I wanted to check it again. But I had a feeling that I would be again disappointed but something deep down inside me still wanted that weekly dose; as if it would soothe an aching pain or meet a yearning desire. I guess goodbyes are hard like they say, it’s only easy if you’re never going to miss that person or thing.
I remember a time when I was trying to take writing really seriously and I read con amore virtually everything I could find useful on the internet – everything that could help me improve, write coherently and articulately: blogs, publications, reportage, op-eds, reviews and other spectrum of literary works and in one of my discourse, I found a blog that posted lively articles on weekly basis.
This particular blog caught my fancy as articles I found there were forged out of mundane and ignorable occurrences which always had some message(s) ensconced in its deft dazzling maze of verbiage. As time went by, I followed the blog with a queer consistency and sometimes I had to read previous posts again just to remember a particular new word, phrase or lesson I had earlier picked up.
I wonder how someone could conjure something daringly lucid and this left me sometimes swirled in a mixed grill of despair – would I ever be able to do this? – and hope – perchance, this is a beacon of light to help blaze the trail of my inchoate yearn?
And although I expected it, I never imagined that the flow would stop so soon. When it happened, my morale ebbed and I knew I had lost a potential source of inspiration but I had to move on, at least with my own scoop of the idyllic waters .
In contrast to moving on, I had this constant urge to check again whether I would find a new post. And although I was constantly disappointed, I felt a queer satisfaction within me that eased my itchy fingers and inured mind. But recently, I remembered a quote one of my few ‘friends’ said a while ago during one of our solemn discussions.
‘If it is dead, it is dead; don’t go checking again every five minutes if it still has a pulse.’
Then I made up my mind not to check the blog again several times and vacillated. I guess I couldn’t resist the accounts of the lively twists and turns that I was peckishly missing.
Anne Lammot in her April 2017 Ted talk titled 12 lessons I learnt from life and writing said:
“You are going to feel like hell if you wake up someday and you never wrote the stuff that is tugging up on the sleeves of your heart: your stories, memories, visions and songs – your truth, your version of things – in your own voice. That’s really all you have to offer us and that’s also why you were born.”
And honestly I don’t want to be guilty of that consequential statement – I don’t want to feel like hell sometimes later in the future thinking about my vernal years wistfully. So I’ve decided to put my experiences, expectations and thoughts into writing. I hope I don’t falter.
I smirk anytime I write and remember the blog and how it encouraged and pushed me that I could do a little bit of magic with words. Maybe some of us have to be pushed into doing things we wouldn’t do; I’m not sure.
And in all of that, one thing that gladdens my heart the most is that with words, I found another way to interact with life, I found another way to live.
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