How hard is it to make two people talk. How hard could it be. How hard could the hardest of our problems really be. Do they have anything in them? Or maybe we just couldn’t talk about them. Why burden somebody with the weight of our own problems. Imagine a big circle, and anybody could come there and sit inside the circle and just talk about their problems. Sometimes, talking about the problems aloud helps to understand them in a better way. And without understanding our problems, how can solutions be found.
Why do I wake up with this damned feeling. I can’t feel my wings. I know they are there. Why am I living with this damned feeling. I’m paying for my sins. There’s a cost to going mad and staying that way. I lay down and try to breathe. Something hollow is growing inside of me. A sinking feeling. I do not wish to fall sick again. I want to fly. Well, that’s far fetched. I want to feel good again. I want this curse lifted off of me. It’s been very long.
Consistency is the key. To keep doing it everyday no matter what. To take time out for doing it. To keep your vision clear every moment. To visualise your dream every moment. To work towards your vision every moment. To have a single goal and not be wavered from it. To confront your fears every moment, to kick obstacles out of your way. To keep walking ahead no matter what.
‘Don’t you want to share something of your own tonight? I mean everybody else is sharing something of their own. What about you?’
‘I don’t know. Share what?’ I replied.
‘Something that you might have written? I’ve heard that you write. Or you might sing a song for us.’
‘Oh no. No singing songs for me. I love listening to them, not singing them. As far as sharing something of what I have written, I can’t do it even if I want to. I don’t remember anything of what I have written. I write in the moment mostly’ I replied.
The man heard me, laid back and continued drinking. A minute later, he said, ‘The reason I asked you to share something is that I’ve been looking at you since quite some time and I think there’s pain in you and you might want to share it.’
‘Everybody is in pain. That’s not important’ I replied with a smile.
I would like to remind you little bit of what I am. What am I. Let’s leave the question for a moment. Let’s focus on something else. On what? Let’s stop focusing on anything for a while. Let’s sit quietly for a while. Eyes closed. Breathing as normally as you can. Can you hear the faint noise of fresh rain? I can. The raindrops are falling and falling and falling, probably wetting everything. I want to walk out of my room and see. I refuse to walk out. I walk out. The rain has stopped now. I walk downstairs, stand there, watch the floor, now wet, reflecting bar lights. I look around. Drunkards everywhere getting in getting out. I scratch my beard and walk back upstairs and into my room.
Every morning, I wake up and start waiting for the night. All of day time is just time wasted. It hurts me but I cannot do anything much about it. That hurts too. It isn’t until late hours of night when I finally get to sit in my space. My very own space. A small room with a table and two chairs and a table lamp and a couch on which I fall at the very end until sleep comes. I put on some music, write a bit, read a bit, just lay down often. A pile of books is waiting to be read. I haven’t read much in the past couple of years. Yes, that’s right. It’s changing now. I’m reading again.
Yesterday, I read this beautiful line. ‘Illness shortens the distance between a man and a woman.’ The book is Snow Country by Yaaunari Kawabata, a Japanese writer. The line reminded me of my mother and father and an incident from a decade ago. I will write about the incident some other time.
Night is here. I’m sitting in my chair, typing. My back aches and so do my arms. I’ve forgotten to put on some music. Strange. There are still a couple of hours to kill before I throw myself on the couch.
Cannot help but feel guilty of not waking up early. It isn’t enough to say to myself that the body was too tired to wake up. No. I’m not convinced. It’s a lie. I could have woken up earlier, much earlier. Now, my whole day will be spent feeling guilty. It’s a crazy thing to feel guilty. It’s crazier to feel guilty about losing time. Time lost doesn’t come back.
You can’t be a writer without writing a lot. You can’t be a painter without painting a lot. You can’t be a photographer without clicking a lot of pictures. It’s never about carrying these stupid tags. You’ve got one life. Just live it. Take experience of your immediate surroundings. It isn’t like you have to do something all the time. Often, you can just observe how things are, and maybe, if you feel like it, record it in some form. You can do it without having any kind of pressure over your head. Do the work. Do the hard work. Do some more and more and more. Just keep doing it. There’s no other way.
The cabin is new. The chair is new. The people are new. The strangers here are new to me too. The food is new. The lights are new. The fights are new. The coffee is new. The coffee cups are new. The drinking water seems new as well. This pen is a new pen. This fan is a new fan. The wind is new. The doors are new. The windows new. This sitting is a new kind of sitting. This waiting is a new kind of waiting.
Am I creative? I mean, I’m trying to understand for years what creation means, and what it means to create. Creating doesn’t mean, for sure, to create a copy of something that already exists. In that sense, does creation mean the act of bringing to this universe what doesn’t exist? Maybe it is so. And if so, does being creative mean being able to bring something entirely new to this universe? Maybe it is so. And if it is so, then I don’t know if whatever the hell that results in any kind of creation. But one thing is sure. Man is capble of creating beautiful things.
But lately, something has happened to man. I don’t know what. It’s like we are stuck in a loop. We are busy creating copies and copies of copies. Wait. What the hell am I doing. This wasn’t supposed to be a critique.
Talking about myself, I’m trying to write better pieces and I’m trying to click better photographs. Lately, I’ve been busy more in photography and editing than in writing and reading. I’m trying to balance both my passions. Wait what? Ridiculous. Everything that I’ve written sounds ridiculous when I read it aloud. I’ll stop right here.
You must be logged in to post a comment.