You spend all your time on this earth searching some meaning in life. And then one day, you find that all this time, life has been staring back at you.
Waiting for you to break the ice.
Sometimes, in fact almost always, all it takes is the first step.
Writings comes easily to me. Like all our other gifts that we are born with, I never really appreciated the joy of writing. Oh I knew I could work my way around a lengthy thesis; get a passable grade on almost zero preparation based solely on my ability to bullshit my way with words. But it’s only with the knowledge of one’s own mortality that one starts taking a more focused interest in one’s inventory.
For me writing enhances a world that otherwise I feel I’m not suited for. I mean it’s not like I feel I am from another planet and ET phone home and all that. It’s just that there are people who are great conversationalist and then there are people like me. We’d rather sit back, observe people, and notice their idiosyncrasies, their quirks.
And of course put in a word now and then, because let’s face it; otherwise we’re just coming across as creeps. I have found that the ability to write helps me become a more functional version of myself. It compliments my other faculties-as in I see more, I empathize more- and in the process, completes me. Countless have been the times when I have found myself in a situation and imagining how I would write that down on paper. I have decided that I will start writing again. The decision isn’t new, I have taken it countless times. Each time, something or the other, usually laziness on my own part, compels me to give up the habit.
I don’t know what I will write about, but I will not let my love for expression be burdened by expectations. For now I will just let my mind wander and my hands gallop on the keyboard as wild horses.
It will come to me..whenever it will.