It’s been a long time since I’ve logged in. You see, things haven’t been going my way recently and when that happens, I tend to turn my back on “things” and draw into myself. Rather like a truculent child throwing a temper tantrum. It’s not a healthy way to deal with it. But, by now, it has become a reflex that’s hard to suppress. Like the craving for cake on a particularly wintry evening. A lot of people suffer due to this reflex of mine and yet, I seem incapable of allaying their concerns. It makes me feel like I’m somehow betraying the Hippocratic Oath I was supposed to take at my graduation.
So, this morning, I set out on a walk at my mother’s behest during those hours of the morning when the roads are still blissfully pollution-free and here I am, sitting in a walker’s park, typing into my computer and attracting stares from the rest of the vigorously ambulating populace.
But, now that I’ve forced myself to start writing again, I’m struck by writer’s block. I don’t know what to write. I’ve already unloaded upon you, Dear unsuspecting, non-existent Reader all the thoughts that had coherently formed while sweat dripped down my arms on my walk here. What is left to say, that will be honest and yet, make sense? Ah! The conundrum that traps me every time I put my pen to paper. The issue of the thin line between reality and fiction. How far can I carry a lie to make it believable? I’m still experimenting with the answers.
I wish I can fill these pages with fantastical tales of my life. Except that my life is not that fantastical. I wish I can tell you stories of the adventures I went on during the 23 years of my life. Alas, I can’t think of any. Maybe, I can thrill you with the horrors that have tormented my dreams and fabricated my nightmares? I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dear Reader, but when I do obtain REM sleep, it’s fairly un-vivid.
As you can see, I’m an ordinary girl with an ordinary life. I go through the everyday ups and downs and the everyman’s emotions and vulnerabilities. I do not have Harry Potter’s magic, nor do I have Enid Blyton’s wisdom, but, at times, just at times, I feel special; I feel grateful for this life which has given me this opportunity to experience this ordinariness. Just at times, like this morning, in spite of the stress that’s waiting to strike the moment I put down this pen, in spite of not knowing where my life is leading, I just feel incredibly happy to be alive.
From an unyielding marble bench and the light of the dawning day, a very Good Morning to the world!