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CRAYONS!



I love crayons. There can be no other way if I am to picturize my childhood without my odd crayon filled sketch. I had invented a theory as an introvert, which was to quietly escape the wrath of meeting people over my scholarly devotion at recreating crayon-artworks. I liked being that way: focused-contented-solitary. Saturdays and Sundays meant story books and crayon art works.

And then I lost track of time, my crayons got replaced by poster colours. I began fancying painting with art brushes. Not that I marveled in it but somehow crayons stopped fiting into the larger picture of growing up. I had this tin geometry box with a picture of the globe in it, it was there where I stuffed my crayons for good. Metaphorically, by then my globe had shifted to other dimensions.

As life happened, I found myself struggling with dull coloured pens trying to earn degrees. My class notes would be filled with flowcharts about 'who-did-what' stuff. Now, that I have misplaced my tin geometry box, I realise I have misplaced important pieces of who I used to be.

Yesterday, when I was least expecting any revelation to happen, some soothing colour sequence made me miss my crayons. I know I have lost that tin box holding my crayons for good, but I took a moment to smile as I sat in that cozy chair for I had realised I may miss out things from my life but memories would keep those fallen pieces etched to my existence.

A crayon may break into pieces but it never stops filling lives with colours. Isn't it time we find our broken pieces as well?

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