The Dilemma of Aliza, An Inspiring Writer

The weather was stormy. The clouds drifted together, softly embracing under the starry night. The wind was blowing as if it wanted to kiss the trees. The leaves were waving with eerie thoughts, moaning for their beloved. Suddenly, the clouds began to thunder with immense feelings. Amidst the storm an adorable, appealing girl with a charismatic personality and an insightful journey entered the scene, as she prepared herself to welcome a new storm in her life. Aliza, an inspiring writer had come to Delhi to start her journey as a writer.

Her blue eyes, slim body, and introspective nature were commendable. She moved into a girls’ hostel, where every girl was preoccupied with her own life. Aliza unpacked her belongings and started observing the situation surrounding her. One of the girls was preparing for the UPSC exams, others were making promises over the phone to meet their partners while some were washing clothes.

“Through writing, one cannot get financially stable,” she asked herself. Then, a wave of determination descended over her. “For Christ’s sake, Aliza, do not lose your patience and courage.’’ Not everyone can bear the pain of writing; she motivated herself.

Aliza glanced towards the roof of the hostel where she noticed a girl, writing something. “Oh, that’s amazing; if she is a writer, then we could become friends,” she thought to herself. ‘Ah’, Aliza hesitated for a moment before approaching the girl, sitting on the bare floor. “Hey, how are you? I am new here”, she uttered. Aliza initially thought the girl seemed nice, however she quickly changed her mind when the girl didn’t respond.

Aliza came back to her room, “It’s dirty. How will I manage here?’’ she wondered. After some time, she sat on the bed, her diary eagerly waiting for her to enthusiastically pour out her emotions in it. Her diary was like her best friend with whom she could share all her feelings. “Wait, I have to manage things first,” she seemed to speak to her diary.

“Why can’t you change your hostel?” her diary asked.
“You know I can’t afford that.”
“Ah, it is okay but would you continue writing?’’

Her emotions were intensifying when her thoughts continued to bombard her with questions repeatedly.
She was engaged in her thoughts. “Why am I alone here?’’ she wondered, as she cleaned her filthy bed whilst keeping her diary close to reduce her loneliness. “Through writing, one cannot get financially stable,” she asked herself. Then, a wave of determination descended over her. “For Christ’s sake, Aliza, do not lose your patience and courage.’’ Not everyone can bear the pain of writing; she motivated herself.
But why am I alone in this big city? Why don’t I have friends. She gave a short glimpse over to her diary and said:
“My diary is much better than friends. It never blames, never hurts my feelings, never leaves me alone, never discourages me like other people.”

Literature: a Pathway to Peace

Suddenly, she noticed a mimosa tree and started to think how it had grown so large. She was a writer, she observed everything deeply. There was a breeze coming on, “I have to write a poem but is it funny to write a poem on a mimosa tree? No, not at all”, she reassured herself and began writing.
After a couple of hours, a girl entered her room. “Hey, are you the newcomer?’’ the girl asked. Aliza put her diary aside and replied. “Yes, I am. Do you need some assistance?” The girl laughed, took her diary from her lap and uttered in a very calm voice, “Let’s go for a party.”
“Party?” Aliza was shocked. “Sorry, I do not go to parties.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders and said: “Do not overthink it, writer… Just get ready, we will enjoy.”
Aliza wore a simple dress, tucking her diary in her bag. “Is it awkward to keep a diary while going to a party?” she asked herself. “No, it’s fine because I love it.” At the party, everyone was dancing; couples were kissing, while Aliza sat in the corner, writing something. The party felt something out of a Hollywood bash, but it did not bother Aliza. She was such a unique girl, living in her own dreams, working to achieve social mobility, fulfilling all her desires that she had ever wished in her life.Engrossed in her thoughts, she wrote a poem about the mimosa tree:

A fabulous day, when I see you,
It makes me strong to feel you.
I know you are alone,
Helping the leaves
To grow strong.
But your strength
To help the leaves
Is like a friend
Who always stays
With every toiling day.
I know you are alone,
My dear, be strong,
For It is known
To live alone.

She was happy to complete her poem. Just as a boy came over from the other side of the room and noticed her, astonished, “Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you mad?”
“Excuse me, Mr.,” Aliza snapped, “What are you muttering? Are you in your senses?”
“Oh, yeah, I am a bloody fool. I want to sink deeper and deeper into you,” the boy replied.
“Huh, I think I should leave you now, otherwise I would forget what I was writing.”

The boy was tall and handsome, making silly mischiefs, wearing a college bag at a party, and walking very slowly as if he was drunk. “Why are you not enjoying the party?” he asked.
“Are you an investigator?” Aliza replied, glaring at him angrily.
“I am awfully sorry, haseen lady, but I am asking a general question.”
“Hmm, I am new in this big city.’’ she said.
“Let’s go for a walk,” the boy offered. Aliza accepted his proposal while keeping her diary in her bag, as a mother keeps her child close to protect him from worldly affairs.
“So introduce yourself, please,” the boy bombarded her with a pile of questions.
“I am Aliza, and I have to come to Delhi to become a writer,” she replied.
“Well, so we are not the same,’’ the boy said.
“What does that mean?” Aliza asked, seeking clarification.
“Yeah, I am Ali, and I have nothing to do in my life except being insulted by my father for not performing well in exams.’’

Aliza started laughing and asked him to stop. “No, no, please listen to me. My feelings..mmm.. maybe after listening to me, you could write a great short story.” he said dramatically.
“Haha, you are so dramatic” Aliza said to him in a robust voice. You, greedy writer, now listen to me:
“My result date is 12th June, so I would be unable to contact you on that day. Alright, but if my parents kick me out of the house, would you keep me in your flat or hostel for a couple of days?”
“It’s very funny, Ali, your father won’t do that,” she answered.
“Well, let’s drop the topic,” Ali said, looking dreary. His expressions suggested he was caught doing something wrong.