Writing is cathartic they say. It sure is! One realises one’s own strength through writing. It brings out one’s many facets and in that discovery, come to terms with who you really are, when many a time we are left feeling that we are an enigma to ourselves.
I understood I could articulate better when I am writing than when I am speaking. Clarity of thought flows better and people when they read what I have written are often left with this thought, ‘Did all this really come from THIS person?’
I have always wanted to write, but always put off getting down to serious writing. The urge to write wasn’t that strong. You never do something in life unless you want to, real bad or there is a trigger. So what happened I wonder, as I look back, that made me actually write. I realise now there is a time for everything in life. I came to a point in life which I’d call my turning point. A time when I did some serious introspection. I wanted to understand myself better. I started writing down my fears, my insecurities, and those things I tend to get anxious about. As people say the good always co-exists with the bad. I also started writing about things that made me happy, things that made me want to break out into a song or a jive! I understood I was becoming more sensitive to things around me. I don’t know if this awareness crept in because I started to write or I was writing because of what existed inside me. Somehow, I was opening my heart and soul to everything that was happening around me. Somehow, the night moon looked brighter on a canvass of dark blue sky, the call of the cuckoo bird sweeter amidst all the mysterious sounds, dew on the leaves at dawn more pronounced, the peals of laughter from a child dearer and music more unambiguous. I didn’t know if I had evolved or if I had to credit things around me, but that was the moment of reckoning. The change had to be acknowledged. There never could be better time like today, now, this moment. I re-discovered myself. I also met people who were inspirations. It took a beautiful field of yellow daffodils for Wordsworth to pour forth his internal interpretation. It was a spontaneous, natural feeling. So in that glorious moment was conceived this desire for expression and in its expression, the fruition of fulfilment of this beautiful feeling.