Viva Voce

All I see are dusty clouds and hazy blurs of what was what we called home. It was beautiful, wonderful, and magnificent- only these handful of words can describe our home but cannot describe it to the fullest. I look beside me and I see him; my brother, sitting there, crying, mourning what we called home. Home is not just a place but a feeling. A feeling that is indescribable that words can try to contain, but just like birds in a cage, these words need to be set free and therefore are portrayed with images. These images cannot be painted, drawn or sculpted. Man and man-made objects cannot compare to this beauty but rather destroy and take the image and distort it. Home is a feeling of warmth, like the sun radiating its rays on a summer’s day on your skin, it’s a feeling of comfort that no bed can provide, it’s a feeling of serenity- no car can take you to, but just as home is not an object it can be taken away. Home was stripped out of my arms and still is lo...

I can’t believe after months and months of procrastination I finally started a blog. Now getting down to the actually point of this. I recently re-found my love for writing this year. Just like my love for art and drawing reading has always been pushed by my mum, not as much as other children, but pushed none the less. You see, I have a mind-set that when I finish reading an amazing book I can't start a new one, I hate change- let’s just leave it at that but after readings amazing stories, my best friend and I decided to write a book in grade 7. I had written a book   years ago on my old laptop and let my mum read it, and let’s just end of saying that she had a lot of things to laugh about, but strangely my book was not at all hilarious but about something serious-love. Maybe she just found it funny that I knew a lot about love and finding it for an 11 year old girl with her parents divorced. We eventually never finished our books and I decided to writ...