when i was a little girl , all i wanted was dolls to play with. i used to sit by the side of the play ground, looking at other little girls , playing with their dolls, playing like girls, having everything they ever wanted , with no care in the world.
Even as a little child i had so much pride , i could not ask my parents to buy me things. whatever i had, was what somebody assumed i needed or wanted and bought me, but i could never tell them what i truly wanted. in order to play with dolls, me and my sister , we used to make dolls of paper , we would make their clothes with paper too and would colour them the way we wanted. i was happy with that.
i always looked at other girls doll houses and tea sets. they were so beautiful and colourful. every little girls dream of her own house starts with that little doll house, be it made of wood , or plastic, but that is when the fantasy begins.
i didnt have fancy tea sets or doll houses , but i had couch cushions and cardboard boxes which i used to make my doll houses , suffice it to say , they fit perfectly for the paper dolls.
i used to collect coins , when i had enough , i would go and buy tea sets made out of mud. they were cheap , but they served their purpose and made me happy. it was a good life , but for an 8 year old, it was a life of burdens. burden of pride. today i realise, an 8 year old should not have pride , an 8 year old should have toys , or if it not toys, atleast should have something to play with.
as i write this diary , i realise i am no longer a little girl , but today at 50, and countless mistakes later , i have come to realise , i need to write about my mistakes , about my shortcomings , not to generate sympathy , but maybe , in some dark corner , someone may find this , and learn something ...... but maybe, because i believe , writing about my life , may , make it interesting.....
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