She flipped through the morning newspaper. It had become a ritual now, ever since she took a liking to this particular edition. But she hated the Sunday edition, or perhaps she hated sundays. That could be because, like Tom Sawyer, she hated mondays. Nevertheless, she let out a sigh and started reading. After she had read two-three pages, shecame across a ‘happy’ news, but her heart sank. Her eyes welled up as she sat staring at it. That moment was painful with a sharp-edged P; there was no other word for it. She continued reading the paper, and felt her pain lessening, but she went back to it, and this time, a flood of memories came rushing in front of her eyes. They still haunted her in her wake, and in her dreams. She heard someone scolding her, and she did not know what was more painful at that moment. Was she going through what is called ‘psychogenic pain’? She decided she wasn’t, because she knew which triggered what. She compared the situation with a memory that lay buried five years in the past. She remembered how tears would stream down her eyes every time she gave up fighting, every time she let out a silent outburst, and every time she pitied herself. This time around, she was holding on to it too tight, and she was scared for her life. On some days, she felt as though she was living in an igloo. She was scared of sunshine, which could cause the ice to engulf her. She wanted to rest her body and go to sleep. Right now, she felt as though she were an embodiment of ‘still waters run deep’, and she was dead frightened of any movement. She sighed again. If a newspaper could trigger so much, she wondered what life inside of her could do to her…

She suddenly remembered something that one of her favourite celebrities had once said, and which resonated with her feelings-“Most people think they are emotional.”

She added, “Those who are actually emotional are too busy trying to not get washed away each time it rains inside..”


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