Writing Prompt: Free Association

Write down the first words that comes to mind when we say . . . home. . . soil. . . rain. Use those words in the title of your post. 

I love the smell of damp earth when it rains. It reminds me of a rainy afternoon I spent in an apartment we used to stay in in India. I vaguely remember a stone balcony leading off from my parents’ bedroom. It was a long balcony with potted plants, overlooking a park. It was a rainy afternoon so the ground was slippery with raindrops. It might have been monsoon, because the rain was pouring down in sheets. The sound of pattering raindrops filled my ears as I stood on the balcony, leaning against the edge, one arm reaching out to catch the raindrops. Some of the icy drops fell on my hand, drenching it within a few moments. My lungs filled with the sweet fragrance of damp soil and I remember thinking how much I liked it.

That smell takes me back home. Even when I’m walking along streets miles away from my home country, even though we have a different apartment there now, even though that rainy afternoon was years ago and I barely remember it, the scent reminds me of that day once in a while, reminds me that I can still find a little piece of my home country from time to time, even if I am physically far away from it.

P.S. I know I’m a day late with this! But this has been my situation for the last few days…

Drafts

Writing Prompt: 32 Flavours

Vanilla, chocolate, or something else entirely?
She borders between the new and the comfortable. Rain falls all around her. She clutches each parent’s hand in each of her little hands as they walk. They shelter her with both their umbrellas, but once in a while, a raindrop patters on the hood of her red jacket. But she is too preoccupied to notice; she has a difficult decision to make.
They reach the little ice cream shop in a few moments. The sky overhead is like a raven’s wing. The shop is nearly ready to close. Her parents usher her in first, then step inside themselves. She leans forward, her breath slightly fogging up the glass, behind which lies treasure of all colours.

Continue reading “Writing Prompt: 32 Flavours”

Writing Prompt: Helpless

Helplessness: that dull, sick feeling of not being the one at the reins. When did you last feel like that –- and what did you do about it? 

As a student in the International Baccalaureate programme, I often find myself feeling helpless at the numerous approaching tasks, assessments and challenges. I try not to look too far ahead, instead concentrating on what’s coming right ahead. Usually, that’s my solution to reduce the helplessness. But a few days ago, I found another, quite surprising method to deal with it.

In my Theatre class, we are starting a new unit called ‘The Strange’, which will eventually come to focus on the practitioner Bertolt Brecht. In the first lesson, we were asked to think of a simple, strange action to do. It was supposed to be easy. Think of a strange action, anything strange, and perform it in the available space. But being who I am, the first thought in my head was I can’t do this. I’ve never been very good at improvisation or acting silly in front of people. I often feel too embarrassed to even begin to think creatively. This time, however, I decided to push aside those thoughts for a moment and to think imaginatively. To my surprise, a bunch of ideas were lurking beneath my discomfort and worry of making a fool of myself.

This may seem like something really simple or obvious, but I tend to worry a lot. This little experience has not made me worry less about other things, but a little corner of my mind is now more aware of the fact that good ideas, and maybe even eventual success, may be hiding behind a cloud of worry. You only have to push those worries aside to shine.