Back in randomness

I forgot why I used to write. I dont know where the motivation came from, who read it or what some of my posts even meant. I tried to remember. I vividly understand the surge in heartbeat when I wrote an article. Those non flickering anticipation that each word gave.

What happened to old me ?

What happened to my happiness?

I just saw that the blog was more than a decade old. This means, there are pages of desperation, inspiration and flow of emotions for 10 long years. My each writing would reflect my mood of the day.

Where did my power to dream go? Why am I accepting everything on way now?

Currently, I am a wreck. I am not happy, grateful or sincere. I am lost, devastated and nothing is clear to me. Things I believed in are now forgotten. I live in delusion of black tar. I am suffocating in it, and I cant see.

Would you believe if I told you I have been questioning everyone's happiness?

What makes people happy ?

I dont know. I dont know as much as I dont know what to do with myself. I am too egoistic to delve deeper, and ask the right questions. And I am too proud to talk to anyone.

That was when I realized why I wrote.

Was it my heart speaking?

It has always been easier to write. Like in a diary. I could have never been able to win a speech , but I could write. I have always been able to explain pain as much as I could experience it. It was easier, like breathing.

I am sure it didnt make sense to lot of people, but to me, it did. I knew what I was going through with each sentence.

Maybe, I should write more. Only my sister has been pushing me to write more. I should do it.

I never believed in my writing. It was just a farce. A joke.

But now, to save myself, I need to write. And believe in it.

That end of life

Cigarette. The most intriguing commodity I have ever witnessed. It seizes the holder in minutes of madness and claims a power that is inexplicable. Still, he lingers on to it and succumbs. He does not get judgmental in the moments of its companionship and this character makes him vulnerable.

He is lost in its unexplained charm which confuses him of what he thinks of it. He enjoys it in his boredom, failure, thoughts and pleasure. He does not know what he wants nor understands what he gains when it is placed between his fingers.

Irony it may be, but analogies can be drawn from every aspect of life. Are not decisions like the cigarettes?

When two paths unfold and you choose one of them, does that mean a choice? As human of rational thoughts, we would say a yes. But, is there a choice in everything that we foresee and forgo? If the answer is yes again, then decisions make us vulnerable and the hard hitting facts makes us understand that there is more to what we had assumed or known.

Decisions make us succumb to the best of alternatives that has been drawn out of the experiences we accumulated. We make them all the time. We think, confuse ourselves and hold on to what we believe is the best.

I am of opinion that all decisions are of evaluative in nature only after it has been occurred. Just like the cigarettes, you cant be judgmental while acting upon the decision. You have to fall into its confusion and unpredictable nature on the go before understanding the full implication.

What makes a decision right or wrong? Maybe, it is only the outcome that can tell. Till then, you will have to enjoy it in the moments of boredom, failure, thoughts and pleasure. You will have to let yourself indulge in hope and wait in despair for the results you wanted to know.

Decisions can make you addictive like the commodity as it can force you into thinking about it all the time. It is like the nag at the back of the head that appears at times when you need it the least.

When the ashes of the cigarette burn out, would you not be tempted to go into the same dilemma again? Decisions are exactly like that. We make them too often enough to notice. We fall into the same repetitive cycle of ever lasting dilemma.

Except that, decisions don’t burn out like ashes. They stay to make scars.