Wings of Ink

Ever since school ended, life has basically felt like one long waiting period. I always thought I’d love the free time — no deadlines, no early mornings, no routine. But as it turns out, this weird break between school and college — the interstice , as I like to call it — brings its own set of surprises. As an attempt to revive my half-dead reading habit, I picked up this short book called 'The Stranger' by Albert Camus, which is about Meursault, a guy who couldn’t care less about what society expects. He drifts through life detached, like the world’s some bizarre performance he refuses to act in. While I found his character rather odd at first, the more I read, the more I weirdly started connecting to it. Because, for some reason, even right now, the world feels just as absurd. Whether it is the numerous wars flashing across the news or the deadly air crash in Ahmedabad, leading people to suddenly remind each other to "live in the moment" — yet rational thinking ...

 And to be happy in this moment Seemed too selfish Having not achieved anything yet I wondered what does count an achievement. Building families, building careers? Earning money, earning fame? What is it that made us recognized By name? Seemed in that moment Our achievement was a measure of our loss Surrounded by people self-absorbed How successful were we in losing ourselves to serve others?  ~ Khushi.M

 I had been meaning to write something down for the past couple of weeks, however, I ended up deleting over half of the drafts. I started envying my younger self who used to write anything (which seems really kiddish at this point) and yet felt so confident. At first, I inferred that it was a writer’s block, but I soon realised it wasn’t that my thoughts didn’t take shape; rather, it was the nagging voice at the back of my mind that wondered whether what I wrote would make sense to others, or if it would be too generic. The hesitation and doubt were an invisible barrier that prevented me from writing my heart out, which compelled me to resort to writing more objective pieces. A bit more thought made me realise that it wasn’t just about writing, the same issue extended to all areas of life (at least for me). There was this constant strive for everything to be in order, to be perfect and to be accepted and in turn, I wasn’t ever happy with any form of self-expression be it thro...