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Monday 22 March 2010

Me and my loves...

I love things and people alike so it doesn't affect me if my girlfriend complains that I love my apple computer more than I love her or (in one of the weirder moments) my pen complains that I love my girlfriend more or my car complains that I love my pen more..

Trailing off from that thought, what I would really like to talk about are my loves. Lets start with the pen.. When we were in class 4, we graduated from pencils to pens and I can never forget the exhilarating feeling of finally getting to write with a pen in school. It was so magical. I looked at the pen for hours, tried it out on various surfaces, made drawings with it, protected it with my life. And our teacher, a lover of fountain pens somehow managed to make it a rule in class for all of us to write with fountain pens while other sections would write with cheaper, sturdier and faster ball point ones. But no one was complaining. Ours was the cooler section (as everyone feels about their own class). That was when the love affair started.

My tuition teacher eventually managed to force me to write with a ball point pointing out that I will surely flunk my exam if I combine my bad handwriting with a tortoise of a pen. School ended, my scores were just okay (so much for the ball point) and I never went to college and I suddenly realised that I never really had to listen to anybody, I could live my own life my way and thats what I decided to do. I returned to writing with fountains pens and haven't left them ever since. 

I love the way the nib bristles over the paper forming letters in the most organic way, almost taking a shape of their own. One can almost feel the ink flowing from the plunger and making its way through the needle thin mechanism onto the paper. Over a period of time, the pen takes to your hand, it becomes one with you. It will only write properly when you write with it. Only you will know, most instinctively, the correct position in which to hold it for it to write most smoothly. The process of maintaining the pen in itself is so charming, although painstaking. 

Guess I should stop talking about my pen before the living creatures who love me start getting jealous. I haven't changed my pen since the past three years now and when and if it dies.. it shall get a funeral similar to what a family member would get. 

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.....

A thought just entered my head from the air around me. Am I happy, it questions? Funny... I never thought I would ask myself this question. I've always done what I've felt like doing. And simply doing what one feels like doing makes one happy by default. Isn't that so?

After some careful thinking... apparently no. I've always judged my happiness level by the manner in which I get out of bed every morning. Its always been energetic, almost as if I'm dying to wake up and get on with what's on my mind. Lately, with great sadness, I have to say that such is not the case. I miss the excitement.

Should I change my profession? Should I do away with the very organic way in which I live my life? Has my life become monotonous? Have I become like many of the people around me who keep whining about their life but still go on living it? Is it time to take charge and lead my life in a certain direction rather than letting it loose and go where it takes me? Is it okay for me to manipulate my own destiny?

Only questions for now as usual. Lazy answers will take their own sweet time.