The Real You

The Real You

Ranterella was in one of her moods again.
You’ll know what I mean when you hear her.
It begins with the bitter tone.
And ends up in her shouting expletives.

Who left the door open?
Why did you go there?
What is wrong with people!

She stomped out with her headphones in the dark.
And  literally stumbled over a monk sitting on the grass.

“What are you doing here!!!” Ranterella screamed.

The monk smiled.

“Why are you blocking my way, you stupid man. Get up!”

He listened to her intently, nodding away at her words.
Made Ranterella even more angry. She brought her face really close to his.

“Don’t you understand me?”

“Yes I do. Which is why I’m moving to the other end of the park.”

“There are some people who always seem angry and continuously look for conflict. Walk away: the battle they are fighting isn’t with you. It’s with themselves” – Unknown

A little while later he heard footsteps and a softer voice ask him,

“What did you understand about me?”

The Monk knew the answer.

“Anger is the emotion we snatch up to avoid confusion, fear and sadness” – Unknown

And then she wept.
For everything she wanted from Life but did’nt get.
For every single person who lied to her and betrayed her.
For the man who cheated her of her savings.
For the father who did not defend her.
For the Boss who fondled her.
For the daughter who told her other people’s mommies don’t shout.
For the Knight in the Shining Armour who galloped away.

“No one is coming to rescue you from yourself: your inner demons, your lack of confidence, your dissatisfaction with yourself and your life. Only self love and good decisions will rescue you. – Jenni Young

“I know. I know all this stuff. Everybody’s going on about self love. La la la,” she mocked.

The monk got up, dusted his robes and went towards the Neroli bush.

See this flower. He pointed to tiny pointed luminous petals.

She rolled her eyes.  Maybe she should plug in the headphones. And walk away from this weirdo.
Her gaze fell on that flower.
And instead of petals, she saw her own reflection.
She was shocked.


The monk suppressed a giggle. People always look so comical when they’re shocked.
Her reflection showed a young teenaged girl lying on the grass with a book.
She wasn’t reading.
She was dreaming about life and love and happiness.
She blinked hard. And the flower just disappeared into the night.

“What kind of trick is that?”

The monk stifled a yawn. It had been a long day. He looked her in the eye and said, “That’s no trick, that’s the real you.”

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Mita Bhan
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