THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

  Kate Winslet as Mare Sheehan in 'Mare of Easttown' gives us the perfect portrayal of middle aged woman that we have been wanting for so long. Instead of giving us the sexualized, all perfect, extremely talented and beautiful typical heroine, we have Mare who is shown as a normal human being, flawed, at times selfish, unglamorous with a bulgy belly. As humans, we are not perfect, we are flawed at certain ways. Similarly Mare do not have a perfect relationship with everyone around her. She doesn't try to  work on it just in the fear of facing it. We listen people constantly reminding us "to face our demons" , but that's not easy as heard. We all are afraid to the core of reliving all the past, the traumas, the unsaid words, the mistakes, the happy moments. Mare is one of us. It requires a lot of time and courage to face our fears after several failed confrontations like Mare. She is expected by everyone to fulfill her duties as a mother, daughter,wife and frie

   Today is my birthday.  My father surprised me with a huge cake And gifted me many presents.  When he told me to make a wish before blowing candles,  I said loudly I want to be like that Lady on the television,  The lady that wears the red blouse and  Who says about things like war, politics, and in some other places difficult to pronounce.  Father told me I can be like her when I grow up And then I can also learn everything about the places the lady says.  But I didn't know, I will be homeless on my birthday,  To step out of what I told my friends 'my home',  To abandon the tv where the lady appears,  To leave my birthday decorations,  To lose the space in the bed between my father and mother.  We were made to move out to nowhere,  There were thousands like us,  I don't understand why we are made to leave our place,  Father says it is because they see us as different,  It is because they don't see us as friends but foes,  Just like the girl in red bun sees me at

  I see people,  People intoxicated by the pictures and paintings of Ophelia's  Flowery death.  Her death image gives them aesthetic pleasure,  As controlled women always gave them.  Her hairs afloat, start to sleep on to the water,  Flowers shrouding her body,  Eyes open to a world of her own,  Singing songs of despair. But little did she realize the danger,  The danger of clinging on to a hopeless end,  Like the bough that broke beneath her.  She was beneath the procrastinated love,  That demanded her to leave for a nunnery,  Where she could have grown out of love,  Leaving a dull yet moving life in her,  Under the orders of others.  Little did she understand the fleeting  Feelings inside men,  The constant tribulations of mind,  That demand their essence and  Drink off the sanity.  She mistook the words and its soul,  She made her life revolve around one improper love,  She didn't realize the wonders in life beyond romantic love,  Or no one helped her.  Deaths made her mourn