Wednesday, 16 October 2013


Quite honestly, I don't know how to begin this. But there you have it.

How do people write in blogs, anyway? Do they put it all down in their notebooks first, read and edit their thoughts before posting? Do they just type straightaway - spilling raw and serrated thoughts onto the blank page? Do they prepare outlines? Do they write in plain prose, or in flowing verse?

The way I'm doing it right now, is this: staring at the mostly white computer screen, my canvas, while cursing myself for stupidity the colors in my head that simply won't come out. Then, when I feel almost frustrated over my uninspired state, I switch tabs. I check my Facebook account, where another person I barely remember adding has sent me another Candy Crush request. I also take a peep at CRS, wondering if my professors have already uploaded my grades. No such luck.

I remember thinking that I'm going to make this blog post so I can start afresh, write without thinking of the old things I've written. I remember rereading my own poems and shaking my head at them. I remember the fleeting thoughts that came to me, those that I fell in love with, though they were too fanciful that I should have known they couldn't be.

Then, I lose myself in reverie.

"It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope, which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word. And then, that word grew louder and louder, until it was a battle cry."*

Without realizing, I'd turned everything into a battle. In my overactive imagination, it's always a blood-red sky and the clashing of metal - the suspenseful state of being almost there, of almost winning and nearly losing.

At the most cold-blooded, it's a chess game. Me against myself. Me against expectations. Me against history. Me against the world.

Yes, like that.

Now, I think I know. I have a better idea of why I started this blog. Sure, the starting-on-a-clean-slate shtick is still there, but this has more to do with boredom.

I'm bored of conformity, of things being all the same. I'm tired of following fads. I'm tired of having too many rules, of things ending before they can begin.

I'm tired of saying goodbye, too. I thought that by beginning again, I can say goodbye to my silly, overly romantic self and all the embarrassing verses I wrote about things I barely knew. But I can never do that. They will come back. They are sure to call me back someday, since they were never the ones to leave. I was the one to walk away.

The world is round. Sooner or later, I'll be back at the point of departure.

Case in point: this post is at its end. And it's just as undecided as the beginning. Well, almost.


*apologies to Regina Spektor