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.
