Writing for the Sake of Exercising the Muscle

as with every talent and skill, improvement comes with practice and after reading all these self-help articles and advice columns from other writers, that writing is no exception. we have our good days and our bad days, and just because today happens to be a bad day where inspiration fails to strike doesn't mean that we should getaway with not doing it. yes, i'm somehow rationalizing why i'm writing right now. i've no idea where the logic lies in that.

i suppose i can write about the going-ons of my life of late. whether to tell it with the focus being on my love relationships, platonic relationships, the city in which i currently reside, the work that i'm doing, is all just a matter of preference really, though each will provide a slightly different perspective in the narrative.

what is it about him that i'm attracted to, and do i really like him? it feels different than other men i've fallen quickly for. i haven't fallen quickly for him, despite what my friends might think, and i can't help this strange nagging feeling that something seems to be missing. that something just doesn't feel totally right. or is this actually right? is this what it's supposed to feel like to be in a more mature relationship, one that errs more on the side of intellectuality?

rationality and boundaries rather than pure, raw, unfiltered emotion and impulses. 

i've never previously in my life had so much emotional self control. it feels strange that there are times when there's simply little desire to message him, or that i was able to wait six days to talk to him about an issue that i (once upon a time) would have immediately, impulsively and obsessively called or showed up at his door to resolve... but i do melt a little when i look into those cerulean bedroom eyes, run deep with rivers of affection, yet firmly locked into the mysteries of the universe, wondering, wandering, the unpredictable brain waves that storm through his mind. and in those moments, i lose all sense and fall hard into sensibilities.

it's hard, when the thing i most enjoy about him is also the thing that i most worry about with him. that mind, that always thinking, always analyzing, always wondering, wandering mind. it's beautiful, it's a beautiful mind. it's a blessing to have such a mind, but perhaps also a curse. 

is there really only one answer to the meaning of life? 

we think there has to be one universal answer. we have an innate desire to connect with one another, to share in one universal truth, but it isn't really rational to think that the meaning of life is singular, that there's only one truth that would somehow apply to all life in the universe. isn't it always all relative? subjective? science helps with objectivity, but at the end of the day the choice is still ours to believe or not to believe, the choice is still ours to challenge or not to challenge, to explore further or not to explore further. the meaning of life for me could be love, a life full of love is a meaningful and fulfilling life, and for another it could be progress, a progression towards a better life - longevity. but then, what constitutes a better life is again debatable. everything is debatable, now more than ever in this age of information technology. the irony being that more information has not actually made things more learnable or concrete, but rather more debatable. there are more opinions broadcasted than ever before, and more shit to filter through. 

this is a ramble to the end.

Notes from December