I’ve been wanting to blog for the past many days but somehow the effort of sitting down in front of the computer to type out a post seemed too heavy. It’s an odd feeling because I’ve always used writing to purge myself…sometimes it’s the only escape when life is going too fast to handle. So it’s kind of unsettling to feel afraid of writing. It’s a new feeling and one that doesn’t worry me, but it scares me at times. What if one day I wake up to find that I can’t even string together enough words to come up with a non-academic sentence?! What will there be left then…

I’m not trying to sound morbid. Merely realistic. I wonder if practicality makes me a realist? I still don’t understand so many of these philosophical terms per-se; perhaps I need to start paying more attention in class instead of seeing how many song lyrics I can fit in the smallest margin of my note-book while everyone else is discussing issues which they deem far more important but most of which I, frankly, find a lot less interesting. Not because I’m plain stupid but because I don’t propound myself to be an ‘intellectual’ (whatever that word is supposed to mean!) in a way that I’m not…I’m sorry if I don’t quote Ghalib in every second point I raise, or use religion as a scapegoat for every opinion I have or speak without caring if it’s relevant to any matter at hand! Today there seemed to be a general consensus on the claim that you need to have pain in order to understand happiness – in other words, you need to know one emotion if you want to realise its opposite. There was some dissent, but most people seemed to agree with the proposition…it got me thinking and I still can’t relate to it completely… hurt is hurt and happiness is happiness – what more is there to it?

But, in the end, it’s all words. It’s all just darned words. Meaningless letters forcibly adjoined to give names to the unfathomable. Don’t think I am underestimating the power of a single word even…words are my own domain. I relish within them, and am lost without them. I toy around with them as much as I want, and they won’t let go. I know they won’t stop being mine – ever. I hold them sacred, revere them, glorify them, breathe them…and yet, they fail me.

They fail me, and leave me helpless. And then feelings within cannot find expression. Misery and anguish remains rampant, desire and want cloaked, ecstasy and wonder useless. I want to but I cannot word my anxiety. I cannot explain my concern, nor even show it. I care and I care and I care… but it is all left futile.

Concern, love, adoration…all rendered useless. Never reaching the person they are meant for. Lost in the middle of nowhere. Diluted and forgotten. Like rivulets of sand shimmering through fingers and carried away by the insensitive winds…leaving nothing, not even their scars…

disillusioned

My heart is unbearably heavy, and I'm not sure why. I just want to fall into someone's arms and cry. Let go of reason. Escape from reality. Until I know I can face everything again.

At times like this I feel guilty. And thankless. My life is perfect. Happy family, good university...all the important stuff. I have no right to complain. No right at all. I should thank God for every little blessing a million times a day, and even that wouldn't be enough. I know and yet I want to cry. For being a shallow person, for being ungrateful. I don't have the courage to change myself, to accept things as they are...to learn to live knowing that you can't have everything you want. I'm not sure what's going on. I'm uncontrollably crazy and hyper and, at the same time, I'm in mourning. My soul laments and cries in misery, while I talk and gossip and laugh on the outside.

Does that make me double-faced? Am I a hypocrite? Does that mean I'm self-obsessed? Or, maybe, do I just need a friend in my life...?