My Journey

Once I started to approach the mark of around 100 articles here, I started to tell myself, I gotta start mixing it up now. Never mind how difficult it was to write that much, or the reason why I was able to do it in the first place. I figured that I'd never get anywhere by writing spur-of-the-moment gibberish with little to no thought behind it. Stream of consciousness is just another word for lazy, I figured. There has to be something more meaningful I could do than just writing about writing, saying so little in so many words. Indeed, the entire process of writing involves so much more than just projectile vomiting your thoughts and ideas onto a page and calling it a done deal. It involves planning, research, rereading, various layers of editing, polishing, marketing, and publishing.  Yet I'd be lying if I said that it doesn't get me anywhere at all. If nothing else, I can master the art of showing up. The thing is, getting started is always the hardest step. Going from i...

Why do I even bother sometimes? How many times will I try to do something that obviously doesn't work? Why beat my head against a wall? Isn't it better to just give in? I mean, I feel like shit all the time nowadays. Not literally all the time, of course. I end up forgetting about it again and again, and there's always something to keep me distracted. Always something to do, something urgent that needs tending to and demands my attention. I decided this year to write every single day. I figured that I might forgo my fitness goals, miss out on all the learning opportunities, break my harmonica practicing streak constantly, and still be completely fine as long as I keep writing. I figured that as long as I polished one skill for the whole year, it'd all be worth it. Safe to say that I've failed miserably. I fucked up every single thing on my list, and then some. I backtracked, hit rock bottom, and carved out a newer low. I disappointed myself so many times, that I don...

I don't want to think. I don't want to get carried away by my thoughts and end up in a different neighborhood that might prove perilous. I feel like I should leave my home, and work at a good agency in Mumbai. I have such trouble seeing eye-to-eye with these people, and I often feel alone. I'm starting to feel the stress creep up in my periphery, even though I'm aware of it, it's difficult to just let it go. The thing is, you never know when a thought or feeling that's brushed aside will come back with a vengeance. It's sure to bring all of its pals as well, right along with it. What might've been a short outburst becomes blown out of proportion.  There are other feelings around me, after all. I'm not particularly pleased with the massive amount of work I seem to have in front of me. The Genesis Design website, my personal projects, the neverending hopeless pile-up at work. Then there's the stuff at home I have to help out with and the gym. What...

I get the sense that many people see me as somewhat of a loser. They see a man who's gifted with great potential, but who can't get out of his own way. They see that I know so much, that I am so smart, yet I never seem to achieve much of anything. They see me as talented, and they think I'm throwing it all away. Or perhaps they don't think much of me at all. It's much more likely that they're only thinking of themselves, just like me. Thinking of themselves, they are also obsessed with their position in the rat race. Just like myself, perhaps they too are envious of those "ahead" of them. They want to secure themselves and be surrounded by like-minded people. Everyone wants to be around people they want to become more like. That's the sense I get anyway.  For me, this chase for the better has always been fueled by a deep sense of lack. Ambition fueled by insecurity. Maybe if I'll achieve this or that, once I look better, dress hotter, smell sex...

Well, here we are. May is about to begin three days. Almost half the year behind me now. My weight must be above 100kg. My health, less than ideal. Financially, I suppose I'm well above the water with nothing much to show for it, other than an extremely modest body of work, a considerable sense of marketing, and a better understanding of business. In terms of relationships, I'm not particularly in touch with anyone. When I think of certain people, I feel the love, but it's hard to get utility from passive connections. More on that later.  I had made many plans for myself and set a whole bunch of goals. Above all, I often feel a sense of guilt over not doing anything of my own, so to speak. I suppose I feel quite badly about not meeting my expectations. I feel bad for the streak I lost here, it felt so good to write and create in this bubble, a constant source of joy and purpose. But somehow, somewhere, failure was always in store. Ultimately, I love my dreams, but I refuse ...

I'm in hell and I can't get out. And not the kind of hell that's other people or like how I'm my own worst enemy. I mean that my life is literally a living hell at this moment. It's like, on the surface, someone might say I'm being over dramatic. "Come on, It's not that bad" they might say, "You've got three meals, a cot, and the clothes on your back." "Surely you're not saying you're worse off than those poor folks out there on the street." Not at all, my point isn't that I am in a special kind of hell, no sir, in that sense you'd be quite right. We're all burning in hell together, and it's happening right here on Earth. If only we'd be lucky enough to be granted that sweet release of death, that would be much more preferable. But this? I don't know what to say or do about it, I'm not tired, sick, or feeling suffocated. I'm just sitting here in the middle of the fire. Cooking to a cri...

How're you gonna push that rock up the hill without making any progress? What're you gonna do when your best efforts fail? When the world crumbles down, and you're left all alone, what sense is there to make of it? Horrible things happen every day for no rhyme or reason. Dreams fail. People die. Countless beings suffer fates far worse than death. What is there to feel thankful about in those deep, dark, and murky moments? Those ugly moments covered in mud that reek of something rotten. How does it feel when you spend your entire life struggling against the void, only to watch yourself waste away? What's there to be said about any of it? What's there to be deciphered or understood?  Write and make sense of everything as much as you'd like. Laugh loudly and indulge in the greatest of comforts. Create new art, express yourself, and spread the love. Or dread the inevitable and drag down a dozen or two with you on your way to hell. No matter what you do, all of us wi...