Dear Diary,

Sometimes I wonder, was the R factor in R-awness in the older generation exceptionally high?

They laughed honestly, cried shamelessly, cursed and fought entirely, and expressed love sincerely. Don’t you think so. Genuinely I feel, something is missing in today’s world.

Dear Diary,

Today is a Sunday. As on every Sunday, I woke up with a sweet joy of anticipation of meeting him. Every Sunday morning brings a smile to my face and every Sunday night is a mixed bag of feelings. If he does visit, then it’s the feeling of contentment; if not, it’s still a feeling of the hopefulness of meeting next Sunday. Either way, I always end up with an intense, waiting, longing, and then joyful or disappointed Sunday every week depending on whether he decides to visit me or not.

Dear Diary,

Although it’s bright and sunny outside, the air is heavy today. It feels like the body is lighter and heavier at the same time. There are knots in the stomach that divide the body into two parts. The lower body is cold as ice and weak as a straw, while the upper body is hot as fire and heavy as a rock. The gut-wrenching feeling rises every few seconds and then dives into the black hole of nothingness. This familiar feeling of despair is a constant now. It is so familiar that I can touch it and greet it too.

Dear Diary,

After that terrible night, Shyam and I met for a few coffees. At the outset, he remained calm and composed, but inside a thousand honey bees stung him every minute of the day. The pain of the break up was growing on him day by day. Every minute was a new battle to fight and every day was a war collection of many such battles. His mind and heart were constantly seeking validation and love from the external world whereas his pride pulled him within to let go of all attachments and enter an internal shell where no one could enter or hurt him anymore.

There was something about his voice. It was not the usual joyous, tinkling bell sound. It was more like a choked, deep baritone that managed to wriggle from his throat. He desperately looked for someone to talk to. I wasn’t prepared for this outburst, but his emotions were tough to ignore.

Dear Diary,

He has come into my life and has swept me off my feet. He loves me like no other can love. I am his need forever. I feel blessed in his company, feel happy,feel beautiful and aroused. He offers me best love and I melt in his arms. His kiss touches my soul and carries me deep into his soul. We both are soul mates who love each other. It is divine and pure. I am your peace and calm. You want me more than anything in this world. You keep me on top priority. You would never leave me for anything. You are my strength. I love you back as much as you love me. A lot! sending this to the universe.Respond soon.

How do you take care of a broken soul? What are the rules to remember when one consoles a heartbroken person?

Shyam calls me almost every day and talks about his distress and happy moments with his girlfriend. He lovingly calls her “My girl.” Ironically, his saying her ‘My girl’ sounds very pleasant and endearing. Why did this ‘My girl’ break such a loving heart? I am still unable to understand.

Dear Diary,

Where to find Love?

Love for me is always something that doesn’t come easy. Or to put it this way, the people that I loved didn’t give me back love easily. I had to seek their attention and fight for it, always. On the other hand, surprisingly the people whom I didn’t love, proclaimed infinite love for me. I am like “whoa, what’s with so much of love for me?” It’s always hard for me to believe that I am lovable, I believe that I am attractive, but to have that eternal love experience, I always am on my back foot.

Dear Diary,

He is hurt, rejected and heartbroken. He is lost and is deeply in pain. I had never seen him like this before, as he never shared his pain with me. For me he is the spring stream, always bubbly bouncy, taking the occasional ups and downs of life in equal stride. I am upset. I can feel the pain and be very helpless.