Losing it

A friend commented just yesterday that she couldnt believe that this blog was mine.
“Kenneth your writing is soo different, its so lousy now,” of which i had absolutely no response to except that sinking feeling of approval.

Looking back at the previous blog i had, i guess i had to admit that I’m losing it. On second thought however, whilst furiously rushing through stacks of notes for my second exam that ended 2 hrs ago. It hit me, like one of those revelations that Eliade had, I was emo then, now, i’m perhaps just reduced to being a pathetic excuse of a human being.

Perhaps, being in love, inspired, lifted, illuminated the words which i had chosen, used even abused. Well on closer examination, it came to no surprise that the better written ones were when i was upset, hurt, depressed. Emotions that often came with pinings, intense contemplation and an excruciating stab of lonliness.

Perhaps, when one is less emotional, less affected, and indifferent to his surroundings. He inevitably becomes detached, even from the very flow of words that used to stream from his fingers so effortlessly, gushing ferociously onto the screen as the monotony of the taps of the keyboard recited an almost depressive tone of routineness, Leading the writer to be less human, less relatable, less and less of any semblance of a warm-blooded creature.

By this thread, maybe, those sinking feeling of pain, hurt and derpression are then my true source of eloquence, at least online. Ridiculous, i say, yet undeniably almost true.

I had nothing to say, nothing to feel for almost a year before i started this blog, of which the other one had been left to lead its natural cause of abandonement. Perhaps, the times i felt that i had nothing to say, were times which i was apathetic, almost dead.

Well, i’m much less of an “emo” now, or at least i claim to be, but it struck me really hard as i’m writing this that, i think i’ve lost more than eloquence, sense, flow, and flair. I lost someone, to another, painful… yet true.

Losing someone is easiest when you’re moving to another. Perhaps even seamless, just like moving out from one home to other, a place of solace to another, throwing away a crutch for another. Its so easy. But the house that left, is usually empty, soul less now, the place of solace is now just cob webs and dust, the crutch, now just another branch, another rotting piece of remnance of the bigger tree it had been ripped from.

Well perhaps this revertibrations of ghosts that haunts me still, would someday go away. Leaving me still, with the rhythms of words, which i hope not to rid, i hope not to go.