Of every progress Man has made since evolving from the quadruped ape that he was, I believe nothing comes close to the monumentality that Language and Writing hold. He learnt to speak before he could write… true. But his genius was revealed in the scripts he devised to store his thoughts well into posterity. A strike of brilliance that would mark the first step towards the many achievements that he would be known for. But it all began with the written word.
And what could be more profound that to be a part of the magic of writing. Be it words we type, or (as I personally prefer) words we write. Somehow, writing always appealed to my sensibilities in ways that typing never did. There is something about the way we seemingly create words out of nothing. Liquid ink or powdery graphite magically turned to words that transform the senses… words of joy, of grief, of another million feelings.
I came across my old journal that held all my thoughts… some of them would be published in this blog but there were other drabbles… some way too personal, some half-baked ideas of novels I plan to write, and a few other poems that I might publish someday… or might not. But they are all there, etched on paper, memories of days gone by. A part of me, immortalized on paper.