???

Strangely, that's exactly how things look to me now...

I really couldn't come up with a title.... and all I was trying to do was complete one of my "huge" posts in draft... but something inside me was tugging at the core.. it's as if I am writing mechanically and suddenly something gets my attention.. and my well tuned & habituated brain just hit a speed breaker... and then, I could not understand what I was writing.. or for that matter, why... I know this sounds crazy... I am not a regular blog writer.. I can't be having a writer's block... no.. it has to be something deeper...

The reason I started to blog was because of reading many a blogs and one of them (a blogger who is now a good friend) inspired me enough to actually start it up... to me, blogging was opening up a whole new world.. a world that was, for a change, completely under your control... it's my creation... I am the creator... I am the puppeteer... it's almost like I am God... No, I am not talking about religion or politics or about having any special power over anyone.. I am just talking about the feeling of power you get when you write...

For most, writing blogging is a way to vent yourself out.. for some, its to tell the world what you are too afraid to say in person... for me, its almost like magic... and its because of the tales I can weave with my words... mundane things turned interesting by use of one word over the other... attention to the detail, overlooking the looming obvious... the good, the bad, the ugly.. its all in my hands.. The knowledge that someone out there reading this would, for at least sometime, forget their worries, ignore their problems, overlook their shortcomings, come out of their sorrows and just lose themselves in my world.. a world they know nothing about.. but are not afraid to come in and explore... the feeling of elation that somehow somewhere, you managed to touch someone... that was what brought me here...

And I realize, that's not what I am doing.. heck! forget about doing it right or wrong, I don't think I have been doing it at all... all these posts about how and what happened to me and around me... apart from remaining as memories, are actually a part of me shared with someone... someone that I may not even know... I am under no illusion that someone would come back just to know what's happening with me... no.. if someone was to come back, it would be more to relive what I went through.. a sort of a portal where someone is transformed to where I was... to be able to see and feel things from my place... and why would someone want that, you ask? coz of two things - One: there is always this sense of content, a sense of belonging, that someone else is going through the same things that you would, had you been in their place... two and the simple reason why: we are so obsessed wid our own lives & its intricacies that it actually feels good to see life through someone else's eyes..

So, what does it all mean? If I am so sure of what I want to do and why I am doing it and, in this rare instance, know how to do it, where lies the problem? or considering this is rhetorical question (coz the answer is obviously me), the correct question is probably, what is the problem...

The fire for that power, that I envisaged in me, doesn't seem to be there... I am not getting the interest or the "high" that I expected... does it mean I am not cut out for writing? or does it just mean I haven't found the right things to write about? am I actually capable enough? or am I as disillusioned by my own fantasies as I am about my happiness? Is this a reflection of my state of mind? are my unspoken anger, frustrations, disappointments and  yearnings taking a toll on the thing that I thought I enjoyed? or am I just letting my cursed thinking to go on its wonder ride, letting my mind slip through the rabbit hole into a world filled with concocted reality - false that I want to believe, truths that I want to ignore...

When I start to write something, I am so full of energy.. the words just flow through me.. I don't have to think.. I know what I have to write and how exactly to write it.. and then something suddenly dies inside.. half way through.. like some ghost that had possessed me, suddenly realizing it had other important things to do and just vanishing away, leaving me in the cold... I am tempted to joke that I am missing the "spirit" of writing... but what if I really am...