A Soliloquy

A cry for help went unnoticed, uncared for, ignored. 

Parted lips, but no words came out. 

Craved silence inside, but it was right in front of me.

Unspoken words screamed.

Yes, silence is loud.

Unknown breaths can feel surprisingly warm.

I think I have had more conversations with myself than I have ever had with anyone else. My high school teachers were right, I do talk a lot. Spending time with myself is easy for me but lately hasn't been. Sometimes I behave like I'm doing a soliloquy in some movie, or book; my eyes become the camera's frame. The world of imagination and aesthetics pulls me to be a romantic. They say, one shouldn't dwell on sadness or brood for too long; well then how long before we get pulled right into that whirlpool from where there is no return?

Floating on the surface of the sea, as blue as lapis lazuli, the cold water feeling like a chill cushion on the back of the head, I can feel the sunrays on my face. Calm, and just in time. If I could be so right now, I would chose to drown. For everything means so little now.

It is strange how lonely it can feel in the absence of someone even though so many others could be listening to you.

For, even if I had the world to talk to, maybe I would still choose

A Soliloquy.

Creatively Handicapped

 It is the 7th of March, 2021, and I am reconnecting with my abandoned blog, with some clay facemask on, on a warm Sunday afternoon. Let me be honest with my readers, I did abandon this page, mostly because I got busy every time I thought of writing something, but also because I was not sure of my writing skills anymore. Being busy- sounds like an excuse right? You are probably right. We make time for things we want to do, but does that make other things less important? I am not sure, hence today I will try to write about why I haven't written much lately.

 Initially, I was just lazy, so I ended up procrastinating a lot of my time. Hence, quite a few times I did think of writing, even had the thoughts lined up, but did not type it out. The lockdown was harsh on everyone, in some way or the other, and while it did make some of us accidentally creative, some others had a hard time extracting their creative ideas, unlike before. Like many others, I also journaled my thoughts sometimes, but that became irregular too. I used to write about my experiences, my thoughts, my worries and also about some happy times but soon my journal became a hideout for me. It became like a treasure chest of anything I could not or did not talk to my friends about. Less good times and more bad times were recorded in my confidante. As a result, whenever I flipped through the pages, hoping to chance upon some old forgotten memory, instead of feeling the warmth of nostalgia, all I felt was hurt. Reading about the depressed portions, made me go through the hurt and angst all over again. I was not ready for that. Soon, I stopped journaling. Once the flow was gone, I could not help it either.

Meanwhile college began. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Being in the same virtual environment with so many other creative people did inspire me and although the first semester was crazy, I did produce a lot of good quality artworks but then semester break made me realize how exhausted I was. So, I took some time off, focused on some other things and started spending more time with my friends. But now, after one and a half months of being into second semester, and still not being where I should be, I am worried. Is it a creative block? Is it my procrastination? Am I having a crisis where I am just unable to create something worthwhile? Or do I have expectations from myself which have become too high to accomplish every time? I do not know.

I might be getting a bit impatient soon, because one cannot survive design college with such kind of a haze. Everyone needs a break right? I have had mine; only to be unable to reinforce myself back to the tragedy that is online college. Although, I am having a good time otherwise, making new memories with each passing day, making new friends too. 

Today I made the effort of writing something: progress, is it? Maybe tomorrow I will be able to create something better. But until tomorrow comes, I shall call myself: Creatively Handicapped.