The transition in a woman’s life
when she loses her most important feminine part is like going into a
cocoon and coming out like a beautiful butterfly. For me, it is
realizing that beauty is not in physical appearance, but in inner
strength and the positive glow you radiate. At this crucial crossroad of
life, I am attracted to a flower as I am a lover of nature, who from
childhood observed the flowers and the butterflies that are attracted to
them, although the similarity is usually found between a flower and a
woman.
Flowers are a delicate entity of beauty to behold: a thing of beauty that is a joy forever. A flower is admired, caressed, adorned, crushed, destroyed, used, misused or abused.
Much like a woman who is often compared to a flower.
Just as a flower is considered to lose its beauty when it loses its petals or it falls off or fades or dries up, so does a woman lose her attractiveness. But, even then the flower is useful at that time, just like a woman.
Just as a butterfly is attracted to a beautiful flower, so is a man towards a woman. Butterflies are often given a masculine gender because they flutter from flower to flower. The essence of a flower’s beauty or a woman’s beauty is enough to take anyone’s breath away. But no one bothers to look for the inner strength that is the real beauty.
A woman is loved and adored as long as she is able to serve the purpose; so is a flower. Both can bring a feeling of exhilaration and awe. Man thrives on the very existence of flowers with or without the awareness of its characteristics and traits which are similar to that of a woman. Though a woman has many parts that a flower does not have, they have the body and soul of a flower. The honey or nectar could be their lusty essence of womanhood. But sometimes, a woman floats into nothingness.
I was not bothered about losing the most-sought-after ‘part’ of femininity, even though I had already lost another vital attribute part of womanhood, one that makes you a proud mother.
It is a trauma to lose it suddenly, and at an age when you are not old enough to lose it. The after-effects of not producing vital ‘feminine’ hormones, the psychological changes a woman goes through due to sudden menopausal symptoms, a lack of understanding --- everything is sometimes a slap on the face of womanhood.
I am a rebel and a strong believer of keeping up the dignity of woman. A slighting word from anyone was like taking the wrath of a rebel in every way. I was a person who grew up hating the perverted and selfish ways of men (though I don’t measure all with the same yardstick because I find women too of the same category).
A woman can be the most passionate person. But she can also become tight-lipped and non-expressive in an extended family. From being someone who was very expressive and straightforward, it was a great change to become a person who buried everything in the remote recesses of her mind --- a person who has passionately given her everything for the family that was her world --- it was nothing less than trauma that affected the heart, body and soul to lose her feminine parts.
Being born the fighter she was, she turned to the things that meant a lot to her. First time she lost her vital femininity, she went back to teaching tiny tots who captivated her heart. When her world crashed again with the loss of all her remaining ‘feminism’, she took to reading that used to be her world, and slowly she took to writing her thoughts, a habit her dad had inculcated in her as a child.
I am still passionate, beautiful and the same person I used to be. I learnt that passion and unfeigned love never dies. I love cancer for what it has done for me --- to be my old expressive self, writing my innermost thoughts, which perhaps someday someone might read and figure out that inside the fighter, there still lives a vulnerable person who is ever passionate and ever loving.
A beautiful bud bloomed,
when a butterfly softly touched,
she slowly unfolded her petals,
singing the most melodious tune,
she had in her rejoicing heart.
A waft of misty enchantment,
created a magic in the air,
as the butterfly kissed her,
she danced in the gentle breeze
flashing the most beautiful smile,
with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes,
feeling happy to have
endured the pain of a bud
blossoming into a delicate beauty,
she spread her sweet fragrance
knowing well she had to join
a carpet of flowers, in its bower.
From 'When I fell in love with life'.
Flowers are a delicate entity of beauty to behold: a thing of beauty that is a joy forever. A flower is admired, caressed, adorned, crushed, destroyed, used, misused or abused.
Much like a woman who is often compared to a flower.
Just as a flower is considered to lose its beauty when it loses its petals or it falls off or fades or dries up, so does a woman lose her attractiveness. But, even then the flower is useful at that time, just like a woman.
Just as a butterfly is attracted to a beautiful flower, so is a man towards a woman. Butterflies are often given a masculine gender because they flutter from flower to flower. The essence of a flower’s beauty or a woman’s beauty is enough to take anyone’s breath away. But no one bothers to look for the inner strength that is the real beauty.
A woman is loved and adored as long as she is able to serve the purpose; so is a flower. Both can bring a feeling of exhilaration and awe. Man thrives on the very existence of flowers with or without the awareness of its characteristics and traits which are similar to that of a woman. Though a woman has many parts that a flower does not have, they have the body and soul of a flower. The honey or nectar could be their lusty essence of womanhood. But sometimes, a woman floats into nothingness.
I was not bothered about losing the most-sought-after ‘part’ of femininity, even though I had already lost another vital attribute part of womanhood, one that makes you a proud mother.
It is a trauma to lose it suddenly, and at an age when you are not old enough to lose it. The after-effects of not producing vital ‘feminine’ hormones, the psychological changes a woman goes through due to sudden menopausal symptoms, a lack of understanding --- everything is sometimes a slap on the face of womanhood.
I am a rebel and a strong believer of keeping up the dignity of woman. A slighting word from anyone was like taking the wrath of a rebel in every way. I was a person who grew up hating the perverted and selfish ways of men (though I don’t measure all with the same yardstick because I find women too of the same category).
A woman can be the most passionate person. But she can also become tight-lipped and non-expressive in an extended family. From being someone who was very expressive and straightforward, it was a great change to become a person who buried everything in the remote recesses of her mind --- a person who has passionately given her everything for the family that was her world --- it was nothing less than trauma that affected the heart, body and soul to lose her feminine parts.
Being born the fighter she was, she turned to the things that meant a lot to her. First time she lost her vital femininity, she went back to teaching tiny tots who captivated her heart. When her world crashed again with the loss of all her remaining ‘feminism’, she took to reading that used to be her world, and slowly she took to writing her thoughts, a habit her dad had inculcated in her as a child.
I am still passionate, beautiful and the same person I used to be. I learnt that passion and unfeigned love never dies. I love cancer for what it has done for me --- to be my old expressive self, writing my innermost thoughts, which perhaps someday someone might read and figure out that inside the fighter, there still lives a vulnerable person who is ever passionate and ever loving.
A beautiful bud bloomed,
when a butterfly softly touched,
she slowly unfolded her petals,
singing the most melodious tune,
she had in her rejoicing heart.
A waft of misty enchantment,
created a magic in the air,
as the butterfly kissed her,
she danced in the gentle breeze
flashing the most beautiful smile,
with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes,
feeling happy to have
endured the pain of a bud
blossoming into a delicate beauty,
she spread her sweet fragrance
knowing well she had to join
a carpet of flowers, in its bower.
From 'When I fell in love with life'.
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