What makes me write? Is it because I want other people to know my feelings/opinions? Or is it because am such big fan of “reading” that I make such a horrible attempt to pay my tribute to those great writers.
The ones who have helped me travel not just places but thoughts without as much as moving a muscle. But what I owe them the most for is help me keep thinking…. An activity that I see becoming as uncommon as commonsense ..
Or is it because, I feel it is one of the most powerful channels of expression possessed by the us (read: human beings)….
Or is it because, so that I can hide behind my own expressions, such expressed that they say far less than what they are meant to.
It is weird how, our own words are unable infuse life to our own feelings… Sometimes though I feel it is our fear to see our feeling in black and white makes us feign a crisis in our vocabulary. Otherwise it really does not make sense; how can one not do justice to one’s own feeling.
I sometimes wonder, about this concept of blog (strangely it still does not appear in a dictionary). It is actually a short form of Web Log. In other words, it is log book that one maintains in the internet.. Strange this modern-day incarnation of a “personal diary” has nothing personal about it..
Or is it that it really doesn’t make a difference, if your thoughts and feelings are read by some who doesn’t know you..
It’s like you can’t get naked in at home or with people around who you know.. but you have no issues to lose your clothes in a place where no one knows you…
So you are ok, if someone reads your thoughts/feelings and treats them like just a piece of writhing, but you are not ok if people who actually care read it…
I guess, we humans like mysteries so much because we are the best personification, but a little adulterated with melodrama…
If what you read doesn’t make sense or seems unorganized.. well it means I have ctrl+c and ctl+v my mind without using the same mind to make sense of it…
0 comments:
Post a Comment