I wish! (sigh)
I have been thinking to write for months now. Despite the fact that I lose a lot of time browsing the internet and shopping or reading random things, I just could not push myself into posting something here. I like to say I didn't have time and I had to read scientific research related papers and do lab work and all this is partially true too but not to the extent that I could not find half hour in half year to write when I was absolutely in the mood of "my kind of writing" almost 5 days a week! Not to mention, I had straight up 2 weeks of laying in bed with chicken pox when I could have made up for not keeping up with my blog.
Nevertheless, I don't see my writing and myself as two different entities. These writings and hence the blog are a part of me and such an integral part that there is no sense of it being any different than what I am. I am what I write.
Before I start spitting my random thoughts, let me thank a friend of a friend who facebook-messaged me and somehow reminded me of my writings. Let me also thank my internal chaos which escalated the following day to push me into writing. A little token of thanks also goes to Charlotte rain which prevented me from going to the lab this evening and hence playing a very critical role in giving me time, which was overwhelmed by the unrest of my mind and led me to my blog. I am grateful to everyone who has played a part in reuniting me with my blog at different times. Ironically, most of you are ones who deserve anything but gratitude! But I am forgiving.
So much has happened since I wrote my last post. I visited India, presented at a conference, made good and bad progress in my career, came across more selfish and ignorant people, was exposed to the craziness of graduate school, traveled to a few places in the US, found a few good friends, fell sick etc. All of this gives me so much to write about so many exciting things but I don't usually write about what I do and what has happened. I write about how I feel and how I feel hasn't varied much in a long time. Sometimes I feel why can't I write about happy things? I don't even think of writing when I visit new places or go on a vacation. It is only the screaming urge of my painful thoughts that forces me to write.
I guess I am a bad writer. I don't write anything memorable. No suspense, no mystery, no story, no plot - just a rant. Rant of uncured chaos, cancer of negativity and symptoms of insanity. Somethings never change, for everything else there is this damn grad school! (that was a sad joke).SIGH.
I so want to continue writing my novel which hasn't been touched in last one year, I guess. Routinely, I feel I should have taken up writing as my profession, something which can let my thoughts out. Novelist, journalist or just an author. Now, I know why I didn't end up becoming one. I can not be competitive when it comes to writing. I can never care about when and how am I writing. I write out of choice, as I please. That can never be a success story in the world of advertisement, lobbying, distributing and of course, money! At almost 27, I at least have realized why I could not follow two out of many professions I wanted to - Medicine and writing. Not being a doctor does not bother me a lot now. Honestly, I tried as best as I could in a time of personal crisis. In a way, I am happy I am not a medical doctor. But, I still regret not pursuing writing as a career. Some days, I hate my scientific career so much that I plan to run away and embrace my old love for writing. May be I have come too far to run back. I am getting old. Ignorance is always a bliss and I seem to have a problem with bliss and hence with ignorance as well. All what I wanted still haunts me and slaps me in the face, teasing me in a way which leaves me like an almost dead hungry predator. Almost.
Recent two weeks of sickness made me realize the importance of little things and blessings in life. It also made me realize how empty and weak I am mentally. Between emptiness and chaos of thoughts, I don't know which one do I hate more. Although, I must mention that over the past few years, emptiness has taken over the chaos in a big way. Maybe because the mind gave up on thinking about the same problems and emotions wore out because of feeling the same damn chaos all the time. Emptiness is quiet and inert until it is discovered. It hit me back first when I tried to check if the chaos had finally settled down. It has been a couple of years since. I discovered it as a subtle change but it took over me as old-age takes over life.
As a graduate student, I have responsibilities and a scientific career which can be bleak or bright. I feel I was not made for this. I was made for something else. Writing maybe! ha..I can't stop thinking about my obsession with it. It enriches my soul and feeds my chaos. It tames my anxiety and caresses my wounds. It tries to fight everything that intends to hurt me; it fails most of the times. But that's all I need, an attempt!
Nevertheless, I don't see my writing and myself as two different entities. These writings and hence the blog are a part of me and such an integral part that there is no sense of it being any different than what I am. I am what I write.
Before I start spitting my random thoughts, let me thank a friend of a friend who facebook-messaged me and somehow reminded me of my writings. Let me also thank my internal chaos which escalated the following day to push me into writing. A little token of thanks also goes to Charlotte rain which prevented me from going to the lab this evening and hence playing a very critical role in giving me time, which was overwhelmed by the unrest of my mind and led me to my blog. I am grateful to everyone who has played a part in reuniting me with my blog at different times. Ironically, most of you are ones who deserve anything but gratitude! But I am forgiving.
So much has happened since I wrote my last post. I visited India, presented at a conference, made good and bad progress in my career, came across more selfish and ignorant people, was exposed to the craziness of graduate school, traveled to a few places in the US, found a few good friends, fell sick etc. All of this gives me so much to write about so many exciting things but I don't usually write about what I do and what has happened. I write about how I feel and how I feel hasn't varied much in a long time. Sometimes I feel why can't I write about happy things? I don't even think of writing when I visit new places or go on a vacation. It is only the screaming urge of my painful thoughts that forces me to write.
I guess I am a bad writer. I don't write anything memorable. No suspense, no mystery, no story, no plot - just a rant. Rant of uncured chaos, cancer of negativity and symptoms of insanity. Somethings never change, for everything else there is this damn grad school! (that was a sad joke).SIGH.
I so want to continue writing my novel which hasn't been touched in last one year, I guess. Routinely, I feel I should have taken up writing as my profession, something which can let my thoughts out. Novelist, journalist or just an author. Now, I know why I didn't end up becoming one. I can not be competitive when it comes to writing. I can never care about when and how am I writing. I write out of choice, as I please. That can never be a success story in the world of advertisement, lobbying, distributing and of course, money! At almost 27, I at least have realized why I could not follow two out of many professions I wanted to - Medicine and writing. Not being a doctor does not bother me a lot now. Honestly, I tried as best as I could in a time of personal crisis. In a way, I am happy I am not a medical doctor. But, I still regret not pursuing writing as a career. Some days, I hate my scientific career so much that I plan to run away and embrace my old love for writing. May be I have come too far to run back. I am getting old. Ignorance is always a bliss and I seem to have a problem with bliss and hence with ignorance as well. All what I wanted still haunts me and slaps me in the face, teasing me in a way which leaves me like an almost dead hungry predator. Almost.
Recent two weeks of sickness made me realize the importance of little things and blessings in life. It also made me realize how empty and weak I am mentally. Between emptiness and chaos of thoughts, I don't know which one do I hate more. Although, I must mention that over the past few years, emptiness has taken over the chaos in a big way. Maybe because the mind gave up on thinking about the same problems and emotions wore out because of feeling the same damn chaos all the time. Emptiness is quiet and inert until it is discovered. It hit me back first when I tried to check if the chaos had finally settled down. It has been a couple of years since. I discovered it as a subtle change but it took over me as old-age takes over life.
As a graduate student, I have responsibilities and a scientific career which can be bleak or bright. I feel I was not made for this. I was made for something else. Writing maybe! ha..I can't stop thinking about my obsession with it. It enriches my soul and feeds my chaos. It tames my anxiety and caresses my wounds. It tries to fight everything that intends to hurt me; it fails most of the times. But that's all I need, an attempt!