Thursday, September 30, 2010

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you shall ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being in love- which anyone of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two"
-Dr Iannis
Corelli's Mandolin,
Louis de Berniere

Friday, September 17, 2010

It's been a while since I posted something..
I suppose it's because I find myself inwardly cringing at the thought of turning my laptop on and punching away at disjointed letters. There's nothing quite as satisfying for me as picking up a pen and letting the words flow onto a blank, creamy white sheet of paper. I've never been able to vent my frustrations by typing out my thoughts primarily because of the sheer poignance of the written word. As each thought forms, the words just creep onto the paper and seem to carry an undefinable part of you. Each funny quirk in your handwriting- whether it's a curlicue or a whimsical flourish, is a representation of you in that moment.

To my mind, there's a sense of staccato in every word that I type. Everything appears on a screen with such an utter lack of individuality. Perfectly formed letters without any breaks.. A far cry from my distinctively childish handwriting. It seems like an endless stream of words that one strains to internalise from something as impersonal as a screen.

I've always felt that even the emotion behind words comes out more when you actually sit and write them. A hurried scribble, painstakingly perfect calligraphy, words that are blurry through the layer of tears that smudged them, capitals that indicated how terribly angry you were, hearts that dotted your "i's" when you were in a particularly good mood, a hastily written post script... They're all a part of you. How do you give up a part of yourself and sit and connect alphabets on your keyboard??

But I suppose it's a paradox that I'm sitting right here on my bed and producing a diatribe against typing when in fact I am doing nothing more than connecting alphabets in the hope that my thoughts may actually translate into a blog post that I can send out into cyberspace! :)