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Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Starting afresh


     Here I'm at it again, starting a new blog like it has often happened in the past. For a flitting moment, the last attempt seemed to have worked a charm, until my ability to string words together dwindled and my writing became too skew-whiff to carry on, so the blog eventually became no more than a technological dump.I was fresh out of ideas and soon the whole thing was trashed. I have also come too realise that I did some wrong things like not giving the blog a purpose; just piling up random material wasn't the way to go. After having laernt some, I can look to the future. Onward to what it might unfold...

     I really enjoy writing. It's one of those life activities that are ever going to be necessary for the sake of our own upkeep. There is such a meaningful payload in writing that it's nigh impossible to describe all that it represents. And such is the power of conveying one's own mind and all the abstract spider-webbed framework of which it is comprised.

     Any discerning eye would also be quick to notice that we, as humans, are infinitely different as a species. Yet, we are capable of performing tasks that are of equal importance to all of us. Even yet, we bear faculties to undertake certain courses of action that simply go beyond the scope of all that is merely important, encroaching thus upon the threshold of the necessary.

     What should one these bare necessities of life be? Why, I would be bold enough and assert in every possible way that it's literature. Any form of literature, as well as any form of Art, is the scion of a thoughtful mind that has successfully fashioned its intended output. It can take one to an impossible world, one of unaccountable features that the common mind can't fathom easily, which only magnifies the wonder. This brings forth a world of wondrous dimensions that won't cease to exist so long as imagination doesn't run aground, prevented from sailing according to its whims while stranded in barren soil, with outcrops butting into the hull, leaving it sllightly torn away. Literature is the visible spectrum of an infrastructure that places Imagination at the core of it all. And, if there ever should be another core within, it's the flair of writing. It's indeed a trait that I myself have long sought, but couldn't ever tap into its powers. By no stretch of the imagination it means that the search has come to a halt only due to the appearance of it being unattainable. Rather, it is only a sign that there is still much to be learnt. In addition, finding out about the folly of engaging in the pursuit of close-to-perfection writing is just my coming to another of life's crossroads, which reads something about the road forking into two life changing directions: on one is a statement to quit, scrawled in messy script, utterly unappealing to the vision as a sense; the other is a doughty remark reminding of the rewards to be heaped by diligence, faith, adherence to hard work, sense of humour and serenity. I hardly find myself in doubt of which path to follow when faced with similar choices.

     It should also be probably said that, although I do seek to improve my writing and acquire much spiritual capital in the process, my career does not deal directly with it. I am an IT professional, and for this alone I harbour a great zeal. I also work with second language teaching, which also deals with other linguistics' facets. Nevertheless, I like writing; it's something I have many done as a hobby and intend to keep doing so. The most compelling reason that drives my urge to engage in writing is my wanting to improve it. Since the most practical way to improve a trait is to make it part of our life (read: do it as often as possible) I hence avouch that I will use this blog to put in writing topics revelant to the mind. What exactly comes to mind that I find it easy to discourse about? Other forms of art seem lordly worthy of mention. Those will be presented in light of what the current situation dictates...