"Let's paint sunshine together," he said softly.

She smiled silently and returned to the canvas before. It show cased brilliant colors, the deep ones and the intense ones, just like her eyes. Deep brown eyes that shone on you till you were fully captivated by their simple innocence, the silent eyes yet adorned with brilliance so obvious it could strike you for a moment. He moved nearer.

"You don't believe me baby girl?" He said in her ear. "Here, let me show you." He came up behind her and held the hand she was painting with, the other one holding on to the rest of her possessively. Softly, he led her hand in circle as if designing a core. Deep red, deep orange, sharp yellow in an attempt to capture a passionate sun, choosing colors for her.

"I'll paint you baby" he whispered. "And I'll paint you exactly how you are to me." She laughed softly.

"You don't believe me?" He mocked an expression that complained you-don't0believ-me?

You know what girl?

I want you to know something

there were many that I have met and spent time with

but there was this one gal...

whom I have never met...

but she had this lovely heart that reached out to me

and captured my soul

let alone that calmness in her face

had things been different..

I would have gone all the way with her...

and lived all my life with her

she is an amazing woman

she is

and hopefully to me atleast

she would

always

be

my Sunshine.

-- She simply smiled.

“Where’s my home?” He said nothing when I clearly expected a reply. He silently handed me a newspaper with an ad on the front side that said “home is where the heart is”. All I could do in response to that was stupidly gape back, because he had answered all my questions in that single gesture.

My question lies in the word “home”. What’s a home to a girl who has to leave her parents one day? I lived with my parents for twenty three years of my life. That little home was the entire world for me. I’m not a very social person and I don’t have many friends either. For me, my parents, my family was everything. Then came the day when I signed the nikkah papers. I knew it at that very moment that things will, definitely, take a drastic change. The first thing I asked my uncle after signing was, ‘uncle, is this it? Does it take only three signatures to change everything? Even my home, the place I live? Even my parents’ right on me?’ My uncle had no answer. He just hugged me tight and cried with me.

Every time I think of a home, I am reminded of a place where there is a mother. I realize the nest that a mother makes. She makes everything so comfortable for her children. The world is a perfect place for most people when they’re under her protection. Then, suddenly, it’s time for one of the children to leave the nest. The child has to leave. Why? Because this is a social norm. What happens to the “home” that child had been living in for all that while?

Though I’m certainly not of the view that the system should be the other way round, but I’m compelled to ask why it is always the girl who leaves her parents. Why it is her who is told to tear away from her loved ones and settles in a totally different lifestyle? Other than that, the guy should not, in any way, take for granted the sacrifice she makes for him, for something that is only customary. It may be customary, and it has been practiced for years and years of civilizations, but that doesn’t lessen the pain in any way.

I’m just so teary eyed as I write this. It’s just that, the word “home” brings up so many questions in my mind. I guess that’s all for now. I’ll let you guys do the talking now.

Till next time fellas!

why is it always the girl??

“Where’s my home?” He said nothing when I clearly expected a reply. He silently handed me a newspaper with an ad on the front side that said “home is where the heart is”. All I could do in response to that was stupidly gape back, because he had answered all my questions in that single gesture.

My question lies in the word “home”. What’s a home to a girl who has to leave her parents one day? I lived with my parents for twenty three years of my life. That little home was the entire world for me. I’m not a very social person and I don’t have many friends either. For me, my parents, my family was everything. Then came the day when I signed the nikkah papers. I knew it at that very moment that things will, definitely, take a drastic change. The first thing I asked my uncle after signing was, ‘uncle, is this it? Does it take only three signatures to change everything? Even my home, the place I live? Even my parents’ right on me?’ My uncle had no answer. He just hugged me tight and cried with me.

Every time I think of a home, I am reminded of a place where there is a mother. I realize the nest that a mother makes. She makes everything so comfortable for her children. The world is a perfect place for most people when they’re under her protection. Then, suddenly, it’s time for one of the children to leave the nest. The child has to leave. Why? Because this is a social norm. What happens to the “home” that child had been living in for all that while?

Though I’m certainly not of the view that the system should be the other way round, but I’m compelled to ask why it is always the girl who leaves her parents. Why it is her who is told to tear away from her loved ones and settles in a totally different lifestyle? Other than that, the guy should not, in any way, take for granted the sacrifice she makes for him, for something that is only customary. It may be customary, and it has been practiced for years and years of civilizations, but that doesn’t lessen the pain in any way.

I’m just so teary eyed as I write this. It’s just that, the word “home” brings up so many questions in my mind. I guess that’s all for now. I’ll let you guys do the talking now.

Till next time fellas!