Somehow I feel this void again, more like an unexplainable yet fathomable emptiness. Even a hint of an activity can brim this nothingness from the pure satisfaction of having done something – anything. I long to partake in an activity that leaves me exuberantly tired at the end of each day. Fatigue that comes with no submission to my thoughts; responsibility that proposes my well-being in solitude. But most of all with a driving force, some impelling cause for my life to be adequate in its meaning. It might all sound like a fancy talk, but I sincerely crave for such a miracle to happen. And hopefully, by His Grace, soon I shall find myself out from my current apathetic state.
So much of draft work yet has to be concluded; stories, mindful snippets from here and there, poems written ages ago. That’s when it struck me that I am one of those people who, if the will doesn’t back, would never bother completing a particular piece currently being worked on. It’s ironic considering my aforementioned desire.
My progress seems to slacken with idle days that laze around me. My conscience questions me with a thousand other circumstances that might have altered by present disposition by varying degrees. But I realize that my solace lies in gratitude. I could dread inestimable, nameless self-inflicted limitations that could curb and constrain me this very moment and consume me in entirety…but I am not. In any case, I’m not in control of what surrounds me from elsewhere and what saturates me from the inside. I have come to firmly believe that this is the first step towards strengthening my Faith. Moreover, I have learnt the phenomenal magic of Indifference.
On a lighter note, it took me exactly a week to finish The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom and The Godfather novel by Mario Puzo. Both were excellent literary pieces in their own league. The former satisfied my need for Reality by contriving masked scraps of Life. The latter mollified my taste for the Italian Mafia – of which, secretly, I have a very high regard for. The fondness stretches only from novels till the screen. I am once again bursting to see all three installments of The Godfather movie and the entire The Sopranos seasons – both consisting of a superb, superlative compendium of the various genres developed by Hollywood over the years.
And now that the icy chill is literally convoluting my fingers into a spooky disfigurement, I bid adieu.