It has indeed been a while since I had a conversation in this blog. I know, what a cliché to begin with. But I guess it is honest. Writing things to put up here actually associates with a lot of such feelings. Such ‘clichés.’ Feelings that create a nostalgia that we so repeatedly speak about. Like a hot cup of tea on a rainy evening. Like the smell of wet mud on a Sunday afternoon. Like a barefoot walk on a sandy beach.
These aren’t just metaphors anymore. They are feelings so universal that you could bottle them, and put them on a rack and people will know them as flavours. These are crutches that people sail through this brutal world on. They work as a push. They pull you to themselves. They give you a kick unmatchable to the best kind of wine. And yet, you don’t get to experience them when you want them most. It’s a high you can’t choose. Life decides when it tickles you. Almost like your fate.
I wonder if this is an addiction. Actually, it is. I am addicted to this stimulation. I am addicted to inspiration sending shivers down my spine. I am addicted to being drawn to write. To being moved. To being reduced to tears. To rising up to new beginnings and to lying awake in anticipation. I am addicted, to being alive!
But fortunately, or unfortunately, this is a feeling that comes only in parts. Or in phases. In days, sometimes. And sometimes, just in moments.
You can’t help when it touches you. You can’t help its high. You can’t help anything to do with it. Not even the fact that you are addicted.
Days pass awaiting motivation. Awaiting that spark that will light up your mind. You are not sad or depressed. Not even unhappy. You are just empty. With a hollow that continues to surround you.
How then do you help yourself? How do you put your foot down? How do you take life in your hands? How do you trace the flavours back? How then, do you become alive again??
Persistence they say is the key. Hard work is what fits the bill. You must keep doing, they say. I wish they could also tell me doing what? What is it exactly that I have to do?
I can keep writing bad things; I perhaps one day will have something good. I might become famous with that one click. Life might become better after that. But success and fame isn’t what I signed up to writing for. I signed up to writing because it made me happy. And I wanted to be happy every day.
What do I do now? I am addicted to the high it gives me. And still, I have nothing to say.
As I put these thoughts down, it dawns onto me. I’ve to find something to say perhaps. Look for that high. That inspiration. It is the stimulation I’ve to seek. And until I find it, not write!
A miracle then, will perhaps happen. And in that search, of that new flavour to bottle, I might find my happiness, in the bottleneck!