The beaded string wall hangings were out a month back, Ganshu darling was made to sit back at his place a fortnight later. Today, I took mom’s picture photo frames out too. The frames occupied the wall- space as though they had never been moved away. For close to a year, I had stared that empty space where the pictures hang now. The black outlining of dust that was left after the pictures were removed as though showed mom’s image too. I know that is far off the stretch of possibility; yet, those empty spaces replied to me as the pictures did.

My BedroomThe ruffles my belongings take seem to have almost humanized them. Silently they watch over me; sometimes, even guarding me. Most of my stuff that I own today has a story attached; often trailing down to mom, if only she were alive.

I miss a friend, a parent and a companion in her. I do have a friend in Ruby, having known her for years more than spent with mom. I have a sorta companion in my domestic who is with me for the past 6 years now; but the parent mom was, I feel her growing in me. The change didn’t come about today or during my reclusive years, I felt that the instant I lost her. I had felt grown up and that isn’t a metaphor. The simplest of the things changed in my behaviour. My outlook still remained and is same as was; however, something just grew alongside. Having said that; you would understand when I say, these picture frames are like mirrors, reflecting my own image. I don’t tend to recognize when I see my own image- even if a selfie; atleast not when displayed within a frame, but these, I feel I know them.

I don’t much resemble her excepting when brooding. My hair isn’t as beautiful or dark, neither are my eyebrows a perfect arch. My complexion isn’t a match. My forehead is big. Her legs were shapely… I can go on!

There is one another measure by which we are two different people. I’ll wait a bit more before I fill in the space to share that bit. I believe in conclusion instead of setting up and leaving in transition or failing to finish.

For now, I have a two pairs of eyes watching on me; actually, make that three, I am included in one of the frames too, but then, do I know that third set of blinkers?

About Olivia

Corporate worker, textile designer, writer.
This entry was posted in My Biopic Log, My mind and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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