How Often Do We Leave Our Phones Unanswered?

“Do you know the meaning of a mobile phone? It is mobile. Not a landline”

I couldn’t answer this question when I got back to my sister, having found her missed call. At some point, I thought it rhetoric, and it was.

Until this morning, I didn’t know it bothered her that I often didn’t pick her calls.

I am one person who barely answers my mobile phone, either on time or at all. I have actually lost count of the number of times I left my phone unanswered. But the good thing is, I normally call back.

I have had lots of arguments, especially with my sister despite the countless feedback I have been receiving. Sometimes I tend to believe that I am not a phone person. But today, I am willing to take responsibility and explain to everyone, why I barely take my calls and to apologize on behalf of people with a character like mine.

Before that, I would like to let you know that we love you and all those calls don’t go unanswered on purpose.

Reasons why we don’t answer immediately:

  • Sometimes we lose our phones and then spend hours tracing them. By the time we get them, we definitely have lots of missed calls.
  • Our phones are always on silent mode; this is because ringtones are not allowed in places of work. We do not want to distract our colleagues. So probably, we didn’t hear it ring.
  • Because we’re busy. Sometimes we are on official duty and can’t take phone calls. The best we can do is call later.
  • Sometimes it’s awkward. If there are people in the same room who shouldn’t listen to our conversation, then I will ignore the call and call later.

See! There are lots of reasons. Please don’t take it personal.


Love- D.M.





Why I Write


HarsH ReaLiTy

I do not write for applause or praise.

I do not write for you or you.

I write to release the words that flutter in my skull. How annoying the constant thought can be until it is released as an afterthought. I feel the weight lift from my mind as relief expands into the empty crevices of my thought. Empty, but not for long as I long for the next sentence of my heart. I dream of word strings and impossible things. Of magical pens in stone and endings waiting to be owned. My writing hand is my drinking hand as it writes again. My hand knows the reason for what I do even before I attempt to do it. Without the creation of words there is no world to me. There is simply a memory and that memory belongs to someone else.



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