A dream, conceived and conveyed from heart to heart, mind to mind and eye to eye… is waiting to be realised and reach its absolute culmination point. A dream that kicked off when I was a kid and steadily set out for a journey of its own. My story is all about that.
It is no fancy fairy tale of incredible feats. Nor a bookish motivational narrative guideline!
It is a yarn of my own flight through the seas of clinical mental disorders and achieving personal goals. It is an account of my yet-unfulfilled dream of investing a part of my life for the senior citizens.
I was always a loner, be it in school or college. The only confidantes I had were my parents. Dad’s visions and inspirations were triggered and backed by Mom and she pushed me to take the plunge. As I grew up, I was diagnosed with clinical depression, Bipolar Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I began to sink in the murky silt of my emotional complexities and could not find a way to get up. During those times Dad held my hand. He instilled in me a faith. A faith to do something on my own. To do something that I always wanted to. To have confidence and courage to pursue my goals.
My Dad is a man of very high values and ideals. He had always been my idol – I speak his words. I share his dream.
At that point of time we started sharing our dreams aloud. We had a palatial ancestral house. Dad and I started planning to initiate an old age home there someday. During the sultry summer evenings, when there were long hours of power cuts, Dad and me spent hours shaping our dream of creating a habitat of eternal peace and harmony for the elders and seniors of our society. In high school, I aspired to be a doctor who would work for the senior citizens at our old age home project. But destiny disposed my plans and I was again alone, depressed and aimless.
It was again Dad who dragged me up and pushed me to start writing. For my own. I was unwell, mentally. Did not felt like doing anything productive. But Dad forced me to write. Write incessantly about whatever is coming to my mind. I started using my mental illness as my driving force. Being a bipolar patient, most of the time I was in high spirits. Being an OCD patient, I was a perfectionist. I started writing productively. And within a few months I found my jumbled thoughts clear in black and white. I clung to this positivity for a few years and managed to get some freelance projects to work on. From there, I got into a new phase of my life – my blogging career.
Years passed and my clientele became expansive and ample. I started getting regular projects. I needed my own team. Money started flowing and I was surprised by my own deeds! I hired a group of women who, despite being qualified and capable, could not make a career due to family pressures or childbirth. I noticed my dream of working for the needy, the deprived section of the society was getting a face through my new endeavours in baby steps! Now, after eight years of my blogging experience, I can proudly proclaim to be able to stand by the run-downs.
I know what you are thinking by now! What about the binary dream of an Old Age Home? No! I have kept on being an encouragement all-through. I know how senior citizens should be taken care of, how they should be treated respectfully and my dad has showered me with the responsibility of the yet-to-be made Old Age Home. My dad’s actions spoke for him. After my grandparents passed away, Dad volunteered to take on the responsibility of my maternal grandparents. Post his retirement, he was about to travel the world, enjoy his leisure with Mom at luxurious foreign villas. But he chose to stay back and look after my mother’s parents. Day in and day out. He chose to generate a life of bliss and happiness for the elderly parents and relatives who sacrificed their lives to make us grow and shine.
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