Past the Oceans

I’ve always had the urge to travel, to go somewhere far. The urge used to whisper softly in my ears, but now it is screaming. I need to go past thousand of oceans and seas and beyond. I want to inhale new worlds and exhale the worlds I’ve known.

The loathsome city will be left behind. The devilish people will not be remembered. And the nights with the moon shall not find me sorrowful again. The promise of novel souls to meet, different places to see, and soft air to breathe is a breathtaking one. But most importantly, it is a promise of finding oneself again; after the gruesome loss caused by living and interacting with people without passion, compassion, or open-mindedness.

It’s making my heart uneasy, knowing that there are marvelous places I’ve not yet seen, dandy books I’ve not yet read, and amazing people I’ve not yet met. Yet.

A long journey it is going to be; and despite loving solitude, I think about company. Having someone I love with me is a fascinating possibility. Wanderlust supplemented by love is but the ultimate sanctuary.

My story is just unfolding, and I can’t wait for the journey to begin.

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Nothingness

When I write these words, when I let you have a glimpse of something unknown; something unknown to me, but living within my mind, my heart. It is not because I want you to understand or relate but, rather, because I have to get it out. What is it? It is a dark, overwhelming, excruciating inability to feel anything. It is addictive, it is destructively empowering, and it is arcane.

A myriad of experiences impacted me. I became intoxicated with pathological thought; like a blurry, disturbed lake water as someone has dropped a rock into. With violent ripples forming on the surface, the reflection on the water becomes distorted, and unlike normal water, the ripples never disappeared with time, and the water never became still and clear again. I was forever blurry, and the distortion everlasting.

But I do forget sometimes; I forget what it is like. Forgetting is a temporary sanctuary. And I do hope sometimes; I hope that someday something or someone will make that sanctuary a permanent one.

I’m tired.

It seems to me that over the course of time I fail miserably to be who and what I want to be. The conflict that is being acceptable to most people by behaving in accordance with their perspective on social life which is precisely in contrast to being myself and having a different perspective is invariably devastating. What is more devastating is that I find myself unconsciously acting as they expect me to.

Long sleepless nights spent thinking about things that were done only because they were expected of me to do and not because I meant to do them. Things that I said but never meant simply because saying what I really thought would have been considered queer, and consequently would have made me “unacceptable” for violating their social norms.

It is a ferocious struggle to keep the preservation of truly and completely being yourself when it is blemished by the environment that you live in; an environment radiating obsolete way of thinking, and when it is escaping your grip.

I honestly have apathetic indifference to what people think, but it saddens me that the truth could be that I’m too scared to be who I really am or that If I was allowed to be it, I would disappoint myself.

Am I what society allows me to be or am I too scared?!

4 am.

Everyone’s resided in a kingdom of dreams and nightmares. My eyes remain wide open, for I don’t usually visit that kingdom at this particular time. I’m awake and accompanied by thoughts. They’re my company, but why do they keep telling me that I’m lonely?!

Perhaps I’m not so lonely; I have the moon, the stars, and the dawn. I love them, they are marvelous, and they keep me company. How could I be alone when I have them?! And I’m certain that they’ll never leave before I do. So, am I really lonely?

Perhaps I’m in love with the tranquility of this time of the day. It is the perfect time to wander into the limitless iridescent worlds your mind creates; the worlds where you are your real self with no faces, no fake smiles, and no false images. You just feel like you’re the only person on earth, and though your thoughts would tell you it’s lonely, and though you might feel it is, and you wish you had someone you love with you, it is also beautiful and peaceful.

At 4 am, you either be asleep or you be at a different kind of world. 

 

Reading to Write

Quoth The Wordsmith

663092_26111643 You’ll often hear that in order to write, you need to read. Many prominent authors stick by it and advise aspiring writers to make a practice of always having a piece of literature on the go. It’s good advice, as long as you know that if you are reading to write, you need to look at the writing that you are reading differently. Here’s how I do it:

-Accept and note the areas that you have trouble with, whether they include dialogue, structure, characterization, setting, etc. Know and embrace the fact that you have room to improve.

-Pick a story or a book (or a few!) that really made an impression on you in terms of style, tone, and connection. It should be something that you don’t mind reading again, and that you would give a glowing review.

-Read the story slowly. Take your time. Figure out how that story…

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Her Death in the Chapter

Books and movies. They provide a sanctuary for those who seek beauty in the form of words. Even though this beauty could sometimes make us cry our eyes out, it gives us this priceless and beautiful feeling.

The writer creates a person, and it’s not just a person. It’s a fraction of the writer’s soul. And we… we fall in love with that fraction. We draw this perfect image of that fraction in our minds, and we fantasize how great it would be if it was real. We live the written words with this person, and we even fantasize about being that person.

The essence of the book-movie-beauty is when that person dies in the book or in the movie. It is really beautiful how we get affected emotionally by their death. We cry, we grieve, and we spend days like this. It really is dazzling how we are affected by such a work of art that it makes us cry. sad, yet beautiful.

Sadness is a beautiful feeling, and it brings out your artistic self a bit. And it’s even more beautiful when it is induced by a movie or a book.