Written Traces

For the past few days, I have been very indecisive about it.  Whether I should say this or not. There is literally nothing to hide, but I see now how it works.  Things you don't say are assumed to be a hidden fact about you.  But why do I take the trouble of saying it when it's clearly visible?  Well, maybe I owe it to those with whom I correspond or perhaps those with whom I communicate only through texts.  Honestly, it's nothing uncomfortable, nor do I avoid talking about it.  It's just that I give it as much attention as it deserves and completely forbid it from overstaying in the limelight.  This is because I have my life to lead and work to do.  And I have absolutely no patience to let this one aspect of my life take up more space than it deserves. Although it has been a part of my life and existence for as long as I care to admit, it still hasn't been everything that I care about in my life.  It has, however, affected how I navigate lif...

Hey, sorry about last time. I was having a mental breakdown, and, as you probably know, it is better to rant on paper than aloud.  Of late, I'm losing track of time as well as of days and dates.  These days, it is not about what day it is but more like what it feels like to be.  Today, for instance, feels like a Saturday.  This is because today I feel like writing. Most of my writing is done on Saturdays. Why?  I don't know for sure, but it's been a long-standing coincidence. Or maybe because the mind quickly develops rituals of its own.  Anyway, coming back to writing.  As I was saying, most of my thoughts are penned on Saturdays. Be it in the form of a journal entry, a piece of prose, or a poem.  This made me think about something I learned while pursuing my master's in English Literature.  Literature has always been referred to as the artistic and creative expression in established forms of writing such as prose, poetry, novels, plays, and...

Life is not easy.  Life is difficult. Life is challenging. Life is relentless. Life is a battlefield, and you are the crippled warrior.  You don't stand a chance.  The only thing you can do is either fight with your dignity intact or surrender, smothering your own self-respect. My bad luck is that I chose the former.  People are fake in brief encounters.  People are selfish in the long run.  Tonight, I struggle to find anything worthwhile in the people I have encountered throughout my life. I'm writing this in a moment of profound frustration. Perhaps time will soften these words, but tonight, this is what the world feels like. For years, I have been instrumental in the success and upliftment of those I considered my own. My assistance is genuine, without any expectation of personal gain, only because I believe that when my time of need arrives, they will remember me. Instead they remind me, in ways subtle and obvious, that I am not worthy of their kindness...

I know it is not usual for you to hear from me so soon.  Twice in a week?  I must be on fire. But lately, nothing seems to keep me engaged for longer than an hour, and my thoughts drift quickly from one thing to another. When it comes to my thoughts and the endless debates that go on in my mind without resolution, I tend to write in search of clarity. Recently, I realised something about myself: I can go for days without talking to anyone and remain completely unbothered. What surprised me wasn't that I could go days without talking because I have done that for years. What surprised me was realising how little it affected me. At first, the silence was meant to teach someone a lesson. The problem was that it had no effect on me. I have spent nearly half of my life on my own. I come from a family where both my parents held respectable positions in their respective fields, and naturally, their work demanded much of their time. On top of that, I have been dealing with health issue...