On one of those cold winter nights, cowering under the brightly lit Christmas tree, shivering more from the insensitive crowds that roamed about than the December chill I remember that I prayed for a miracle. Not for a miracle that would change my life, but one that would take me away from this selfish world where nobody cared about another's pain, where even when you were full you never shared your morsel with a starving man.
It was then that Lucy came along.
She didn't seem much better off than me but what clearly differentiated her from the crowd was her eyes. They shone with a kindness that was lacking in others. As she offered me her hand I expected at least a piece of bread or something to eat. Instead she took my palm and lead me to her home.
The first feeling that I got as I stepped into that little shanty was that it was so warm. The room, the inhabitants of the room - Lucy and her grandpa, were all so loving and welcoming.
Today, if I can read, its because of her. If I have a roof over my head, its because of the kindness Lucy showed me that night. She and grandpa are my family.
I write to free myself, all the while trying to engage you a bit more, trying to learn from every step I take. A hopeless romantic and believer in fairy tales, books, friends, music and food soothe my soul and rejuvenate me like nothing else. Secretly desirous of being a world famous author, i weave tales on my blog about people, relationships and emotions. I blog at Ishithaa.