Ramblings of an Overindulged Mind – I

The feel of the soft wind on my face, the warmth of the sunlight pressing lightly against my skin and the sweet smell of the autumn leaves surrounded me. I welcomed winter with the enthusiasm and zeal of a five year old. The world was full of colors, expectations and dreams for me as I was a hopeless dreamer. Life was easy, happy and void of any depressing emotion that we all experience. Being a hopeless romantic also takes its toll on us at some point in our life but at this stage, what I yearned for, I always got.

I loved the nature, the voice of silence and the racket created from nothingness. It’s quite hard to understand all this for one needs to develop an insight and presence of mind to reach the level to feel, listen and believe the nature. Mother Nature was my best friend at that moment and I was hers for a long time. I would love the hum of mosquitoes, the darkness that we call night and above all, the nighttime itself.

My childish affection and attachment with the Nature made me tread on a different a path; a path that was full of thorns and barbs. From being a hopeless romantic at the age of twelve, I change into a different person; I developed an insight. Nineteen is the age where we are still growing up, learning, experiencing new things, undergoing experiments and loving every part of life that we get. High on adrenaline, hormones and dreams, we all look forward to expectations of changes coming in our life soon.

Change did come. A huge change but it took away with it, the happiness, the excitement of something new, the feeling of something wonderful that was supposed to happen. My something wonderful was here. But life hands out the most weird of treats and like a small girl, waiting for the teacher hand out her sweet to her, I waited patiently for me to get my part in life. My sweet had turned sour when I got the taste of it. Like stale yogurt, like the most bitter almond that leaves a bad taste in the mouth, my stale sweet did that to me.

Bewildered, I ran here and there, snatching my own hairs out in the process for the sourness of my sweet was gently moving into my mind and soul. I started to become as sour as my sweet and more so, for it was contaminated by the venom that was rare, a toxic chemical that was present in my sweet became my air to breathe.

I became immortal.


To Be Continued…

Published by XunairaJ

Born on October 17, 1990 in Islamabad, Pakistan, to a government officer and a homemaker, Xunaira J, as a child dreamed of being a writer.She always loved writing short stories and has been active on Helium (www.helium.com) as a creative writer. She has been a blogger and been writing articles on relationship and family for a long time.When she was young, she used to write for US Magazine. Currently, Xunaira is doing her Bachelors in Mobile and Ubiquitous Computing and writing at the same time. The name of her first book on Amazon Kindle is "The Cursed City" while her second book is a book of collective short stories which will be published in October, 2013. Meanwhile, She is working on another Mystery/Romance novel which is almost reaching completion. She is anticipating to publish it sometime next year.

11 thoughts on “Ramblings of an Overindulged Mind – I

  1. I noticed a word error, ‘High on adrenaline, hormones and dreams, we all love forward to expectations of changes coming in our life soon.’ should be ‘Look’ forward, n’est pas? Otherwise a jolly good read.

  2. Dear Xunaira,

    I already appreciated you ever since you started to pen down your thoughts, but today you stand far more improved and distinct than you ever was. The fall has descended, the humidity in air is vanishing slowly, dryness is disappearing, but it appears that the spring has befell upon your writing because it has improved so much. You always had this specific quality of writing, the kind which tells the reader that it has been written by Xunaira, I am glad you are keeping it with yourself. It has become your identity. I wish you good luck for your life and keep writing, as Picasso said, painting is a blind man’s profession. He paints not what he sees, but what he feels. This saying is Picasso also fits for a writer.

    Stay Blessed.


    1. Thank you Usman for your kind words and always belief in my ability to write. You have been a support to me and I am blessed to have a mentor like you.

      I will keep writing as long as my sight doesn’t fade away and the strength from my fingers leaves me. Thank you once again for your kind words.

  3. It’s not my kind of stuff but when the green background of your page showed up (slow connection) halfway through reading it, it fit in perfectly. I’m a visual guy so it helped.

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