Well, I have not been writing regularly for the blog, all apologies for that. But hey Tsshar, you were wrong, the blog has been a success. Ofcourse it has miles to go before it can be termed as the best. So many members have come in and share their views on the Society from the much hyped Nuclear Deal to Sports and everything concerning the youth in particular.
Ira comes for tea and slowly reveals a life shaped by emotional surveillance. Loved, watched, and quietly evaluated by her parents, she lives under constant explanation. Through food and confession, she names the exhaustion of being known too well and finds nourishment not just in eating, but in finally being heard. Ira arrived five minutes early and apologized for it. The way people do when they are used to taking responsibility for time itself. She said it lightly, as if time itself had offended her. She wore a white A-line shirtdress, clean and careful, the kind that looks chosen for comfort but ends up signaling restraint. When she sat down, she folded herself into the chair unconsciously. One leg rested on the floor, the other tucked underneath her, knees visible. It was not a pose meant to be seen. It slipped out before her body remembered how to protect itself. I noticed the brief softness of it, the quiet vulnerability, before she settled and forgot. I was still pouring t...
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