The return, the anti-climax

Incredulous. Last night I logged into the blog after eons, wrote a post — a poetic, even poignant-at-places post about how my words were drying up within me because they couldn’t flow out — and before I could proof read it and press post, had lost the entry! I wanted my return to blogging to be a well-written, dramatic thing, and what do I end up with? This anti-climax.

But come to think of it, that’s how life really has been for me for a really long time. The best laid plans go kaput, and things have a tendency to look like how they were never meant to be, not according to me. Everything, so many things have just been falling off the mark. It’s like you blow and blow into a deflated balloon till it swells and starts to look interesting, but before you can tie it up with a string, it goes phat! Burst.

But of the post I lost… I have no inclination to recreate it, or the ability to rewrite it from memory either, except one part. It’s about how I think I need to get back to putting my thoughts down on paper because it’s the only way I know to sort them out in my head. Blame it on my fifth grade teacher, who insisted we write down our lessons to memorize them better. I think I need to begin writing again for the same reason: I need to learn my lessons better, the ones life’s been dishing out with such impunity. Just so I don’t make the same mistakes again.

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