concerning the short story

hey!

the story that i have written below is the first i have ever.....so don't be very nice.

the story and its details are completely up to your imagination, think what you like!!

tons and tons of thanks to ishita...who was on the phone for hours with me.....helping not at all, but at the same time, helping me immensly.(in true ishita style)

thanks

Short Story-The entire thing

“Yeah well, I know she is mad, it just makes me feel better to think that she is alive.”
“But she thinks she is dead!”
“That’s the point; she knows she is alive enough to think that she is dead!”
"Ok, what is wrong with you?”
“Why can’t I talk to you about my insane sister and come off as sane?”
“What makes you think, that I think that you are insane?”
“What makes you say I am not?”
“Oh god! You are insane! Just forget it, goodbye!”
“Isn’t it worth it just to see what it would be like to be dead?”
“But she IS alive!”
“I mean, this is her own little heaven, or hell, she is living in; and you better hope it is hell, cause I don’t want heaven to be so white.”
“You know what I think? I think that next week, you should exchange places with your sister, for all your fascination with her world. Or better yet, get a room next to hers, you will fit right in!”
“Aha! So you DO think I am insane!”
“Just go, will you?”
“Bah! You have no imagination whatsoever. No wonder you have such an immensely boring job. Talking to people like me, exciting it must be, your life. It’s better to pretend to be dead, at least that way, you have something to do!”
“Yeah yeah! Be gone with you; and bring some flowers for your beloved corpse next time, and bring me a coffee.”
“You mean coffin.”
“Aaah!”
“Ok ok, I am going!”
It hit me straight in the face when I stepped out. The noise, the smoke, the light, the wind; assaulting all my senses at once. I could even taste the bitter air. I drew my coat tighter around me and blended into the seething masses as I made my way home from my weekly visit.
It wasn’t a burden, like people seemed to think, when I’d tell them, they’d say, I’m sorry. I’d say don’t be, she’s having the time of her life (oh well, death actually).
I truly look forward to visiting. So far away from reality, it was my hiding place too, where I could isolate myself once a week. She is my therapist, she listens most patiently (well, no duh!) while I pour my innards on to her.
Then there are those times when she comes back, when she is alive. She listens to my stories like only a sister could. She asks; and it feels strange to believe that she is all there, but it feels worse to think that someday she might not be.
The elevator doors opened with a hiss, the kind that says I am great technology, I don’t make noise. Derailing from my train of thoughts, I enter my apartment. After the usual motions, I settle on my bed with a frugal dinner of leftovers by my side. I power on my laptop and wonder when he will be home. I remind myself, 3 days. It is not something that one wishes to encounter, waiting. And yet, we build our own lives, waiting. Waiting for a pay rise, waiting for a birthday, waiting for winters. Waiting for him to get home, waiting for the day that she will go, waiting reluctantly, but waiting nevertheless; waiting.
The sharp notes of Beethoven’s symphony took moments to place as the phone, as opposed to the melody of the doorbell or the trilling of the microwave, unearthing it from under the bed covers, I pressed talk.
“Hi hon!”
“Hi ney!”
“What’s ney?”
“You know, hon-ney? Like the cheesy concept of I complete you?”
“Yeah, I forgot I was talking to you, well I don’t know about completing you, but I did complete my work!”
“Really? Early? Aw hon, I am so proud of you, you deserve a gold star!”
“Ooh ooh! Can I have you to go with the gold star? You’ll match perfectly!”
"Are you telling me that I look like that man Da Vinci painted? That star thing in Da Vinci Code?”
“How ho…… you make me speechless, I mean how? How’d you get there?”
“Yes, I do realize you have the imagination of a cynical 80 year old.”
“At least I’m human; you on the other hand, are unearthly.”
“Does that mean I am also pretty in an unearthly way?”
"Yea….sure whatever, listen my boss thinks I am a diligent worker, so to speak, and thinks I need more work, so as a reward, dear unearthly beauty, I get to stay here and work for additional 3 days. Sad smiley.”
“You know, the whole point of having a conversation on the phone is that you don’t have to say things like sad smiley, but I am still proud of you, my diligent worker, and you will still be back in time for her birthday, smiley with a D.”
“Yes, my ethereal beauty. Remind me to go past all my deadlines, and also to activate your answering machine.”
“Douglas Adams groupie, I understand that you like the whooshing sound deadlines make as they go by, but explain to me the inexplicable need of a parroting tape?”
“This is exactly why, so that I can get to the point without getting into a discussion over the pentacle and its finer, ethereal features.”
“Right, nighty night hon; and I give you permission to ask the other worldly beauties to give you a goodnight kiss.”
“Goodnight dahlin.”
To tired to get anything productive done, I heat a cup of strong coffee, put on real bad music real loud and dance my a-- off. Now this, I am not too tired for. Thank the lord my apartment is sound proofed. In a caffeine driven frenzy I dance till I can dance no more, totally winded, I tidy up and crawl into bed. I lie there, thinking about sleep, how nice it would be if I fell asleep, and catch my self every time I am in the place between sleep and wakefulness. I wonder if she feels this way.
I look drugged the next morning. Grappling my way out of the sheets, I make my way to the bathroom, that’s oh so far. I drag myself to work once I am sure that no one can call me zombie woman today. As an animator, life is not as animated you would imagine. Forcing my way through drawing of random graphs, planes and unspeakable parts of funny looking things, I finally wind up, and switch off my workstation. The funny creature on my screen advises me to keep it real. The advice makes me think, what is reality? Then I think, that’s not for me to figure out, let’s leave it to the likes of Robert Frost. Oh but wait, he’s dead. Yeah well, so is my sister, albeit in a hyper –real plane.
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“Hello sweetheart.”
“Hey sis!”
“Oh! You’re awake today.”

“Yeah, I thought I should say goodbye.”
“Goodbye for what?”

“Goodbye because, I am going to die.”

“Umm, aren’t you dead already?”
“Yes, that was just a thing I was doing, it was amusing while it were but now I am going to die, like really die.”

“That was just a thing? What do you mean by thing? You were pretending to be this way?”
“Yes and no, I mean I couldn’t help it, but I did know what was happening.”

“What? And now you are going to die? Just like that, I mean how do you know that you will die?”
“Yea whatever. Well goodbye then!”

The covers seem to strangle me as I open my eyes. I am short of breath and it takes me several minutes to try and shake of the image of hers, being dead and all. Her face seemed to echo the smirk of knowing what I do not. Her prostrate figure is burned onto my retinas. It just feels like a staggering leap across a broad chasm to think of a world without her. Its not as if she offers great counsel, I mean corpses, even pretend ones, don’t have a lot to offer; but she is, in a way, me. We are Siamese twins, mentally. I can’t afford to have her chopped off. She is a part of me; it’s made who I am.
It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep again. Partly because I know she’ll stick around till I will, and probably even after that, and partly because I am just so tired. There is another part of me that knows, that if I fall asleep, tomorrow will be here faster, and so will he.
Waking up to the sound of food cooking, I smile drowsily. For once he seems not to have left the keys behind. The first cooked meal I have had in days, it makes my stomach squirm pleasurably. Having a stomach full makes me feel more optimistic than I was last night.

“It seems we have some shopping to do!”
“Can’t you let me at least sit down before your birthday endorphins kick in?”

“Oh! But what will we buy her? I mean something that can be used by a person who pretends to be dead?”
“An air freshener?”

“One who pretends to be dead.”
“A vampire coffin that opens and makes scary noises?”

“That’s actually kinda cool, except I don’t know ant vampires, do you?”

“You."

“Pray tell me why Buffy?”
“You have sucked my brains out, so yeah you.”

“You know, you are not even funny anymore. Hmmm, I wonder if I have ingested your brain? I was feeling squeamish last night.”
“Ha Ha! Very funny, now get ready.”

“Thank you, my sweetie poo. Hey, that rhymed!”
“You called me poo! How rude.”

While I waited for the water bucket to fill, I sorted through my wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear that wouldn’t have me looking homeless. My clothes hadn’t been washed since long, and the dregs of my remaining wardrobe were the dregs for a reason. Long since have I learnt to save resources. This was the reason I had a bath with a water bucket, the reason why I lived on frugal sources. Long since have I learnt how my frugality could save someone else’s life.
Dressed and all spiffy looking, I was all ready to go. We stepped out of the house in style, with all the sun glasses and bling we had on. It was only fitting that our blingy sunglasses were notably conspicuous in the fact that, the sun wasn’t out. It was one of the cloudiest days I have seen. Amused and sort of annoyed with the sun, we stowed away our eyewear and tried shopping with a vengeance.
It turned out, the shops had an identical vendetta against us as the sun, we couldn’t find anything for her.

“How ‘bout an urn?”
“To… put the flowers we bring her, in?”

“No, like the urn they put the remains in you know…”
“You, my dear, are ingenious! All we have to do now is to find an urn her size.”

“Yes, but I think, and I am going out on a limb here, even though she is dead and all, I doubt she will be very amenable to being stuffed in a vase with a lid.”
“Point considered, now let’s just go and buy here some pretty fake flowers.”

“Why fake flowers?”
“I don’t want the live flowers to face the dead sister. I don’t like such irony.”

“The pretend dead sister.”
“Close enough.”
So we went and bought her a pretty bunch of fake lilies and also a lidless vase that we could put it in. It was actually a futile effort because nothing is actually allowed inside the room. They seemed to think it might act as some sort of a trigger and she might want to stab her self with the lidless vase. I would think that it is quite difficult to kill your self with a thing that has a rounded bottom, but then again, I could think wrong. Just as we were about to set out, I remembered the coffee/coffin that I had promised and bought a hazelnut flavored cup to break the monotony.
We made our way to the place and started going up the stairs to her room. The place had no elevators because that is another one of the ways people can kill themselves, it might have seemed crazy but then again, I considered where I was and it fit right in. Just as we approached her room, I remembered the coffee that was still warming my hands and I grabbed his hand and started making my way downstairs.
I had my foot poised on the top of the stairs when I heard a click behind me; she stepped out and looked towards me.

“Don’t.”
Startled I began walking towards her. My stomach lurched as I pitched backwards. In slow motion I could see her begin to walk towards me and I could see the alarm in his eyes. My hand slipped out of his as I started to tumble down the stairs. I felt something warm on me after the first bump and I saw that the coffee had spilled down my ratty clothes. Oddly, it gave me satisfaction I hadn’t ruined my good clothes.
The second turn round I hit my head on one of the corners and it wasn’t the best feeling in the world. The white walls continued to spin around me as I made my way down. I could feel him thudding down the stairs, speechless in alarm. I reached the bottom, battered and bruised, I thought, well what do you know, you could die by the stairs too.
He reached close behind, squatted next to me and put my head in his arms. I could feel the light dimming, my heart slowing and my brain struggling to keep shop open. I squinted at him and tried saying something. I saw something move at the top of the stairs, it was a womanly figure, my sister.

“I tried warning you. Come with me.”
And just like that, she collapsed. I knew finally what had happened. The urn would have been of use. I looked up at him; he was struggling to say something. I smiled at him.

“Don’t miss me. I have her.”
I felt the light fading and with a smile on my lips, I felt her consciousness urging me to follow, I finally got her back. Now she led and I followed.

Ha! You are out there!

Curiously shallow eyes
a lucid yet startling green
devoid of lies
glazed over, a blank sheen

there rises waves of tresses
an unruly mass
a pallid forehead it addresses
irregularly hacked by an uncaring hand, the color of brass

her soft pale body
vacant arms
her full lips
muttering in alarm

she stares up at you 
twitching her nose
in return to your quest
her name is Rose

so it says on the inside of her arm
slashed in jagged font
a tattoo of a black rose
snakes up her wrist, to flaunt

she puts her hand 
on the soft white walls
she switches on the radio
hears the economy fall

she has everything she loves
listening to people killing each other and how
she grins to herself
who’s loony now?

If I Were Blue

I would embrace the world, envelop it.

The waters below reflect my being,
I am of hints in a peacock’s tail,
In gay abandon its spreads its feathers to dance to a tune unheard.

I am the color of happiness, in a bride's something blue.

The color of sorrow reflected in a mother’s blue baby
The color of gloom in the days after,
The color of the bluebells she so loves,
The color of walls she decorated thus.

The color of sapphire glinting at her neck,
Reflected in the eyes of the beholder,
A blue so deep, it peeps into his soul.

It is a thing so cold, unbelievable heat,
Blue stars in space depicting such.

A flash, a streak of brilliant blue
Nestling somewhere in a rebel’s pure mane,
The color of her ripped jeans.

A moon so rare, the sky so dark,
The color of heaven
Not the devils share.

Roses blue so cold in the winter,
The veins fragile networking across
A beating, thumping body.

Deep in the recesses of a dark blue sea
Lives a magnificent tiny fish painted a startling blue
By god’s loving hand,
Placed as a microscopic dot alongside a blue whale.

If I were blue……………………….I would encompass the world.

Why!

Walking down the street
Soaked in the rain
I looked up at the scowling sky
And I asked why.

Why did it have to be this way
I searched for a golden ray
He left, he did not stay
I asked why

I gave him glimpses of my soul
Where exists now a deep chasm
I knew not to draw the line
And now I am doing the time

He left me for someone better
He’d said so in the letter
Who is she
Who stole the keeper of my heart

And I looked up at the rain
Held out my carelessly returned heart
To cleanse the tears, the rents and the pain
I asked why

And I was answered
Was it the downpour
That roused me from my stupor
Or was it my mind
That broke the shackles his being did bind

He deserted me
Now I can clearly see
There are no tears to blur my sight
I now knew why

He did doubt
That’s why he walked out
I cannot trust someone
Who turns his back and runs.

I held up the meaningless piece of paper
Held it up for the rain
Till it liberated me of each and every grain
Of useless words and meaningless pain

I knew why
He didn’t know what he lost
And I won’t spend no time nor thought
On the insignificant piece of paper/rot
Because I knew why

For even though the rain
Had drenched and chilled me from the outside
I was warm and content inside
I was worthy of much better
He can go party with his stupid letter

People Talk

You know there’s something really weird about the way people talk. Whenever you meet relatives after a really long time, they’re bound to say, “Look how you’ve grown” oh! That’s nice thank you for telling me I’ve grown fat.
That’s still okay since it’s a thing you say when you have no clue what else to say because they know nil about me. They do not even know my name let alone any personal facts.
The still weirder part is that even the relatives I meet on a monthly basis cannot help but remark “oh how tall you’ve grown! You just don’t stop growing do you?” umm yeah sure, I have not gained half a millimeter for the past 2 and a half years, but if you say so then sure! I’m still the same height. But you cannot really say that can you? You just have to grin and bear it.
Another thing is that when people come to stay over at our place and I have to go to school, when I return they say, without fail, “you’ve come home?” in a very sweet and soothing voice, they ask me, I who have just stepped in.
After the day I’ve had in school all I can do is grin and say yes whereas from inside I’m popping with rage “no! You know, I’ve not come home as yet, this is just a digitalized apparition of me you’re seeing, while I have left the earth for a tour of the galaxy!” Of course I’ve come home, since you can actually see me in my uniform, come through the door after ringing the bell, standing in front of you, I see no reason why you should ask me that at all.
Even mum, one day when she opened the door she asked “you’ve come home, now?” and because its mum I said “no Mum it’s my clone, I am currently traveling through heaven on my Harley Davidson”.
Also people who are in the tenth would have experienced this, anyone who comes across your relatives, older friends, parents friends, anyone who’s older than you comes up and once they’ve inquired which class I’m in and after obtaining the answer, even after meeting me a hundred times in the same year, all they can say is-
“So, board year huh?”
Studying hard are you?”
“You know you should be!”
Thank you for the enlightening insight but I really think I can manage my own syllabus very well my self.
And it’s not only tenthies that have to suffer when you’re in 5th they consider you too small to mention anything, when you come to the 6th the countdown begins
“So 4 years to board year huh? Study hard.”
“ 3 “ “ “ “ “ “ “
“ 2 “ “ “ “ “ “ “
“ 1 “ “ “ “ “ “ “
“So are you studying hard??
And after you’ve crossed tenth they say “So last year was your board year huh?
Did you study hard? What was your percentage?
Study hard! Next year also board year! Ha Ha Ha, what an irony trapped between two board years!!!”
I swear I will not talk like that but then again, what can I do? It’s inevitable.

Que Sara Sara

Some times it happens that a test you’ve been wanting to score high in, you don’t. You’re completely distraught and you blame it on every thing in sight, the teacher didn’t teach, I was absent, I dint want to anyways etc. but if you really thought about it you’d most probably notice that you were so busy praying that you forgot to study, I am not saying that this is always true, there are 101 reasons, real ones, because of which you couldn’t score, but the one reason why you did score was because you studied.
There is a saying, you can only take a thirsty horse to the water but he has to drink it, the same is with us and our teachers, they can only lead us there, we have to bend down and take what they are giving to us. They are giving to us the key to an incredibly successful life it is we who have to take the effort and stretch our hands forward to take it.
My dad keeps telling me, the only difference between the ordinary and the extraordinary is that little extra. If you put in the little extra effort than all the others then there is no reason why you shouldn’t do well. This holds true not just for academics, but generally for life as well, in doing a good job further in life, in being a better human being, the thing that will matter is that the little extra effort that marks the difference between the ordinary and the extraordinary.
In the end, when you’ve given your best and have done all you could then you leave it upon god, in the end, que sara sara, whatever will be will be.

Rendition of Love

People will tend to skip this article just by reading the title and for those who are reading this, I’m grateful.
Why is love today regarded as something that can be only said between a boyfriend and girlfriend? Why is it that “I love you” is so ewwww??
When you like someone, when you care for someone it means that you love him or her.
I know what you’re thinking; the first words in your mind are in the context of romance.
I’ve heard that a platonic friendship between a girl and boy is close to impossible, but I believe that platonic love does exist.
The very fact that you care about someone shows that you have at least a little bit of love for him/her.
Let’s talk in context of bollywood, what do you think movies like munnabhai are trying to show? Spread a little more love, be more bindaas, why be so uptight and righty right?

“And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that show the way are blinding, there are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how”
Quoting from Wonderwall by Oasis. Aren’t the lyrics so true, there are so many things we leave unsaid because it seems too cheesy or “oh! what will people think of me?”
All I want to do through this article is establish love as something that will bring about world peace ( I’m not saying world peace because I have being Miss Universe on my list (because I really don’t)).You love your parents right?(I hope), is it not possible to have the same kind of love for someone else?
If you might’ve read the book Love Story by Erich Segal you will recall that “love means never having to say your sorry”, yet why is it that people make it a point to not say things and then be sorry for it.
The book The Secret Garden shows how love and faith can heal everything. Do you think terrorists are terrorists because like doing it? No, it is a scientific fact that children from happy and loving households are less likely to for e.g. be in possession of a gun. While I am not suggesting that you try and hunt terrorists down for a “jadoo ki jhappi”, I would say that the next time you are stuck at a signal or your eyes meet someone on the road, try smiling, and I do not mean pulling your face muscles apart to display your pearly whites, but really smiling, saying “ I don’t know who you are, but I , am with you” (Avril Lavigne “ I’m with you”).
As a finishing line I quote from the song by Black Eyed Peas (it explains my sentiments perfectly)-
“People killing, people dying,
Children hurtin’, livin’, cryin’,
Would you practice what you preach?
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us,
Give us some guidance from above,
People got me, got me questioning,
WHERE IS THE LOVE,
THE LOVE,
THE LOVE     ?

Peer Pressure

 Here’s the thing about peer pressure, it doesn’t exist! Really! I don’t know why it’s called peer pressure its all self pressure. I know I’ll be gathering a lot of flak for this, but it’s true.
Someone in the class scores 99/100, fine! Good for you! But why should I sacrifice my social life (which is close to nonexistent but still) to cram for an exam. I’ll do how much ever I can do, obviously if I work enough I will get grand marks. But I will I NOT do it because it looks pretty on my report. I’d rather be a nice person with a fun life than spend it inside my books. I’m not saying all the toppers are geeks because I know people who top in class and yet know who Paris Hilton is (I think).
I also know that this is because of time management. As my dad says, of the seven most important habits of successful people, the no. 1 habit is time management. And yes it does work (not for me but whatever, its not like I’ve actually tried).
Just because everyone I know is taking drugs, or are overtly keen on showing their Calvin Klein underwear (or the tattered one if the Calvin has gone for a wash) why should I.
I know of course the keenness to try will be there, I cannot deny it, but in the end, common sense has to prevail. I have truthfully never been asked to do drugs and the one time I was asked if I would like to smoke, I refused. Once (in a blue moon) when my dad was smoking, I asked him if I could try and he said yes! I tried it and trust me there is nothing even remotely cool or yummy or enjoyable about it.
It’s just as if you o put your head in a fireplace and inhale all the smoke and ash. I mean if smokers enjoy it so much they should join the firefighters ,every time there is a fire you can just stand there and inhale all the smoke (provided you do the little bit of community service that asks you to spray water).
Don’t even get me started on the consequences to your health. I once saw on the Oprah show (think what you will, I am not soppy loser) a preserved lung of a chain smoker (icky I know), and trust me it was not pretty, you do not want internal organs looking like that.
Just one question, why do I have to display my underwear just because she is (or he is or the whole world is, whatever)? (Partly because it wont look anywhere near decent on a person my shape). Why should I wear my hair down if every one is? You know I bet everyone thought they were being “cool” and “different” (besides going against their parent’s wishes) but the truth is that they’re all being all exactly the same! Because everyone else is doing it, you are too and then you become a stereotype just like everyone else. Wherever you see its low waist low waist low waist low waist ooh! Covered bum, that’s nice.
I for one like to keep mine under my clothes, thank you very much. If I wanted to be Superwoman, I’d keep my intentions clear and simply wear my synthetic red underwear outside my clothes. And why would you want you display your underwear in the first place? Is it a “come hither so you can see more” or an “I wear branded undies I’m rich”? And if it is either I really don’t think it works (at least not for me any way).
The conclusion to this particular long-winded essay about rubbish is that, peer pressure does not exist, IF people learn to use their brains.
I know each and every line will draw objection from people, and I myself can contradict most of the writing. But I hope this essay may drive some sense into some people I could name.

The World is Conspiring Against the Lefties

Before you jump to conclusions and question my sanity, let me tell you, that there are so many impediments of being a lefty that even I, being one, was traumatized, and its not limited to uncomplicated issues of tables or scissors it has roots in the very language you speak, read and write.
Physical constraints
You might know that lefties have immense difficulties in writing on those one handed desk-cum-chairs. If you have a left-handed friend, you might have seen her twisting in weird ways to write on one of those. Normal scissors are made for righties, the ones with the finger and thumbholes, try them with your left and you’ll know.
Even the script we write in, English, is written left to right so in order to have a clean page we twist the notebooks at funny angles to avoid smudging. It makes me wonder, Urdu being a right to left script must be a pain for the right-handed people. Though it settles scores to some extent, they have my sympathy.
Tools like scissors, can-openers, computer keyboards, calculators, push button phones, golf clubs and most musical instruments (particularly string) are specifically made with right-handers in mind. A lefty would probably have to pay extra to get the instruments modified, or just too bad, get used to it.
Oftentimes when we take any type of dance/music classes we end up doing the absolute opposite of the taught; mirror imaging the instructor, i.e. whenever the right is used, we use our left. Special guitars and even pianos need to be bought or we end up using the thing upside down.
God only knows the bruised elbows we have suffered when we sit with a rightie (though they have them too),it is a constant struggle to manage writing space, typically ending temporarily with one of the two being shoved off the table.
Lingual prejudices
The words gauche and sinister are synonymous with being left handed. Many people have actually believed that lefties were sinister (in other words- evil!). The very word sinister comes from the Latin word for left, which, at best, means unlucky.
Our language is full of “left handed compliments” or insults for us, the southpaws. To describe some one trusted and valuable? - My right hand man/woman. For a bad dancer- “He’s got two left feet”.
Ever heard “How gauche!” to describe something tactless? You are really saying, “how left handed!” in French. In dictionaries, the word literally means uncouth, vulgar and unsophisticated.
Look up the word “left handed” in the Encarta dictionary, it states ‘clumsy’ as one of the definitions.
The standard word for left also means something very derogatory, The word ‘Left’ comes from old English’ “lyft” that means ‘weak, worthless, womanish’ (another bone of contention, stating womanish as being in the same context as weak and worthless).
In Romany, the word for left, “bongo” means crooked or evil.
Italian “mancino” means “dubious, dishonest”. Among the Nyoro in Africa ‘left’ means ‘hated’ and in Japan it means ’crazy’.
The term “correct” means “with the right”!!!!
The Greek root “dexter” gives us the word “dexterous” (skilful) which means “on the right”.
Right, apart from “dexterous” variously means direct, erect, correct, regal, royal, rights, forthright, upright, decent, dignity and so on.
Religious Prejudices
Three hundred years worth of questions lurk in the mind of the pious relating us, the lefties, directly to Satan! Suspicion of lefties was very common... no Pope was chosen from their ranks.
The right has been hailed as all things good and pure while the left has been shunned as unholy, evil and relegated to inferiority.
Pythagoras set out in his table of opposites; the right was male and light, while the left was female and dark.
In medieval Europe, use of the left hand was associated with witchcraft.
Going counter clockwise was considered moving in the “the wrong direction”. The Scots called this “withershins”, again, pertaining to witchcraft!
In some cultures, the wife should never touch her husbands face with her left hand.
Muslims forbid the touching of any holy scriptures with the left hand.
In Judaism and Christianity, the right side of the body represents the first stage of creation, daytime, Adam, man and active power. The left represents the second stage of creation, earth, matter, Eve, women and receptivity.
In Koran and the Christian Bible God’s chosen ones sit on his right and the damned on his left and thus making them servants of the devil.
In pictures of the Last Judgment, the Christian god shows his disciples their new heavenly abode with his right and points with his left to hell. The “Left Hand Path” therefore, being demonic, is the diabolical and earthly path to hell.
The Advantages!
Obviously most of the above stated is not much in use nowadays(hopefully), so that is a relief.
Now since the lefties have their right side of their brain much more active so ha! Right-handed people are the actual lefties.
We are much more creatively inclined and most of the world true geniuses were lefties e.g. Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Beethoven, Michelangelo.
Lefties are great adapters; they have to make themselves comfortable with all the right-handed tools using them with the right or even backwards.
(It is no shock that left handed people have a lesser life span.)
Most of this discrimination stems from the sanitary habits of early man which I am sure if you use your brain you will be able to figure what exactly I am talking about and also know we would be doing quite the same natural things except with the other hand. If you still do not get it, who would want to eat their food with the hand they wash themselves with? This in effect means that making us work with our right is exactly the thing you don’t want us doing!

There are twice as many males as females who are left handed. People who are left handed consist of 5% of the world’s population.
Agreeably in olden times people had to give a clear-cut difference between good and evil and they had to signify one side as bad, but does this mean we should let this percolate into today’s thought process?
Being a girl and a lefty, should I be proud of being a 1.6% minority, or should I wonder why the world is so biased and narrow-minded; full of people who don’t think out of their own comfort zone?
disclaimer-the above facts have been googled from several sources

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