I realized I haven’t been writing much. That I should be, at least whenever I feel like. Lately, I’ve been stuck, not getting the ideas into paper much, and lost between too many meandering thoughts. With the couple of stories I have at hand right now, I am feeling that I am not writing enough, but when I am in front a blank sheet there’s too much to write, and more often than not, nothing coherent comes out in the thousands of words I write. So I delete, and write again. But today I decided to jot down whatever I have been through for a last couple of weeks.
I have been ill. Yes, at times I have feared death, and that it will come and consume me when I am least prepared. I felt choked out at nights, due to my problem, something that is a lot better now, but that feeling – I can’t get it out of my system. It hit me when I thought I was secure. That feeling of not completing what I have started, of unfinished business, is possibly one of the worst. So my days combating that feeling has been pretty mundane in the eyes of a commoner, but not for me. I have been fighting it, and still am. It’s a disturbance that is unlikely to go away anytime soon.
But it has also taught me a lesson or two. I increasingly feel more focused towards my goal, and how I want to achieve it. Big words, coming from a lazy guy like me, but that jerk into reality is something that I needed. I need to write, I need to survive, I need to thrive and share and see places and never, ever feel regretful for anything.
A friend of mine often laments that the last couple of years have been only hard for him. I don’t know what that is compared to mine, but I have been giving excuses much, staying in the shadows much of my life, away from the niceties. Maybe it’s time for me to shed that grey gown and step into the limelight and soak in some of that. Maybe I am too scared of people seeing my scars.
Since last year, I have picked up my habit of reading again. I read a couple of books last year, around 15 odd, and I would like to have that increased this year. I am often too picky about what I read – that needs to go away. A resolution I guess.
I also feel I am worried and concerned about too many people, too many things around me which leave impacts on my psyche. This needs to be cut down if I am to focus on my own scattered life and pick the pieces up to join them together. Maybe they won’t be as incoherent as my writing, and maybe I’ll finally get a meaning out of it. I once wrote that many people purposelessly exist in this planet. They just live and die, without leaving any memories. How strange it is that I find myself in the same place more often than not. Maybe I am observing my own life and quipping about it, thinking that I am looking at the lives of others.
There’s a strange thought which Kiarostami’s ‘Certified Copy’ gave me. Are our lives really ours, or are they copies of someone else’s? Have you ever thought of that?
I will write a review of that movie soon.