So my blank soul won’t let me write.


I was just having a conversation with myself. And yes, I realize that is a weird thing to do, but hey, I have never denied my insanity. So basically, I was cross with myself for not writing as much. My excuse is I have been preoccupied with you know, life. But like I said it is just an excuse.  My main reason (and I had to bully myself to get myself to admit this) is I’m just blank. You could take that as lack of inspiration, or not just enough drive to work on my motivation, or even more directly, a crushing lack of words. But that is not it. Because I am that person who always has words whirling in mind. I am always constantly obsessing about something. So it is not that my mind is blank, it is more of my soul being blank. Does that even make sense?

Let me try to explain that. I believe in the concept of souls. I believe that that the human life is basically your brain trying to make some sense, maybe prioritize the yearnings of your soul, and maybe your heart trying to put some feeling to it. Though I have to say, I am not entirely comfortable with this last bit. See, I detest the notion that the human heart is for any other purpose than pumping blood. I know it is stupid and nonsensical, but thinking about it makes me feel pathetic, normal and cliché for absolutely no rational reason whatsoever. And I hate being normal. But I digress. My point was, I believe in giving life your best shot, especially when life gives you that one thing that you absolutely love doing. Because when you pour your soul into something, it is like imprinting your life onto infinity. It is a way of insuring your life as insignificant as it may be, against the tides of the universe, against the passing of time, against the forgetfulness of the human mind. It is basically, in a small way, ensuring you live forever. Because souls are forever, they transcend one lifetime and even when you are reincarnated into another lifetime, you are never forgotten, not completely. The person you become will more than once catch the glimpses, or dream or at least fantasize about the person you once were. And maybe it is crazy, but that is all I want from life.

And that is why I write. Because I want the piece of me that I love the most to live forever. Because let’s face it, other than that, I am going to live a pretty ordinary life.  We all do. And we like to pretend that we can make our lives as extraordinary as we want to but who are we kidding? All we really are trying to do is find a way to put food on the table. It is all our lives have been reduced to. And that is why I am so mad at myself for not writing as much as I could have for these past few months. But like I said, I have been a little blank lately. And blank is just my way of saying, numb and sore and empty and lifeless. Am I okay? Yes I am. Just not in the way that matters. And I am probably going to sound like a psychotic, ungrateful person looking for problems when I have absolutely none. But does anyone ever go through a phase, I am hoping it is a phase, when absolutely nothing happens it begins to bother you. When I say nothing, I mean nothing touches your core, nothing resonates with who you are. Because I have stuff going on, for starters, school is stressing me to the bone. I swear there are days I have considered deferring for a semester or two.  But I can deal with that. What I cannot deal with is how raw, but numb I feel. It is like feeling a pain that isn’t exactly there. You can feel it but you can’t explain it, let alone quantify it. It is this thought sitting at the back of your mind, constantly reminding you that you could pretend and stay positive all you want, but one day, it is going to come to the surface and you are going to have the roughest patch in a while. And you know what the worst part is, it is going to be triggered by the most uncorrelated of events, like your roommate forgetting to put ginger on your potatoes when she cooks.  It is having to sit here and feel a non-existent pain so deeply, it is scary.  It is having to nurse invisible, preemptive wounds. It is having to try not to lose your sanity. It is having to chase your sanity. It is wanting to catch a breath so badly.  It is not making sense in an entire blog post. It is having to pep talk myself into believing that I still am sane, somehow.


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