Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

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You couldn’t exactly call her past a happy one. Harsh would be appropriate but it mostly stemmed from depressing and dark and gloomy. It was almost as if everyone who she had ever met and everything that she had ever known was not meant to be happy or even happy enough to let her realise the meaning of the term in its true sense. She was eleven when her mother had committed suicide. Right then of course, she was told that it was an accident that the kitchen had caught fire and her mother was caught off-guard. She hated the kitchen, she feared that place. She wouldn’t step inside that graveyard anywhere till the age of nineteen; till she was old enough to question the simple story she was made to believe without any justifications. She was thirteen when she went to a foster home for the first time. Two years of sweating and fretting made her father realise that he was not the man to bring up a daughter on his own. For better or for worse, she was sent to homes which initially gave her a glimpse of paradise and eventually dropped down to be as bad as the last one. It was like they were competing to be the worst temporary abode that could ever be. So by the time she turned nineteen, she had seen death, known loss, survived violence, faced wrath, laboured illegally but had been lucky enough to miss prison even with activities like theft and robbery to her record. She felt like she had lived an eight year old’s life in the matter of six long never ending years.

Eventually, however she realised that she will have to do something worthwhile in order to watch herself actually turn eighty. By this time, she was living in a dorm meant for the homeless, who paid the rent in community service. She had no fixed job, no financial backing, no emotional support, no future plans, no friends and no track of who or where her father was. She realised it was time to step up and buckle her shoes. She started sneaking into the public library and taking notes from the newspaper. The employment section advertised tons of jobs, none that she would fit in. Nevertheless she tried going for two of them. Two trips is all it took to hit her realisation that the number of people desperate for employment was at the very least, double the number of openings. So she started ruling out and narrowing down her options only to opportunities that she would have something to give to. Eventually, she landed a job as the receptionist in a tiny clinic down the street. The pay was minimal, the place was dingy and her spot was as shady as she could ever have imagined. Yet she took it up mainly due to lack of options.

She kept sneaking into the library, scanning the newspapers, working as the receptionist and completing her hours of community service. There were days when it all took a toll on her, but never enough to bring her down. As busy and hectic as it was getting, the skies seemed to be smiling down at her about this new direction that her life was choosing to follow track of. Rejections and criticisms, she heard it all and yet, she was never pulled down. A steady performance and a sincere regularity promoted her pay as the receptionist, at a time when she needed hope more than anything. The hike boosted more than just her pay as she applied to bigger and better places. She left her first job only for a place in a grand luxury hotel, which selected her for her will and strength amongst other reasons stated in the appointment letter. From that day on, there was no looking back. She never reached the top like owned a hotel or becoming an entrepreneur. But it was fine because she was finally happy. Happiness she realised is not a destination. Happiness doesn’t just happen, it is made; through struggles and defeats, through sufferings and loss, through sensitivity and appreciation and through understanding and acceptance. You have to strive to be happy, you have to fight and come down to the battlefield to be happy. It doesn’t matter whether you are white or black, blonde or brunette, rich or poor. If you pave you way and lay your tracks, you fill find happiness and you will learn how to make it happen. It doesn’t matter where you come from, you need hope. And hope, she emphasized, is not a strategy. Hope is the constant, the push, the drive that keeps you going. Hope is your enemy when you can’t get up. Hope is your friend when you need support. Hope is your emotional backing when you don’t have family; It is your money when you don’t know financial independence; It is your to do list when you don’t have a plan for yourself and it is your employer when you don’t have a job.


She wished her story to be a cry out to the ladies everywhere who think an injured ankle, a broken heart or a spiteful boss are the worst and incurable things in life. She wished her story to be a hand to those who are on the verge of giving up and falling down the cliff. She wanted every female to know that you can never lose it all. When you think you are in the worst of times, you still haven’t lost it all. She wanted every male to understand that a girl can achieve what she sets her mind to. When you think that helpless little girl across the corner needs you, she can touch her dreams while you learn how to fly.

She wanted the world to know that not all those who wander, are lost.

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