I belong to that part of the world that is quintessence of political turmoil, deplorable law and order conditions, religious fanaticism, ethnic blood baths and plethora of other evils. Being a product of such country I lament and muse over anything relating to my country.Our lives revolve around politics.Living in politically robust society saturated with bipolar ideologies is never easy. Everyone is fighting war of words either in social networking sites or in drawing rooms. As I am assimilated to this culture so deeply that my grumblings are manifestations that how deeply I resent our system and want change.
But sometimes the type of change I want is exit myself from this roller coaster atleast for a time being. I am tired of the threadbare discussion running on the idiot box.
So this morning I take a mighty task of opening my Drafts. Perhaps still better than exhausting your mind with empty rhetorics of leaders.
Opening my drafts I realized that my every blog has a reason to be in this destitute corner.
In my first draft I write about my aversion to cooking. The tedious process involved and my inability to mix the right ingredients. But as I was writing ”why I hate cooking” my abomination fades off and I end up liking it—but unfortunately hating the blog.
So the blog takes it’s deserve position and so did my propensity—to cookery.
One dreary night of winter, my mind was brimming with the remembrances of the past. So I decided to write it. I began fervently. I jotted down everything—winter blues and my fears. I solemn to publish it next morning but that morning never come. I procrastinated and finally it also moves in the same way as its predecessor —in drafts.
Somewhere in between I try to publish it but I always shies away from publishing something subjective. Writing about your fear is never easy; it’s like pouring your inner self out and this is something I dreaded. Anyways winters are already on the verge of leaving and I didn’t have winter blues in the same way as I experienced them before. So there isn’t any point of publishing it right now.
The third occupant of my draft box is a ”Letter to life”. I am not sure I will ever muster the confidence to move it from there. After writing all about afflictions given by my dear life I felt at ease. I don’t know from where, but i felt my repine feelings are tempering. The surliness is vanishing and so my desire of publishing it.
We all think life is unfair, isn’t this makes life fair—please excuse this threadbare cliché. I scorned myself of being a petulant creature. Als0 considering this a hackneyed phenomena I snubbed this blog to take its rightful place yes to the drafts.
Writing can be therapeutic and my drafts are harbinger of this. Sometimes you don’t need to exhaust vast treasure of self-help books for a solution, because answers lies within us. Merely putting words on the paper is sometimes more appeasing than any clinical solution.
Writing is one of the most solitary activities in the world—Paulo Coelho. Dead on, but for me it is a meditaton, the only thing that never pissed me off.
P.S I am a Pakistani.