I found a Friend In Bronte

Peshawar felt dreadful cold today. The only warmth was coming from the cup of tea in my hands so I wrote " the only constant warmth in the utter cold; beloved chai".  As soon as the tea finished, the cup also lost its temperature so the only option I had was reading "Jane Eyre" lying on my table.  These days of life I am in a state of pre-occupied thoughts. I think it is not only foreign to me, but we all are sometimes the kind of great overthinkers, but at least if I am aware of the fact that I am overthinking I have the option to get lost into the maze of brutally honest written books to meet the authors and converse with them. 

Born in England to a family of 5 siblings, Charlotte was a free woman of her thoughts. It is for this reason she had an idea to run her own school so she can be independent, but like plans hardly come to exit, she failed to do so. Not every admired person has always been entitled to great achievements as successful people are thought of, but to me, Charlotte was a legend who left behind words of wisdom and gifted the world poems to read, books to converse with, and a purpose to stick to and warmth in a dreadful cold December. 

 Although the job of governess was the least she cherished, that was what she made her living on. Maybe then if so, one can assume that what we cherish the least has the possibility to bring the best out of us. So maybe then we can assume that what makes us suffer has something precious to offer. Does that mean one should romanticize suffering? 

Perhaps not, perhaps yes, I don’t know, but one way or another we suffer in life anyways. Sufferings have their own way to teach us things. For Charlotte, losing her mom at an age of 5 was definitely not a choice, neither living with her cruel aunt was, but the choicelessness taught her so many life precious lessons that later turned her into an admired author.  

The choiceless nature of suffering ought to be accepted because they remind us always our human limitations.  Perhaps then when we accept the tiny spec of our own existence, the universe starts revealing itself to us and for Charlotte, the sufferings were means to an inward journey and she found the staircase to writing who died immortal by using writing as a coping mechanism to her uncertain existence.  Bronte penned down many wonderful books like Jane Eyre which is still widely read bringing utter solace to terribly cold existence. 

 In Jane Eyre,  Bronte takes us back to 17th century Great Britain of gender discrimination that women faced for choosing a field of interest that was less or not associated with them at all. The comments to her first-ever written poem,  " Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life and it ought not to be" by England's Poet Laureate, are not only disappointing but trigger an inflicting pain of ignorance towards the journey of women as lesser human beings in the arena of the political and domestic systems of Great Britain. It is for this reason, Bronte used pseudonyms to get published, however, it involved great risks, mere uncertainties, loneliness, an urge to live in solitude, and a silently held desire to be understood, to be accepted, to be valued, and to be loved for something that was coming from the purity of your heart. 

People who make history are rarely supported by the mass initially, but for Charlotte, the inspiration of sufficient internal motivation came from her sisters and dad and that alone was enough to undo the sheer ignorance of  England's Poet Laureate. Bronte's sisters were privileged enough to be supervised by a dad who let them read anything they like. This paved for them the path to be authors of a kind who are still remembered and admired today. We also need to find our internal motivation, at times it can only be ourselves, but that shouldn't scare us given the sometimes choiceless nature of sufferings. 

 Maybe the problem back then and now is not with writing itself, but being brutally honest about happenings in life.  Honesty is a mere reflection of the hidden, the untold, the unspoken and hence it is scary because it speaks the truth