What Inspired The Author To Write Circles Poem?

By the seventh year of my engagement to Tristan, he postponed our wedding for the third time. The reason was simple. His childhood sweetheart, Gabriella, had returned to the country. She had just gone through a divorce and was emotionally unstable. Tristan personally retrieved every invitation we had sent out, his tone calm and steady. "Gabby has no one by her side right now. I can't upset her at a time like this." I held the ring that had already been resized twice and asked, "What about me?" Tristan glanced at me. "You're different. You're sensible." I had been hearing that word for seven years. Sensible. When his startup failed, I sold the old house my grandmother had left me to help him pay off his debts. When he suffered a gastric hemorrhage, I stayed at the hospital for three days straight and missed my own promotion defense. When his mother said my background was too ordinary for him, he only rubbed his temples and said, "Tori, don't make this difficult for me." Every time, I nodded. He once told me that no matter how thick the fog became, he would always leave a light on for me. Until the day Gabriella stood in front of the mirror wearing my wedding dress and smiled as she asked, "Victoria, you don't mind, do you? Tristan said your wedding's being postponed anyway." Tristan stood behind her. He did not deny it. He even reached out and adjusted her veil for her. The fog lamp he had given me with his own hands sat by the display window of the bridal shop. It was still lit, illuminating someone else in the white dress I had waited seven years to wear. Only then did I realize that some roads were not lost because the fog was too thick. It was because he had never planned to come for me at all.

The novel is mainly about the forgotten British poet/writer named C. J Richards who lived in Burma/Myanmar in colonial times and he believed himself as a Burmophile. He served as I.C.S (Indian Civil Servant) and when he retired from I.C.S service, he was a D.C (District Commissioner) and he left for England a year before Burma gained its independence in 1948. He came to Burma in 1920 to work in civil service after passing the hardest I.C.S examination. He wrote several books on Burma and contributed many monthly articles to Guardian Magazine published in Burma from 1953 to 1974 or 1975. Though he wrote several books which had much literary merit to both communities, Britain and Burma (Myanmar), people failed to recognize him. The story has two parts: one part is set in the contemporary Yangon (then called Rangoon) in 2016 context and a young literary enthusiast named “Lin” found out unexpectedly the forgotten writer’s poetry book and there is surely a good deal of time gap that led him into a quest to know more about the author’s life. The setting is quite different comparing to colonial Burma and independence Myanmar (Burma), early twentieth century and 2016 which is a transitional period in Myanmar. The writer’s life is fictionalized in the novel and most of the facts are taken from his personal stories and other reference books. It is a kind of historical novel with a twist and it has comparatively constructed the two different periods in Myanmar history to convince readers, locally and abroad more about history, authorship, humanity, colonialism, and transitional development in Myanmar today.

Behind the walls of the mind, where words fall silent, the stories no one dares to whisper begin. 'Whisper of Thoughts' is a journey into the corridors of mystery, where passion blends with psychological turmoil in an endless conflict. When thoughts become the enemy, can the soul find its sanctuary? Unravel the tangled threads of secrets in a story that defies the logic of reality. As the narrative unfolds, the protagonist finds themselves caught in a web of cryptic events, forcing them to confront buried secrets from the past while navigating an unexpected and complicated romantic connection.

Gisella, tagged as cursed, criticised by everyone because she lost her mother during her birth and maltreated by her stepmother. Was born with an unknown power to predict and foresee the unseen and the future of others. Due to this, she grew up timid and discriminated by people. It took great loss of lives , the near ending of her dignity and the one she loves most before she realized her inner self ( her reflection).After realizing the reason of her existence and her inner being, she stoop to conquer."MY REFLECTION" is the long awaited novel which will help you realize the reason why you were created the way you are. The reason to love and cherish yourself to enable you push through life no matter what people think or feel about you.

In the madness of life, we find the madness of life in ourselves. We are a reflection of the madness of life. We are the embodiment of a crazy life.

I had been with Elias, a renowned astrophotographer, for five years. With that said, I had never asked him to take me on a shoot with him, all because he once told me, "The first rule of astrophotography is to avoid any kind of light pollution. Even a flicker of your phone screen can ruin an entire night's long exposure." This was why I never even dared to send so much as a text to ask him if he had arrived at the location. I was afraid of ruining his work. All I did was wait at home. Whenever he went to the snowy mountains or the wilderness for a shoot, I would fold a paper star. In each of these paper stars, I would write down the things I did not get to say to him because I did not want to disturb him. [Make sure you layer up.] [I'll wait for you to come back.] I accumulated a thousand and ninety-six origami stars over five years, filling three glass bottles. He never opened a single one of them. Just last week, he was shortlisted for an international astrophotography competition. I was happy for him and went to the website to see his entry called “Light.” Framed at the center of the image was his assistant dressed in a red windbreaker. She was toying with a sparkler and laughing cheerily. The judges' comment read, "In this submission, the photographer voluntarily passed up the chance to capture a once-in-seventy-years comet. Instead, he dedicated the shot to the figure in the image who exuded all the light for him." This whole time, his world was never devoid of light. He simply wanted to snuff out my light. That same night, I poured all of the stars out of the bottles. I opened them one by one, to read the messages within to myself. Then, I burned them all. At dawn, after washing the three empty glass bottles, I had them neatly arranged next to the box he used for his camera lens. There were tens of thousands of galaxies in the universe. There was no reason I should linger outside the frame and wait for someone's light to bleed into mine.