A blank space is staring at me again. I do not know what to do with you. The fact is that I am scared of writing. It is scary to be so passionately involved in anything.
But the passion has taken me over. Now resisting it would be killing a part of me. I love and I write. It’s probably the one and the same thing now.
But I am still scared. And now it feels as if there is no use even finding what this fear is all about. This fear, whatever it is, will not take a face till I write irrespective of this fear. That’s the choice I have made. I will always have fears and barriers. Choosing to do what my heart says despite these is the only thing I can do.
Do what you ought, come what may.
From where I am sitting right now, I can see the world and the world can see me if only it looks beyond its boundaries. The only way that can ever happen is through me. The world embraces me whenever I open my arms to it. When I hide behind a wall of my own making, the world too gets busy with building its own walls.
I do not know when this began. Maybe it was writing those essays on ‘My Dog’ in second standard when I didn’t even own one. Looking through the raw lens of fantasy, all dogs of the world seemed to be my pet dogs. The walls of knowledge could not obstruct any tiny toddler wave in the ocean of imagination.
After years of being taught the importance of owning things in our world, I still refuse to learn this lesson. I still do not need to own something to make it mine. All I need to do is love it, experience it and write it.