My Expressions

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I am a travelling author. Who are travelling authors, you ask? I will tell you, we write, just like every author does, but we have a problem, unlike the conventional authors. The conventional authors don’t have to look for inspiration to write something, or even if they have to, they just need to search for it once before starting the story. Their minds are a lot more creative than our minds and can spin stories with ease. We are pretty useless. Since our minds are blank and sadly, not creative, we travel around looking for inspiration and creativity latently residing in every inch of this world. We need the help of this world to propel our story’s plot. You find that admirable? Trust me, it’s a pain. Sometimes, your minds aren’t conditioned enough to observe the things around you, and sometimes your spectacles aren’t clean enough to intricately observe every fine detail in the ambience. Well, the former is a problem with every travelling author, the latter is exclusively mine. I suck at what humans call hygiene. Oh no! Don’t judge me, I bathe every day.

The diary is back in my hands. Am I boring you? Oh, I’m not! I know, thanks. We are going to a tea garden today. I have seen a lot of tea gardens but I wonder what’s different about this one! I have an aversion to stagnancy. When my father bought me a bicycle, I ran away or rather, rode away with it. I was supposed to learn bicycling the next day, but my adventurous self-took off before my father ever got a chance to teach me. Of course, I didn’t have the faintest idea how to ride one and kept falling and falling and falling. I had wandered off to some unknown road. I didn’t even know I was lost! I just kept riding happily. And there, I fell down again. That is where I met him 🙂

Who said I don’t talk? If it’s my wife we are talking about, I could write novels and make oceans of descriptions. When she told me about the landmarks around her place, I immediately realized something though she realized ‘that’ only a little later. We were neighbours. Coincidence? I think not, definitely. When his father could see us from a distance, he ran towards his daughter to hug her. The elation of reunion was something words will forever fail to describe. She burst out in pain, and started crying. She had finally felt the security of a father’s shoulder where she could always put her emotional burden upon. Her father looked at:

“The tea garden is here. Shall we go?”

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