I haven’t written anything for long and can’t justify my silence with any set of reasons which I can come up with. I wonder whether I have it in me to write well enough to engage serious readers, or whether what I write is of any significance for anybody to spend a few minutes and ponder. But then how would I know what you are thinking about, if and when you read what I write or still should I be bothering about such trivial things when all I need is an avenue to vent out my thoughts.
I fear that my decision to remain silent and not to interfere in things that do not affect me will eventually be repented by me. I fear I would have remained too silent for long that my silence would remain the norm; my words would fail to coherently express my thoughts. Or worse I fear I would remain silent for so long that I would fear to speak again. As Edmund Burke said, All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing, not sure whether iam a good man or whether my speaking out will have any influence on evil but it does rings a bell on why I should speak out. Even if what I write is gibberish or pure nonsense, I would have something to look back to.
Life as it is a series of experiences that changes our views, perspectives, goals and opinions over the years. I have quite opposing views on the same things that I had opinions on over the years, and it is very amusing to read what I have written a couple of years back and wonder why I did so. So the mere idea of writing is to engage myself in a meaningful debate with me. It would be interesting to see the evolution of my thoughts, how I came to believe what I believe or how I came to detest what I detest.
Of late I have realised that life happens despite of all our plans, all our ambitions, our hopes, our fears and eventually like all the people who have treaded on this planet, I too would perish to become a longing memory initially, a faded recollection of some distant future generation and eventually a number or a statistic among all the people who have existed before me. Iam not being pessimistic about the future, the future holds all the promises of the future irrespective of my feelings, iam just reconciling myself with the reality of existence, the mere truth about life.
I have had mixed reviews about my writing skills, some overt, some covert and some indifferent opinions on my ability to put together words to form meaningful sentences. I like to believe the ones by people who have faith in my skills, to believe that I can write well enough to be read. There are moments when I long to write something and the reprieve it gives me when I successfully write something. I think writing comes naturally to me; it is one of the few things iam happy doing, so I have decided to write something or the other on a daily basis (at least weekly, Cynicism taking root in the foundation of a commitment).
I will not promote what I write, as I fear, my opinion exposes my preferences and will make me nude in the midst of hypocrites and cowards who do what they do because they do not want to offend the majority opinion. I fear my opinions could be antithetical to existing conventions of morality, it could question predominant norms and values and challenge views that we consider as true and right. But then as I have mentioned earlier, like all of you I would eventually perish, my convictions would mellow down to echo the norms of the society, I would eventually become an alpha hypocrite who doesn’t know what he actually believes. Sometimes I feel that I should take shelter under the cover of anonymity, not stand up for what I stand, observe from a distance how my views are being viewed or more interestingly challenge and question my own views. This could be the beginning of a arduous journey, exposing me to avenues iam not experienced with, bringing me out of my comfort zones.
(Pompous promises aside, I hope I will be able to write something of relevance, something I will be proud of in the days to come, or at least have fervour to fill up an empty page)