Silenced

You know how wild imagination can sometimes reach the point of real intense emotion? I have the strange ability to use it every few days.

Take for example yesterday. I was peacefully driving my car when I randomly started thinking about what would happen if I had an accident. I considered various possibilities. The one that scared me most was this: I imagined being completely paralysed - being able to think and feel and understand but never being able to express. I spent the rest of my long Delhi road analyzing my almost visceral reaction to the possibility. It hit me that what I had only known vaguely about myself for so long was more real than anything else I have ever known... expressing myself is the single most important thing to me. And no, its not really about how or if someone else understands. Its the mere ability to write, to speak.

The people I connect with best are those that give me that space - who simply listen. I feel most alive with people who read me like they would read a book - with an attachment so intense yet so impersonal.

Why

There is a voice in my head that won't stop telling me to write. No matter how many times I close the window for the world on my thoughts, the room is still well lit. There is only one new insight - when I write for the world, I often think while I write. From a mere rant, my writing turns into something that can connect me to other people. That, to me, is the most important part. To be able to offer a piece of myself for the world to interpret and to be able to see how it is (mis)understood, is the biggest joy in writing. That is not to say that I don't enjoy writing for myself, I do - but the act of writing is incomplete without the act of reading.

So on that note, here I am, writing again. But this time, things will be different.