Perhaps

When i came home and ate dinner, i felt like going for a round of table tennis on my brother’s birthday present (a table tennis table). He obliged despite the fact that he would much rather be watching indian tv. He obliged and played for as long as i wanted.

When my parents came home from work, they asked me how my exam went. Begrudginly, but truthfully, i said it went badly. Despite its reprecussions my parents didn’t pursue the matter any further, and opted to delay their dissappointment until results. Unlike other times, they turned a blind eye to the apple i didn’t eat and the room i never got around the cleaning.

My room is illuminated more than it should be. Its colour comforts in my every season, light and cold and dark and warm. Its always the place which anchors a listless raft washed by the waves of uncertainty.

You may now commence writing.

I’d become a number, a six digit code and a part of a military exercise. Seat number 638. Paper as white as a ghost, and text which spoke boldy and crisply, but smugly as if to say, “I am better than you.”

Two hours passed as did a scrabble of words strung together for the sake of filling the haunting white of the answer booklet.

Pens down.

And so to my spirits. I think once you know you’ve done it, there is a point you reach where fretting and and being openly and angrily bitter about it subside, and a feeling of despondency flushes you with inexplicable force.

The amazing thing is, that no matter how badly it had been done, love had prevailed. Hours later in the awoken nightime, two brothers played pingpong. One had forgotten about what had happened earlier in the day, even if it was only for about half an hour. The other, with the iinnocence that comes with being 12 had worked his magic. Although he didn’t know it, and i’ll never let him know, sending the ball whistling down a table, end to end sung a lullaby to an overworked and underpaid mind.

And this room, as part of the home i live in, built by the people i know best, sparkles with light, and though it is not the sun, if it were, every ray, would be one of hope.