Lately, I’ve been wondering about what writing means to me.
And why I instinctively avoid writing in first person.
As much as it is an honesty issue, I figure it has much to do with dealing with me.
Every time I run from writing, I run from me.
I don’t like saying statements that would make me cringe when I read it the next time around. I don’t like sounding like an indulgent ten year old. And yes, I do not like situations where I have to contest that my mental age is frozen at fourteen.
I feel like writing. Every damned day.
I feel like opening my eyes, absorbing a moment of beauty, and keeping it there. Just as beautiful. So the world can read the same beauty that I’d seen there, then. And it’s always in wondering, if somebody else smiles the way I do, or loses at least one of the senses to a moment.
Do people smile at a cashier counting coupons, her lips and tongue moving soundlessly to English numerals, with Tamilian phonetics? Can deja vu happen by way of smell? Isn’t listening to someone, with your eyes watching their eyes smile, light up, disappear to places you can’t tell, a wonderful thing? Does anyone watch how they absently smile, and let you in on how their faculties are continually fabricating words, gestures, expressions to translate what they’re processing deep inside – letting you in on something so private?
Writing, to me, is what I heard when I was listening.
Writing, to me, is when I pin down zero intent, and pure indulgence into structure, form, prose, poetry, images, visuals. Verbs, adjectives. Values, judgments, grammatical errors, clauses.
Is when I archive everyday, and sew days together with words.
—
For the bandies and Pappu. I love you more, and more, everyday.
For goo. I love you very much.
For my evil twins, Samurai and Billy, I miss you both.
And for someone who finds me annoying. Thank you, for everything.
Sewn Together 
too much coffee, indeed.
*repeating self for 47th time*You’re the best writer-friend I know!You feel like writing ‘every damned day’? Lucky ‘every damned day’!Love you bebby.:)
“Writing, to me, is what I heard when I was listening.”- Why I love you, though i do a terrible job at telling you that…
Write more.
I think, writing, to you, is a portion of your soul that you forcibly tear apart and sew it back together, but with words…You expose the hidden inner beauty of things, of objects, of words and of feelings, oh and of moments, on the outside. Write on, my friend… 🙂
The comment written above is the gayest thing i have read in a long long time.
Blackbirds choose not to sing in first person, especially in the dead of the night.. =) -Billy. missing you tremendously.::many hugs::
owwwwwwwww:'(
“does deja vu, happen by way of smell?”.For the first time in ages, I am stirred.
and don’t you EVER stop.you’re the best goddamn writer i ever know. you have the power to melt, with just the way you play with words. it’s a talent that’s been given to you for a reason. so, don’t ever even try running away from you again. love you. and if will paste you like a dart board and shoot you with writing implements if you act too smart. beware. – from your biggest fan.
“Can deja vu happen by way of smell?”Sure. Many of my memories are triggered by smell (ew). And if my brain is tired enough, it often feels like I’ve already done something that just happened.I love your blog. Seriously though, since you said you felt like writing every day- why don’t you? You can be assured of a dedicated fan following 🙂