And here we are, back to the only place that makes any sense, to the only place that has managed to keep its charm on me still intact through the years, the infinite stretches of cellulose ,guess you can argue that it makes sense to me because it don’t talk back and give me threatening ultimatums, or maybe the reason that i fancy it so much is that its easy to get rid of, well i can argue (a lot) for other reasons but the one that probably will hold water is that this destination has been a preferred choice of travel for me is because i can in a way relate to it. And the moment we can relate to something it becomes so much easier for us to take a liking to it, well most of the times at least, the reason that I can relate to this place is its nature, it is blank and it is free, much like my state of mind most of the times, at least the blank part, but once you write something on it, the permanent imprints on it remain there for time immemorial, recycling it won’t change a thing, someplace deep down, there still remains a layer that will continue to hold that thought and the punctuations and remarks wont go away, not with any amount of eraser or whiteners, its hard to think why it took me so long to find this place again, I like it best here, since I can remember being able to like anything, ever since I learnt to write, I was writing with an invisible pen for a finger on the paper of air, nothing feels more pure than a crisp white piece of paper that you can just fold and put in your pocket. Used to be my way of life. Bored? Write about it! Happy for a change? Try to express it. Attempt to put your wit on paper, can’t think of anything to write? Well, write about not having anything to write! For what we are, what we feel can’t always be expressed through mere words, but sometimes you have to make that attempt to jump out of the page, to encapsulate that one moment of absolute elation or those nights of grief, what if nobody reads that, maybe it’s not about being read, it’s about being written.So Write on...
And so, I shall!
And so, I shall!
And write on I shall as long as I can, I guess, isn't this one of the most inherent human attributes anyway? I mean those prehistoric people weren't making zebras and gazelles on their cave walls just because there was no wifi available, ( although as reasons go, that's not a bad one I'd honestly admit) but no, they wanted to somehow make it matter, they existed, they saw!Which is what this is, I was around once, here,I want to make sure that history, its in own small and infinitesimal way, records me.This is His-story! So as the 2010 version of myself is preaching up there , rather laboriously I might add, gosh, wasn't he an obnoxious bloke; of trying to make that leap of faith, to jump out of the page, well, I do not think I completely agree with him. I guess age has caught up with yours truly,all mellowed now,are we? But,here's a thought, why can't we just tone down a bit? Is the idea of living your life to the fullest and being loud and happily forever a bit of an exaggeration? Why can't we just lead ordinary lives without making such a fuss over it all the time? Grind those days, skip the laments, water down the grief, you know? We can, as individuals, decide to identify things through a different perspective, we were not sent here , on this Earth to reflect so much on things which are perpetually in this state of flux, our feelings aught not be like pendulum swings, elation and grief are words which should be reserved for the rarest of rare emotions, I'm not advocating large doses of xanax here, neither am I suggesting we become numb (God, another one of those overused words) and turn into emotional zombies, no, conversely, what I'm trying to get at, is that we have an obligation to ourselves to separate the noise from the sound, how can one reflect and identify the paramount aim of life if one is engulfed in a perpetual train of varying and transient feelings, feelings which, if left unchecked can turn into obsessive thoughts and compulsive habits, these are hindrances which aught to be kept at bay, for how can you know yourself if you are never alone with your thoughts? And if we agree to disagree with the young me, we can conclude that writing in itself should not be an exercise to thrill. Us with our consistently dwindling attention span should not treat writing as an adventure sport, no, why should everything exist to excite you? Maybe that is the whole point of writing, and living,for that matter, to endure, to withstand.Maybe life is an ineffable entity, but far be it from me to not dabble at it with my magniloquence, so yes, writing on we are! :)
