The Man Who Held My Hand
I have no idea how to start this one, to be honest. I think I restarted this blog at least thrice and still I have no clue how to go on so, I’ll just ramble. My nanu was one of the first people to hold me when I was born. He was my first teacher, friend, philosopher and guide. When I was 2, he used to drop me off at preschool but god, I was stubborn. I just wouldn’t leave his hand, no matter what. So, he used to sit with me in the play area and hold my hand until I stopped bawling my eyes out. Then he would encourage me to go inside, he used to tell me I was a brave little girl, a Sherni and reminded me he was right outside. And he would actually sit there for all 3 hours just in case I needed him! Whenever I lost a competition, he would be the first person to call me to tell me he was proud of me. When I flunked a test, he was right beside me, working with me through my mistakes no matter the time of the day. I can proudly declare that I was the only person he ever missed his nigh...