The Dilemma of Writing | Self Reflection
Took me a long while to even start.
It has been profusely accommodating of my mind about writing a blog, and that too for so long. Seeing people achieving their writing dreams online has been nothing short of a miserable watch for me. Although I'm happy for anyone who reaches that kind of level and the effort it took, it sort of gives me the self-reflection which is necessary, but often comes at a cost. That cost, is what I call, the inability to do something meaningful, or the thought of it. I might not be as useless as I portray myself to be, but looking at where I want to be, or where I could have been, had I not procrastinated so much until now, would have created a better piece of the puzzle than the bitter one I'm tasting now. Regardless of all, here I'm finally doing my thing for once.
See, the thing is, I have been in love with the language since the time I was born. Maybe not that early, but from as far as I can remember, I used to love writing, and it sort of flew out of me naturally, be it speaking or writing. Now when it comes to speaking, I speak the best when I'm in love. I can't just speak poetically to my friends and not expect to get teased at, although at times words can just flow out. But in love, you'll always have those moments, right?
I'm in no way picturing myself to be the master or words or anything close of that sort. What I meant is, I used to love language, poetry, creative writing, and things of that sort, and thereby romance, literature, and so on. But the catch is that I haven't explored into any of these things in detail. From the ones that I have read, I admire them. Basics apart, I want the rest of it to not be learned by reading, but be flown through pen and paper, which sometimes does. If you're interested, please check out a little poem I wrote a few years back:
V-day Misery.
It was another morning too, bright and promising to light up the miserable measly lives, while all it did was bring me down to another noon of bright sparkle, of the sun. It never felt bright enough to boil me ups, nor was it enough to turmoil my downs. All it came to was another day, anything additional would have been a surprise. Hope is one thing, misery is another, never been any day so treacherous enough to pull me thoughts, any day better to pull my souls together, but all I had was hope. Then came the dawn, on the couch of my dreams, looking for the love of my life. On a rooftop only a hopeless romantic can imagine, so full, yet so fragile. Heart full of life, soulful of love, with no one to give, other than the stars who return it back to me every hour or so, this day has never been less of a nightmare. I used to find light in the mighty mirror, strong as it is, to hold me still, bold enough, to stare at me with will. Not this day, this hits just different. I have never won the fight of this. Maybe the forgotten might come back one day, with all the love restored upon broken hearts, or it might end up like the wind behind her hair, all it does is just, escape.
Apart from all these, I have had my fair share of life experiences and hundreds of journals, and the endless inks that have carried me along on the woods, sad they've been converted into mere papers, but still a canvas blank enough to expand something as big as the human heart. Or maybe, it ain't all that big like we think it is.
I would not only like to share such writings which I think might pave a perspective at least for someone in need, and not to lose hope, but also I hope to share my journey, and how I was able to face some of the challenges along the way. Hope to see you soon.