How can the sun shine like a fiery ball full of hope, the rain patter at your window asking you to come and enjoy its cool embrace, and the leaves rustle in the soft green meadows just beckoning for you to join them? Why was there a voice, a quiet, inner voice, insisting repeatedly that everything eventually would be all right?
Nothing would be all right. I never thought I would miss the orphanage, how could I ever leave? I never wanted to be adopted. After facing death of my parents, being treated badly, and then finally finding a sanctuary in the orphanage, didn’t life have enough in store for me? Sitting in front of the window, watching the willows waving, the wind rustling. A memory came to me, distant and half-forgotten. A calming voice, arms rocking me gently like the wind in the breeze. A beautiful lullaby, easing me to sleep. I began to hum, first consciously and gradually louder, filled to the brim with hope. Waking up, I felt a heavy weight on my chest. Adoption day was today. There was that hopeful voice again…urging me on, saying things would get worse before they got better. My tears betrayed my feeling as we drove to the place my stepmother called home. It was beautifully furnished. Furry rugs lined the fireplace. The fire crackled as if it sensed my presence. I curled up on the velvety sofa and tried to enter the world of dreams. For life is just a dream, right? School is a nightmare. Everyone teases me and sometimes I give in, thinking that I am just an orphan, with no place in this cruel world. I go to bed with a circle of wetness around my cheek. One day, my stepmom took me to a concert. It was turning point of my life. A village girl on the stage was singing beautifully. Suddenly, I realized it was that song. The lullaby that my mother had sung to me. Memories engulfed me, strengthening and empowering me. They were the fuel I lacked to drive through life. For the first time, tears flowed down my cheeks for joy, not sorrow. Going home, I pictured my voice soaring. All the modulations and vocalizations. I opened my mouth, coaxing my voice, singing with sweetness, melancholy and rust. Years later, I open my eyes and to see the ecstatic audience before me. The lights shine brightly and I am reminded of the sun, full of hope. The audience clap their hands rhythmically and I am reminded of the rain pattering on the windowsill asking me come and enjoy its cool embrace. I open my mouth and hear a voice so pure it reminds me of the leaves rustling on the soft green meadows. I sing, weaving all my sadness and happiness into the melodious words of the song. I hear thunderous applause and I know that I am born to sing – Maybe life has a meaning after all.
0 Comments
|
AuthorAnanya Raghu . Archives
March 2017
Categories |