dregs of sincerity still plugged in.oh , my friend ..hes from the other part of the world...but we have to share our fun and not so fun moments. the distance does counts , but know what it can make u close too.u can just speak your mind ....without worrying. that it can have some adverse effects.still logged in....but seems got caught up in something. all right then , now time for some cheese omlette and ....coke??? by the time i finish that and regain back my composure and strength..hope he turns up...to get bashed up with all my writings. yeah , that all i have ...words and words and words! |
"I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils."
wordsworth
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
POST VENUS TRANSITION
8june, 2004/9pm
A special day, as Venus transits over the sun, as a speck like black spot. An event that happens once in 120 years. Lucky enough to steal a glance at it too. After a spree of writing letters to my cousins, which I still enjoy doing in spite of the emails…..just huddled myself here to catch up with my writing.
Not that I didn’t write all these days, but comparatively less and all that in my hand written one. Oh yes, I have lots of diaries!!! I am a complete diary buff, or writing for that matter is a pleasure for me. So,here I am , in my blue short length checked pajama and a bright batik top cozily settled in my blue chair.A more comfortable version than the one sleek and trendy in blue too and have the keyboard happily placed on my lap, I rattle out words.
After a good dose of Slyvia Plath’s novel, and a few other readings, thought of writing something of my own. I have a lot of craziness as leftovers, specially my fascination for well written articles, which I have collected over years. A recent one being (filed today), times utilization during conference calls. Its absolutely hilarious and undoubtedly a good read! The newspaper seems getting interesting everyday……new ideas all oozing out. Wonder where they stack so much of ideas, while mine goes into diaries or trying to think it over.
Dollops of Wordsworth and Keats, and promising myself everyday to squeeze in time to indulge in a little skin care! Times in abundance, not that it is not, may be somehow I lack those girlie desires. I would rather be overjoyed to hear that I write well or for that matter speak, than actually getting complements for my looks. Of course not that I would mind! Ah, but yes trying to be a little more regular with my sleep. Not to mention that last night was the first one!
Trying to get the feel of the approaching vacation, though all these months have been one nonetheless. But, honestly, the place seems good and rejuvenating, that’s what my search on the net says. I have been dying to be surrounded by waters for months, and inspite of all my eagerness, the last trip happened in Jaipur. So, this time around I am all set for the soothing effects of the water, the sunset, and a vacant mind (if I can manage too).
Readings on the list next……and to complete a few writing assignments. Wish life was so easy, yet I die for those crazy moments to slog like crazy, and getting good sleep bliss! Every cloud has a silver lining, don’t they?
Time for a good shower…….
A special day, as Venus transits over the sun, as a speck like black spot. An event that happens once in 120 years. Lucky enough to steal a glance at it too. After a spree of writing letters to my cousins, which I still enjoy doing in spite of the emails…..just huddled myself here to catch up with my writing.
Not that I didn’t write all these days, but comparatively less and all that in my hand written one. Oh yes, I have lots of diaries!!! I am a complete diary buff, or writing for that matter is a pleasure for me. So,here I am , in my blue short length checked pajama and a bright batik top cozily settled in my blue chair.A more comfortable version than the one sleek and trendy in blue too and have the keyboard happily placed on my lap, I rattle out words.
After a good dose of Slyvia Plath’s novel, and a few other readings, thought of writing something of my own. I have a lot of craziness as leftovers, specially my fascination for well written articles, which I have collected over years. A recent one being (filed today), times utilization during conference calls. Its absolutely hilarious and undoubtedly a good read! The newspaper seems getting interesting everyday……new ideas all oozing out. Wonder where they stack so much of ideas, while mine goes into diaries or trying to think it over.
Dollops of Wordsworth and Keats, and promising myself everyday to squeeze in time to indulge in a little skin care! Times in abundance, not that it is not, may be somehow I lack those girlie desires. I would rather be overjoyed to hear that I write well or for that matter speak, than actually getting complements for my looks. Of course not that I would mind! Ah, but yes trying to be a little more regular with my sleep. Not to mention that last night was the first one!
Trying to get the feel of the approaching vacation, though all these months have been one nonetheless. But, honestly, the place seems good and rejuvenating, that’s what my search on the net says. I have been dying to be surrounded by waters for months, and inspite of all my eagerness, the last trip happened in Jaipur. So, this time around I am all set for the soothing effects of the water, the sunset, and a vacant mind (if I can manage too).
Readings on the list next……and to complete a few writing assignments. Wish life was so easy, yet I die for those crazy moments to slog like crazy, and getting good sleep bliss! Every cloud has a silver lining, don’t they?
Time for a good shower…….
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
MY FIRST DIAMOND RING(WOW!!!)
The downpour is always good. It makes you feel clean and thankfully out with your entire vent up anger. The crackling sky with gallons of water washing down the parched leaves seems refreshing. While I at times also do run out do feel a few splashing drops all coming down as some invisible saucer from a distant land to drench you happily and transform into that long forgotten joys of a kid.
The tempest cleared it all. Almost like Miranda’s first seeing of Ferdinand. To know the unknown and to explore beyond the limitations and built in boundaries. A life is all about creating your own island, yet which reaches out to the distant. But at times there are moments when everything freezes and life is all about confusion.
The scrutiny continues, yet the results seem so blurred. It’s the dream; I guess which makes you take your steps. The sparkles of the diamond ring remains. A girl’s best friend is a diamond ……..but what if it is given by her best friend. Who’s BEST then? The diamond or the person? Or is the materialistic charm that can over shadow the personal? Is the diamond really needed?
A long and nice walk to the local store to get a talcum powder is more than touching. A metallic one might do the same stint what a diamond cannot, if the spark does not arise between the eyes …….the diamond is too mellowed I presume.
It’s an adorable gesture to reach out to the soul. A soul that is already reached and held dear………has the sparkle. So, who needs the diamond? I have it already. I am the richest and happiest. I have you, the mega sized diamond!!! The one with the sparkle and much more.
The tempest cleared it all. Almost like Miranda’s first seeing of Ferdinand. To know the unknown and to explore beyond the limitations and built in boundaries. A life is all about creating your own island, yet which reaches out to the distant. But at times there are moments when everything freezes and life is all about confusion.
The scrutiny continues, yet the results seem so blurred. It’s the dream; I guess which makes you take your steps. The sparkles of the diamond ring remains. A girl’s best friend is a diamond ……..but what if it is given by her best friend. Who’s BEST then? The diamond or the person? Or is the materialistic charm that can over shadow the personal? Is the diamond really needed?
A long and nice walk to the local store to get a talcum powder is more than touching. A metallic one might do the same stint what a diamond cannot, if the spark does not arise between the eyes …….the diamond is too mellowed I presume.
It’s an adorable gesture to reach out to the soul. A soul that is already reached and held dear………has the sparkle. So, who needs the diamond? I have it already. I am the richest and happiest. I have you, the mega sized diamond!!! The one with the sparkle and much more.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
No , no headings this time, actually couldn’t get the appropriate one. Am dried out with names of movies, which I usually use as my headlines!!! May be Tammana , would be the right one. May be not. So , here am I , stuck in this dead air , trying to pose all happy with my stupid and dead boring days , as I try to act intellectual and all set to become a freelancer.
Oops, all dreams and no reality. So, a self declared addict to the net is all I do for my non existent living. It is not that I am not busy , I end up doing a lot of things , though which I am not sure is helping me to grow. The mails and friends, do all they can to keep me going , hushing me every time , I have a chance to fall into the pit of despair and frustration. Yeah , so am planning a lot these days , not that I did not for the last 25 years. A chance to dream and think big... to do more than I can think. Woof!!!
I try not to over eat , and that’s exactly the problem when u stay at home and is served platter of food , all ready to gobble down , not trying to think of the increasing waistline. But, hey , that is not what I will do . My last few jeans , all bought with my money…….(actually you know the worth of your money , when you stop earning I guess), have to be mine , and not get donated to someone who will enjoy the fruits of my hard labour .
That’s , what am trying to do ….to chase my dreams , to do all I want to. To escape my prospects of marriage…currently. Whom do you get married to? A guy all in smiles for you, nattily dressed and trying to find out, how good a cook are u? That’s all he wants to know…..doesn’t matter what u expect out of him. If he likes your looks, your family background, and your expertise on the range of dishes you can get him in minutes, you are declared all perfect to be the ideal wife. He will chase you, call you up at the strangest of hours to sugar talk, not knowing what to do to impress, to get the cook he wants. Till one fine day , you gather the guts to be rude and tell him to get lost . Leave me alone.
That’s what I am right now. Alone with my problems getting stacked more and more everyday. And I am walking…..walking …...walking. Now all I know is that I have to get it done, times running out , and my fight continues.
To win or to loose, time is the best judge. Let it take its time and decide.
Chase thy dream…………..
Oops, all dreams and no reality. So, a self declared addict to the net is all I do for my non existent living. It is not that I am not busy , I end up doing a lot of things , though which I am not sure is helping me to grow. The mails and friends, do all they can to keep me going , hushing me every time , I have a chance to fall into the pit of despair and frustration. Yeah , so am planning a lot these days , not that I did not for the last 25 years. A chance to dream and think big... to do more than I can think. Woof!!!
I try not to over eat , and that’s exactly the problem when u stay at home and is served platter of food , all ready to gobble down , not trying to think of the increasing waistline. But, hey , that is not what I will do . My last few jeans , all bought with my money…….(actually you know the worth of your money , when you stop earning I guess), have to be mine , and not get donated to someone who will enjoy the fruits of my hard labour .
That’s , what am trying to do ….to chase my dreams , to do all I want to. To escape my prospects of marriage…currently. Whom do you get married to? A guy all in smiles for you, nattily dressed and trying to find out, how good a cook are u? That’s all he wants to know…..doesn’t matter what u expect out of him. If he likes your looks, your family background, and your expertise on the range of dishes you can get him in minutes, you are declared all perfect to be the ideal wife. He will chase you, call you up at the strangest of hours to sugar talk, not knowing what to do to impress, to get the cook he wants. Till one fine day , you gather the guts to be rude and tell him to get lost . Leave me alone.
That’s what I am right now. Alone with my problems getting stacked more and more everyday. And I am walking…..walking …...walking. Now all I know is that I have to get it done, times running out , and my fight continues.
To win or to loose, time is the best judge. Let it take its time and decide.
Chase thy dream…………..
A VISIT TO GRANDPA
The little girl popped her head out of the window. It was years, that she had felt the cool breeze brush against her cheek. It was exciting! The poppy flowers waved back to her, the garden bloomed with her sight. She couldn't be happier. Life was a fragrance - she enjoyed every bit of her newly found freedom. Ah! How she wished she could fly as high as the bird, a never-ending flight that took her to the land of fairies. The very thought excited her- she visualized the chocolate house, which had often come in her dreams. It would be real fun!
She started with that sudden cry- mamma was almost leaning on her and tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Her dream interrupted she was puzzled for a second. Soon she was customized to the room that she now had been staying for a year or so. Nancy-her nurse had told her one night that she would be free again, ready to play and run through those stretches of green meadow. She had not stepped on those soft grasses for months. She could not wait any longer! Mamma had explained to her that she would soon be having a new grandpa and she should always listen to him. She was glad, yet hesitant to live alone with her new grandpa. Mamma promised that she and daddy would soon be joining her and they would all stay together happily.
It was going to be a real holiday, yet mamma and daddy looked sad. She never seemed to understand them. Maybe the very thought of parting with her for a few days was making them sad. Of course she never had stayed away from her parent's -but that she was a big girl now, she could manage. She had never been so happy-there was a long holiday before her. A visit to grandpa! And she had already started packing her bags…
She started with that sudden cry- mamma was almost leaning on her and tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Her dream interrupted she was puzzled for a second. Soon she was customized to the room that she now had been staying for a year or so. Nancy-her nurse had told her one night that she would be free again, ready to play and run through those stretches of green meadow. She had not stepped on those soft grasses for months. She could not wait any longer! Mamma had explained to her that she would soon be having a new grandpa and she should always listen to him. She was glad, yet hesitant to live alone with her new grandpa. Mamma promised that she and daddy would soon be joining her and they would all stay together happily.
It was going to be a real holiday, yet mamma and daddy looked sad. She never seemed to understand them. Maybe the very thought of parting with her for a few days was making them sad. Of course she never had stayed away from her parent's -but that she was a big girl now, she could manage. She had never been so happy-there was a long holiday before her. A visit to grandpa! And she had already started packing her bags…
esthercandream
I actually can. Perhaps one of the reasons, why I am never bored in the most boring of places. Anything, a glimpse or a fact can just give rise to the dreamy dream. I stole the name- Esther Greenwood, to make it all mine. It’s a part of me, none of another, whom I have met only in pages that are half torn and forlorn. Yet, it is so much mine. A treasure I would not part at any cost.
It’s a long back story , how I got caught up with this character and the wonderful book of Sylvia Plath and always felt , I resembled her somewhere deep within. Not that we had very much in common in reality but the thoughts seem similar when you actually dug it out. So, I stole her, and wear her; as casually and coolly as my shorts and t shirts when in my most informal of self.
When everything seems to break loose and go haywire, all I pick up is the images or dreams that I hold close to. I dream. Perfectly and wonderfully, things that might never happen in the distant future. Yet, they seem to be with me, like a balloon trailing behind with invisible threads of hope!
I create images all over, like articles strewn everywhere about the sudden growth of spas in down south and visualizing and attesting then with proof enough to lure you there. Or at least make you dream.
The tulips or the beach, my desktop covers it all. It is an extension of my search, to create dreams that trace out the existential you. Dreams that can bring in the craving within you, to reach out for the deepest. There lies your soul, the one to be touched.
It breathes back life when rest ceases to exist, to make you dream to satiate the Dream. Dreams are all one has. Whether it is me or my dreamy counterpart- I can cease to be the hassled me: and be whatever I can dream of. Esther, that is she and also me, an identity theft. Not because I don’t have one but because she seems larger than life and does tango as brilliantly as she writes, in my dreams. She’s free, independent and the world at her feet. Didn’t someone say; success is all about living life the way you dream?
It’s a long back story , how I got caught up with this character and the wonderful book of Sylvia Plath and always felt , I resembled her somewhere deep within. Not that we had very much in common in reality but the thoughts seem similar when you actually dug it out. So, I stole her, and wear her; as casually and coolly as my shorts and t shirts when in my most informal of self.
When everything seems to break loose and go haywire, all I pick up is the images or dreams that I hold close to. I dream. Perfectly and wonderfully, things that might never happen in the distant future. Yet, they seem to be with me, like a balloon trailing behind with invisible threads of hope!
I create images all over, like articles strewn everywhere about the sudden growth of spas in down south and visualizing and attesting then with proof enough to lure you there. Or at least make you dream.
The tulips or the beach, my desktop covers it all. It is an extension of my search, to create dreams that trace out the existential you. Dreams that can bring in the craving within you, to reach out for the deepest. There lies your soul, the one to be touched.
It breathes back life when rest ceases to exist, to make you dream to satiate the Dream. Dreams are all one has. Whether it is me or my dreamy counterpart- I can cease to be the hassled me: and be whatever I can dream of. Esther, that is she and also me, an identity theft. Not because I don’t have one but because she seems larger than life and does tango as brilliantly as she writes, in my dreams. She’s free, independent and the world at her feet. Didn’t someone say; success is all about living life the way you dream?
ARE DIARIES THE ‘SECRET ANNEX’, WAITING TO BE REVEALED?
“This diary writing does not really count as writing”
Virginia Woolf.
The issue here is not about how diary writing is, but the essence of diary writing as a whole. A feature predominantly seen among women. It is strange that how women from ancient days have maintained their own diaries, while the arena of professional writing was handled by men. Why did not women step into the public world of writing? Why only diaries?
It is generally seen that, these diaries are records of thoughts unspoken, deeds which are not narrated. They are the space which is otherwise not provided. The diary comes as a storehouse of stories untold and hidden from the world. The diaries are a revelation of their emotional, psychological and social aspect. The diary lends them the space and the individual identity, they have been craving for.
The art of diary writing is an age long practice of unburdening the deepest thoughts. From the diary of Murasaki Shikibu of the Heian period, where she recounts her proficiency in Chinese classics to her fathers regrets in she being born a woman….that all her intellectual fervour has gone a waste. Even, Carolyn Heilbrun, an American literary critic considers,” In the old myths, weaving was women’s speech”. Old stories seem to be a confirmation to the fact that women wove to reveal, to counter their enforced silence, their own mutilation. Exactly, why women took to diary writing. Whether it is the weaving of Penelope, waiting for Odysseus (Homer’s Oddyssey) or the weaving mostly found in black literature. Alice walker’s The Color Purple (1982), is also the unbosoming of a fourteen year old Celie. The novel, written in the form of a diary is also the space Celie gets to reveal her torturous life. It is her space to revolt.
A study by James Pennebaker, Professor of psychology at the University of Texas, showed how this simple art of diary writing can actually lead to the improvement in physical health. It’s the platform, where one can be vocal about their feelings and thoughts.
It is the diary of Anne Frank, we are all familiar with, a true example of how her diary lived and grew with her and became her closest pal- Kitty. It is her personal account of her life, emotions and times of crisis and fear in the ‘secret annex” of an old office building. For Anne, a thirteen year old, her diary was her solace, comfort and inspiration-
“I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out
all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”
Yet, her touching tale touches our inner cords. It is more than diary writing! It is the narration of human growth.
The content of women’s diary is focused and particular; the issues which are not otherwise shared or talked about. Their own dreams and frustrations. The meticulous details of their life and how, they dream for their own space at the end of the day. What, actually happens, when you don’t have a ‘room of your own’?
These diaries are basically, therefore the search into oneself, and the hope to liberate their existence through their private writings. The diary is the account of their life’s journey, their small accomplishments and the desire to be heard and recognized.
It is an escape from the fear of being labeled as the ‘madwoman’. To be heard is nothing wrong, to harbour and nurture dreams at par with men is normal. It is the age to voice opinions, not only within the hidden covers of the diary but publicly and openly. Is it on the way to create series of Bridget Jones? To trash what ‘men want’ and stack what ‘we want?’
Virginia Woolf.
The issue here is not about how diary writing is, but the essence of diary writing as a whole. A feature predominantly seen among women. It is strange that how women from ancient days have maintained their own diaries, while the arena of professional writing was handled by men. Why did not women step into the public world of writing? Why only diaries?
It is generally seen that, these diaries are records of thoughts unspoken, deeds which are not narrated. They are the space which is otherwise not provided. The diary comes as a storehouse of stories untold and hidden from the world. The diaries are a revelation of their emotional, psychological and social aspect. The diary lends them the space and the individual identity, they have been craving for.
The art of diary writing is an age long practice of unburdening the deepest thoughts. From the diary of Murasaki Shikibu of the Heian period, where she recounts her proficiency in Chinese classics to her fathers regrets in she being born a woman….that all her intellectual fervour has gone a waste. Even, Carolyn Heilbrun, an American literary critic considers,” In the old myths, weaving was women’s speech”. Old stories seem to be a confirmation to the fact that women wove to reveal, to counter their enforced silence, their own mutilation. Exactly, why women took to diary writing. Whether it is the weaving of Penelope, waiting for Odysseus (Homer’s Oddyssey) or the weaving mostly found in black literature. Alice walker’s The Color Purple (1982), is also the unbosoming of a fourteen year old Celie. The novel, written in the form of a diary is also the space Celie gets to reveal her torturous life. It is her space to revolt.
A study by James Pennebaker, Professor of psychology at the University of Texas, showed how this simple art of diary writing can actually lead to the improvement in physical health. It’s the platform, where one can be vocal about their feelings and thoughts.
It is the diary of Anne Frank, we are all familiar with, a true example of how her diary lived and grew with her and became her closest pal- Kitty. It is her personal account of her life, emotions and times of crisis and fear in the ‘secret annex” of an old office building. For Anne, a thirteen year old, her diary was her solace, comfort and inspiration-
“I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out
all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”
Yet, her touching tale touches our inner cords. It is more than diary writing! It is the narration of human growth.
The content of women’s diary is focused and particular; the issues which are not otherwise shared or talked about. Their own dreams and frustrations. The meticulous details of their life and how, they dream for their own space at the end of the day. What, actually happens, when you don’t have a ‘room of your own’?
These diaries are basically, therefore the search into oneself, and the hope to liberate their existence through their private writings. The diary is the account of their life’s journey, their small accomplishments and the desire to be heard and recognized.
It is an escape from the fear of being labeled as the ‘madwoman’. To be heard is nothing wrong, to harbour and nurture dreams at par with men is normal. It is the age to voice opinions, not only within the hidden covers of the diary but publicly and openly. Is it on the way to create series of Bridget Jones? To trash what ‘men want’ and stack what ‘we want?’
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