Tag: reality

Colour Blind

It had been a rough day. Judge Marsh had sentenced a teenager for pursuing his high school crush. She, the mayor’s daughter, had complained of his misbehaviour. The judge understood only too well.

“Darkness is in his blood,” the judge shook his head as his apprentice gathered his things. Eager to please, “Oh, yes sir!” echoed the disagreeing lad.

They left, fastening their coats against the snowy breeze. Looking at the team of horses outside, the apprentice couldn’t help but smile.

“Beautiful,” he remarked turning to his boss. “Horses don’t recognize colours do they, sir? Perhaps that’s why they’re inclusive.”

horses-in-snow

A work of fiction for Friday Fictioneers.

Writer’s Trauma

About three years ago, I was thrilled when I finished writing an entire novel. I had great expectations for it. It didn’t see the darkness of the press or sit in bookstores where fans cradled it and smelled the fresh print, as I had hoped. But it’s on Inkitt.com, and that’s better than it being locked inside my cupboard. A few days ago, I got an email from Inkitt about a new contest called the Teaser Awards. It’s pretty straightforward: I have to write a 200-character teaser for my novel.

Fun, I thought. It would be a great way to persuade people to read my story. I needed more readers because most of my cheerleaders (immediate friends and family) didn’t even get past the first chapter. It’s not because the story was crappy, (I checked), but other pressing stuff came up. And with this teaser assignment, I thought I’d use my creativity to re-ask my friends and family to give my novel a second chance.

I sat down to write.

Three years was a long time ago. Of course, I know every scene almost by heart, but when I had to drill it down to a 200-character teaser, I got stuck. Not that I had so much to say and didn’t know what to pick, but because I had nothing at all to say. All of a sudden, the story I spent hours pondering on and nurturing, didn’t seem interesting enough. I tried digging my memory for something worth talking about, and it was as if my story was worth nothing. I didn’t have adrenaline pumping action, no sword fights, no heated arguments, not even a trace of romance. For fifty chapters, I had rambled on an on about a normal girl going about her normal life. I didn’t know what to say in my teaser.

I panicked. If I couldn’t find excitement in the story, myself, how would anyone else find it? I was so shattered I couldn’t work on my teaser anymore. I gave it a break, a day. Then it hit me: perhaps that’s why my family couldn’t read the story. Because there was nothing interesting about the everyday life of a teenager.

It was a depressing revelation, because when I wrote the story, I thought I’d made it as relatable as possible. A handful of readers told me they got bored after the first few chapters, but again, folks who did manage to read the whole story told me they loved it. (Well, not “I loved it” verbatim, but most of them said things like, “great work.”) And now every time someone tells me I’ve done a decent job, I can’t help my widening lips, my glowing face, and my joyous swelling, heart.

That’s how it is: You’d never know how others would react to your stories. There will always be mixed feelings and varied reviews. Some would like your story, some would hurl at it. Some give you constructive feedback, some would just throw unhelpful opinions. Variety is the essence of life. And it’s also the curse of writing.

I did rework my teaser to this:

What if you don’t know your calling? You’d try to figure it out, making decisions you’d regret – or love. You’d break your heart a few times, too. Until one day, you’ll succeed and all will be well.

If you think it works, you can read the story here. I would appreciate your feedback, whether good and bad.

Looking Forward

After how this year turned out, it looks like 2017 couldn’t get worse. I wouldn’t put anything past chance, though. We still have fifteen days for the year to wrap up and anything could happen.

But no matter how the rest of the month goes, we’ll have a new beginning in a few days. And to celebrate, I want to rewind a year to a photo I took on the 1st of January 2016.

When I took the photo, I had no idea how the year would unfold. And yet, I enjoyed a moment of solace with a sunrise and a new horizon. Perhaps 2017 would turn out better.

new-horizon

Life with Diabetics

After an exhausting brainstorming session, my colleague and I decided to take a break and get a cup of coffee. We walked together discussing work, seeming more professional in the pantry than we are in our seats.

My colleague grabbed a cup and filled it with a couple of spoons of sugar. And then she held it under the nozzle of the vending machine which ground roasted seeds and dispensed the magical liquid into her cup. It was my turn next. I grabbed a cup, skipped the sugar, and went straight for the nozzle.

My colleague looked at me surprised. She wasn’t the first one, and I know she wouldn’t be the last. I drink sugarless tea and coffee, I avoid processed sugar five days of the week, and am trying hard to quit the weekend candy crush saga.

Countless people tell me I shouldn’t be as obsessive about sugar as I am.

sugar-cookies

However, none of them know what’s it’s like growing up in a diabetic household. None of them know that my blood line is infested with a line of ants all lining up to get a whiff of our sugary blood. My grandmother was a diabetic. My mother is a diabetic. My aunt is a diabetic. Tell me I’m not paranoid to think I’m next in line.

Living in a sugar-coated family has changed the way I see my life. The last thing I see before going to bed at night and the first thing I see when I wake up is medicines. We have at least five plastic boxes, all colour-coded and named after every diabetic tablet available in the pharmacy. We’ve adopted med-speak as our secondary language; we speak in milligrams and figure out how diabetic someone else is based on how many milligrams they swallow every day.

Our conversations begin with stories about the time someone forgot to take their sugar pills, and our dinner talks involve verifying if there are enough medicines for the whole month.

I’m now accustomed to living in constant fear of self-raising flour and simple carbs. No other food has scared me as much as the soft, white, and deceptively harmless glucose granules. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve looked up the difference between glucose and fructose, without understanding it once. And sometimes, when I think I deserve a piece of candy or cake, I devour it, only to feel terrible about it later. I hate myself that I sometimes eat a sweet treat in front of my glucometer-cradling mother.

Still, every time I handle a spoon full of sugar, I hesitate and wonder how much is too much.

The types of diabetes you can get, the different ages in which you can get it, the symptoms, and preventive measures to keep your blood sugar in check are everyday discussions in the family of a diabetic. And when you’re growing up with these details hammered into your brain, it’s more than enough to suck the enthusiasm out of your life bit by bit.

There’s nothing sweet about living with diabetes. And there’s nothing bitterer than living with a diabetic.