Writer’s block?

I used to love writing. I enjoyed it. I was told I had the knack for it. You’re a natural, they said.

Expressing ideas and emotions on white space wasn’t hard. Writing was an avenue for suppressed feelings, which I had to let out occasionally – err, most of the time. Writing was bliss. Words just effortlessly fall into place. I could finish an essay in just an hour or two. Easy breezy.

I used to love writing.

Until, I lost interest.

My job requires too many tasks on management and logistics. Not enough writing tasks as I had wanted. It isn’t entirely part of the job description I was told. I had less time for writing or reading.

Rust. I feel my brain rusting, slowly biting the inside of my skull. Words are starting to disappear. I can’t even construct a sentence that doesn’t seem report-ish.

My writing isn’t as fluent as it used to be.  I used to effortlessly fill the blank spaces of the paper with black ink. I had it. But I was told I lost it. I don’t know if it’s still there.

I’m stuck. Is this writer’s block? Am I on a dead end?

I need to figure this out.

Help.

It was even difficult to finish this short post.

Glued to perfection

What's the whole point of this blog post?

What’s the whole point of this blog post?

Life has no rules. There is no life manual or a book on ‘How to live a perfect life 101’ that can help in times of doubts and distress because things happen depending on the preferences of a person. But it is obvious (except for a spoiled, rich kid who gets everything he wishes) that we can’t have everything we want. This is why we ought to wish for a perfect life.

What is in a perfect life anyway? Billions of cash? Lots of friends and admirers? Perfect career? Perhaps the answer depends on the person.

People see things differently. We all have different meanings of things. Trying to define it from a poor person’s point of view might be different from how a rich person sees it. A homeless man can only wish for nothing more than to have enough food and a comfy home whereas a billionaire only wishes to become a gazillionaire.

… So now what?

According to some skeptics, scholars, realists, analysts, chemists, physicists, freaks, weirdos, teens-having-boy-problems — nothing is perfect.

If nothing is perfect, then why the heck are we still trying hard to achieve a perfect life?

Humans have become even stupider than rocks as time went by. And that is the whole point of this blog post. Nuff said.