Minerva Thompson

Yo,

Yesterday I saw a movie- a super movie. I loved every minute, every scene of it. Well, almost every scene. There was one thing that displeased me- the daughter was simply hidden away. When her three other male siblings and yes, even the mother had a role but the sister, the daughter, had none.

In the car ride back home I decided it was high time someone, namely me, wrote a story about an intelligent, smart, confident, independent woman and not a romance but a life story like we have with heroes so why not a heroine?

Then  I was faced with a problem- what to call her? I immediately thought of Juliet but then I decided against it. Too many romances had Juliet as a heroine and besides she didn't convey what I wanted her to convey- independence. Artemis? Nah. Athena...Hmmmmm..Alright  but not what I wanted. And then a brainwave- Minerva. It conveyed all that I wanted to convey- strength, smartness, confidence and a sort of beauty. Isn't it funny how naming shapes a person?

Minerva had but one dream- to get her father to admit that she too was worth something. Her parents had never listened to her opinion. It was always her brother-Robert-this and Robert that. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many prizes she won it was never enough. The credit to everything went to Robert and the blame to Minerva. Many a times had hot tears pricked her eyes over the injustice of it, but that had only made her vow to make her father proud and hear him say at last "Well done, Minerva. Well done."

Every day she sang to herself-
                       Sometime from now
                        everyone shall bow
                          when they see
                        the successful me!
                        
                    And on that day
                     all will say
                     "We knew she could!"
                     
                   "We all knew from the start
                     and agreed with all our heart
                    that she shall succeed!"

                    On that day,
                 The birds shall all  sing
                    and the mountains ring
                   That I can touch the sky!
                       
                     When they see me from a mile
                    They shall all give me a smile
                     and whisper to their kids
                        "Try to be like her"

[I know the song isn't that good but I am NOT musical. My singing is TERRIBLE. So forgive me.]

And this song gave her enough strength and encouragement, this lovely dream was her driving force. Academics, quizzes, singing, dancing, instruments, art, debates, athletics -in every thing for short did she excel. But still her parents were not satisfied. They asked" why are you so loud? Girls should be seen not heard." But she did not keep this at heart. She went on trying and trying. She managed to get into Eton while her brother didn't but there she was accused of trying to outshine her brother when she mentioned it.

And so the years passed. Her brother became a lawyer while she, she was practically everything! She had patented a few inventions, she was a woman rights activist, she gave concerts and  her pictures were displayed in galleries, she wrote fictional stories and poems, she was a member of the Legislative Assembly and could have been the State Minister for Human Resources but she turned down the offer, she was all this and more. So is it any wonder that she was the second richest person on this planet? Oh, that did not mean that she was not charitable. In fact she had started several charities for sick and the starving.

She had adopted a stray dog and a little girl- Luisannia- but she was still unmarried for she did not believe in marriage as the male always seemed to dominate.

 She had been in her lab with a team of assistants when her phone rang. It was her mother and she said " Come quick, your father's in the hospital." She was in her car and on the way to the hospital in two minutes flat.

When she reached the hospital she found her brother's  wife- Phillipina- standing by the reception desk. When Phillipina saw Minerva she said nothing but guided her to the Intensive Care Unit where her father lay. When she inquired what had happened to her father her mother answered that he had a brain tumour. Minerva said nothing but called her lab assistant.

 Some time later,they saw the doctor injecting their father with a new medicine. The doctor had told them that that was a medicine that had just gotten its approval but he believed that it could save their father if they waited two hours to give the medicine time to work.

It was a long  wait. When her father first moved his hands no one noticed but then he kicked his legs and they all but jumped for joy. The doctor came and told them that the medicine had worked but when her mother asked for the bill he gave her a funny look.

Her father was moved to a room and that was when the doctor told them something. Minerva was the reason her father recovered so quickly.

At first no one said anything and then her mother asked "But how? Don't be absurd doctor, she was with us the whole time. Besides how can she of all people do it?" And the doctor said "Your daughter is the inventor of puorill- the medicine which saved your father. She is the Savior of thousands. You ought be proud."

Unnoticed by all her father had opened his eyes and was awake. He beckoned Minerva closer and whispered in her ear "Well done daughter, well done. I knew you were worth something  but I acted like you weren't even when it hurt me because I knew that was the only way to set fire on you."

And Minerva was at peace.


Did you like it? I hope you did. 

Goodbye, Adieu and Ciao.

Wannabe Writer SS signing off


            

Trivia

Something House
Nowhere Lane
Anywhere-00

17th of May, 2016

Dear World,

Today I have decided to make this a letter full of 'trivial' stuff. Don't you just love the word 'trivia'? It's Latin and has something to do with three roads and whatnot.

I am sorry for not having blogged for the past six days but well.....I was distracted. Yep, I was distracted..by a book!!! And not just any book but a gorgeous, marvellous, amazing, superb, awesome, fantastic book by Cornelia Funke. 

I took the book from a library nearby only, and only because of the fact that the book I was waiting for was yet to come. It was a trilogy and I took the whole set. I decided to borrow it after reading a few pages because of the style of writing the authoress used.[Don't authoress and poetess sound lyrical?] So I had no idea what the book was about. Only after I reached home did I read the back of the book which was when I understood that the book was about some people getting sucked in and others out of the book. I was dismayed when I read that cause....well....it was a kiddish idea but that changed the instant I finished the first two chapters. You know that happy, sated feeling that only a good book that suites you can give? Well I felt that. It has humour  [like laugh out loud kind], it has sorrow[ there were tears in my eyes in a few scenes!] it has adventure, fantasy and everything else. This, my dear readers, is a book that MUST be read. Ooops! Silly me, I haven't given you the name of the bomblastic books. They are- Inkheart, Inkspell and Inkdeath. I promise you once you start reading you won't be able to stop.

I just realized something. This blog was NOT full of trivia it was full of that book. Perhaps 'TheBookworm'sBlog' would have been a better name. 

Isn't alliteration amazing? I love it!! Which is why I give everyone names with alliteration. For example, my name is Susan Philip which is definetly NOT alliterated. So what do I so? I call myself Super Susan.Problem solved! My friend Christina who is rather creative I call 'Creative Christina' or my friend Ritu is hyperactive and funny, so I call her 'Rockin' Ritu' and so on. [If any of my other friend is reading I haven't mentioned your name cause it would take the entire blog.]

How would it feel if you went into a cafe and order say, strawberry shake and you specifically ask for "ice, fresh ice" and when you get your order you see eyes floating in it! And when you ask for an explanation the waitress says " But ma'am you asked for eyes, eyes as fresh as possible. And these are the freshest eyes possible. The chef took it from a lamb that just came, so it is good." Or you go into a Hair salon to find it overrun with hares.These are just some of the things that happen to Ziley Hicket the heroine of my story 'Mind Portal-the power of dreams'.

The book is about two kinds of portals-active and inactive. Active portals are VERY rare. They can be identified through three signs. The things they use everyday go missing, they have strange dreams about their dreamworld and they hear voices of dead or missing people in in their head. As for inactive portals they are commoner, 1 or 2 in a generation. They lead a very confused life as they think another's thoughts, likes another's likes, dreams another's dreams and lead their own VERY confused life. They can also be called possesed.

More later. For now adieu, ciao and goodbye.

With lots of love
Wannabe Writer S.S

Fathers

Hello,
 
I decided to dedicate today's blog to all the hardworking, misunderstood, loving fathers out there. I know today isn't Father's Day but then, do you really need a day to express your love to anyone?

Besides, Tis' unfair, tis' unfair. How come there are oh so many poems, stories, essays and indeed even blogs about Mothers' love but not so many about fathers.

I think Fathers are misunderstood. I really do. They are like the silent benefactors of our life yet, we don't actually feel satisfied. Modern fathers are invisible figures in their family, simply a person to supply money. But do you know the saddest part? It is for us. FOR US. It is us they think of as they work over time, it is us they think of when they do extra work and ask for bonuses. My father is a lawyer and seldom can he eat a decent meal without a phone call or a client interrupting. Oh! We used to get soo angry but now I understand. He isn't doing it for him or for my mother alone, it is for us kids too ,for every man worth his salt wants the best for his kids.

It is because he wanted his kids to have a good education that  Malala's Father opened up a school and that is just one well known example. 

Mother's love  is of a soft, soothing pink colour but a Father's is more a bright blue. When we first look at it we are blinded by its harsh glare but soon our eyes adjust and we see a brilliant, majestic blue. 

Women Empowerment is happening around the world but we are yet to see a Fathers Empowerment at home, in the hearts of children. Yes, we kids do adore Dadda but it is a known fact that most kids love mummy more than daddy.

You want to know something strange? When I started having nightmares tons of things were done to make sure that it went away. Mother singing songs, the light kept on, chanting the Holy Trinity, yet nothing worked. One night after a particularly scary nightmare I woke up screaming my head off. And that is when it happened. My father came up to my room and started comforting me. He sang the same songs my mother did but he succeeded where she failed. Slowly, slowly I calmed down. And THAT is when I understood my father would always be there for me. He will be the one slowly comforting me and silently encouraging me. He will be the one to make me brave for HE IS MY FATHER.

This is a poem I wrote after that.

                 My Hero 

             At night when the shadows creep

             while monsters with red eyes so deep

             try to scare me away

             into another day

             there comes my hero

             who makes me feel not like a zero,

             but like his beloved princess 

             with the jewel and gold no less.

              Who is it, you may do well to ask.

            Well, for you him will I unmask. 

            It is none other than my own father

             who takes away all that is a bother.

             Every night he sends the monsters to Never Land,

             comforting me as they crumble to the sand

            And makes me feel not like a zero,

            but like a beloved princess

               with the jewel and gold no less

THANK YOU DADDY FOR BEING MY HERO! 

Mothers need medals of love and respect, Fathers need medals of understanding and love.

 I love you with all my heart daddy dear.

              - A loving and adoring daughter

  

MOTHERS

Hello,
I have absolutely ZERO idea of how to blog but oh well, practice makes perfect. In the meanwhile I am going to ask you to forgive me for any mistake I know I will make.

Yesterday was mother's day and I spent my hard earned Rs. 150 to give my mother a lovely tea, and a poem. I didn't think the poem was good, I mean by the way my mother reacted and put it up in Facebook you would think that it was better than Keats. However I don't think that my mother's judgement is unbiased so judge it for yourself.

This is after all the blog of a 'Wannabe Writer'.

                       

                       Mother

            Better than sweet heather

             is my dear own mother.

            For when I have a bother

            with a pat on my back

             she tells me what I lack

               with a bright smile

              that can be seen from a mile.

         

              People say that you can't see God,

              well, I call them a fraud.

              Every single blessed day

              [and without any pay]

             Do I see a celestial being

             [Now please no envying ]

            So, Mamma daarling

             just give me a ring.

             I'll get you anything.

             For I very well know

             that you do I awfully owe

            more than the world can offer.

        

          So, call me a duffer

          and make me suffer

           If I don't tell you-

          I LOVE YOU!

 Well, that is it. I do hope you liked it.

 

  'There when you were born,

  there from the very start

  when you pulled a cart.

  With patience did she bear

  Everything she had to hear. 

 With you when you cry

  and even when your eyes are dry.

 Very well do you know

 That she will never leave you

   So not very well do we treat 

 just a bit better than boys in the street.

 But she does have a day

  when she just has to say

 her wish, our command.'

There, now that I think was a spot better. You know I wonder whether anyone will read this. The blog with the poetical musings of a 13 year old.

Guess who gave me the idea to start this. My God Mother. That was what I thoroughly used to believe that my Mother was when I was small. I remember my music sir asking us to talk about our Mother. Everyone started shouting " She cooks for me." "She ties my hair" "She helps me" and so on. I also remember saying "She is my Fairy God Mother" dead silence after that. Then slowly the kids started to laugh and the Sir "Who said that ?". When I lift my hand he tells me, voice full of pity for this deluded child, " Child, your mother cooks, ties your hair, helps and so on. She is not a Fairy."  I remember feeling crushed, dejected and embarassed.  So know I keep it a secret, or kept it, that I think of her as a fairy when I am not angry with her.

You know what the saddest thing is? Our mothers do so much. Yet we shout at them, call them lazy, get angry and so on. I think they deserve medals in the form of our respect and love.

I have to stop. The battery of my laptop is negligible. So adieu, ciao and bye.

Wannabe Writer Super Susan.