Mind Babble.

I give way too much support to people who need it. I flower them with advice and great words quoted from films, songs and authors, just to make my long motivational messages a little more happy and hopeful. I throw words like they’re confetti, all pretty and colourful, but an eventual absolute waste. What is the point? No, really?
I've done so much to help people, and in actual instances it has worked…but what about myself? I wish I could implement all that I said? I wish I could stop over rationalizing whatever I thought. I wish, just wish that someday, I’d genuinely feel what I wrote.

Maybe failure does this to people. It gives them the right ideas of bouncing back, but still lets them just stay as mental scenarios played by the con artists in their head. When does one realize enough is enough? Where does he find that inspiration that kept him going, until life threw a few blows right at his face? When? What? How? Why?
All we can do is ask…and maybe wait.

At times, we really do end up questioning our self-worth. We do question our life decisions, our choices, our lifestyles, our thinking, everything. All that we stood for seems just so hollow and meaningless suddenly. The scarlet of courage and bravery is washed out by the greys of doubt and sadness. An eventual black too, sometimes.

This feeling is so detrimental, because everyone expects you to bounce back, come back to life, and all that mumbo-jumbo bullshit. 

Thrown by phrases like, you have no choice, make the best of it, it is what it is, maybe something good will arise out of it…you probably start to believe that feeling not so great is wrong. You have this whole mental pressure of being the post-Cancer Tour de France winner-version of Lance Armstrong. People don’t want to see you fail, feel miserable, struggle and then emerge. All they want is the final step. Victory.

Well, I’d pretty much say a large FUCK YOU to that, on normal circumstances…but being where I am, right or wrong aren't as simple as black and white. In fact, it’s more like a PMS’y woman trying to give directions.  

(Yeah, I just sort of said that.)

Guess it really is what it is. Maybe we just hang in there, not give up and exist for as long as the epiphany strikes. Life has never abandoned anyone on the chance front. Maybe yours will come, mine too.

Until then, you stick around.

Of Inspiration.

I looked for inspiration in all corners, hoping something would strike the melancholic chords within. The desperation for just a blur of words became a growing obsession, much detrimental than I supposed. And one random morning, when the seeker in me decided to give up, did inspiration flood in. Little did I realize it came from my own work. The former glory that defined me, put me back in that fire. I felt it right in the pit of my belly. I knew it was back for good. Stronger and more powerful. The words just flowed and flowed. It felt like an endless river of thoughts just waiting to be heard.

They spoke of undying love and passion. Of dreams unconquered. Of hopes so strong. Of lives so beautiful. Of relations so perfect. It was the golden epiphany I always hoped for. The fear of losing it also went away, just as if a wisp of wind had taken away all my troubles. My world was whole again. The empty ink bottle and blotting paper lay no more silent. Those ugly noises left. I felt renewed, rejuvenated...and just so complete.