I knew the moment would come some day, the moment, when I laid back in my comfortable chair yet again , ogled at the screen of my ,so far, vulnerably faithful laptop and put in a few words. Of all the fears I have , because of the insecure individual I am , the fear of losing the ability to write is not only the most architypical but also, the most gruesome. Even the faintest thought of waking up one day, and not being able to pen a few words, be it consciously or by mere intent, is similar to losing a sense, something like turning deaf, dumb or even blind for that matter. The physical ramifications apart , not being able to express oneself in words is a handicap I never really want to succumb to.
I realize sometimes , the academic benefits of writing. I try to keep them on a different weighing , for those reasons might have forced me to continue writing , they were not why I started writing in the first place. Words when put in honestly , are a transparent resemblance of how grim and glum the mental persona is. There would be times , when I wrote just to be diverged to think about something else and it used to be difficult , for I lacked a substance of controversy , but that surely wasn't the reason I got myself into it.
When things waddle in the mind like entangled threads, one is forced to stretch them out in something like a blog. It's understandable that the fear of being in that situation of mental nudity is grossly embarrassing. But then , come to think of it , how can and what will it take one to debug the system. Perhaps the fact that I am writing now , at dawn , when the sunlight just appears to break into my room , is not intent , but a need, an incomprehensible bug in my system.
The experience of vomiting a few words is a vindicating exercise. As a phenomenon, it's always surprising , that the first 200 words flow out as if they were waiting superfluously under my skin , waiting to catch their breath as and when they're exhaled on to the blog , of course with the benign benefit of technology.
It feels immensely satisfying that something came out today, even though I had expected to blurt something more belligerent. But , so can be seen in everyday life, I am at my parsimonious best as ever , even at words. Now, that's ironic!
I realize sometimes , the academic benefits of writing. I try to keep them on a different weighing , for those reasons might have forced me to continue writing , they were not why I started writing in the first place. Words when put in honestly , are a transparent resemblance of how grim and glum the mental persona is. There would be times , when I wrote just to be diverged to think about something else and it used to be difficult , for I lacked a substance of controversy , but that surely wasn't the reason I got myself into it.
When things waddle in the mind like entangled threads, one is forced to stretch them out in something like a blog. It's understandable that the fear of being in that situation of mental nudity is grossly embarrassing. But then , come to think of it , how can and what will it take one to debug the system. Perhaps the fact that I am writing now , at dawn , when the sunlight just appears to break into my room , is not intent , but a need, an incomprehensible bug in my system.
The experience of vomiting a few words is a vindicating exercise. As a phenomenon, it's always surprising , that the first 200 words flow out as if they were waiting superfluously under my skin , waiting to catch their breath as and when they're exhaled on to the blog , of course with the benign benefit of technology.
It feels immensely satisfying that something came out today, even though I had expected to blurt something more belligerent. But , so can be seen in everyday life, I am at my parsimonious best as ever , even at words. Now, that's ironic!
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