I could never update about me sections in any blog of mine. I was always baffled with answering that one persisting question of who am I. Ironically, I am not even sure if who works here, rather, what am I. Alright, though, let me try and define myself – not speak about my words or how they define me, but me. Me is such a beautiful word, isn’t it?
How about I make this simple, shall we? Instead of flowing in my thoughts as I always do – I will divide everything into either black or white; love or hate, but hate is such a strong word – so is love. They are both equally strong, perhaps too strong, or better yet, they are so strong that they have lost their meaning and collided enough to explode into a state of obsoleteness, like two atoms in the vast abyss.
I will try to be as vague and childish in my choice of language; I rarely get the chance to be a child in my words. I no longer allow myself to commit syntax errors in language, or maybe I enjoy my pursuit of perfection far too much to let a brick along the way trip me into a vortex of morphological, phonetic, semantic, or grammatical errors.
There I go talking about words again. Did I ever mention how much I love short paragraphs? No? Well, I do, very much so. I also enjoy short sentences. But I have this new love for semicolons; I love using them. A semicolon is the child of the never meeting comma and dot. In fact, commas and dots are the best couples I know of. Both are located in the same position, but you see, each of them knows when to leave and when to stay. If they meet – my lord, if they ever meet: sheer ugliness. The splendor of the chase, that hard to get act: the kind of relation a dot and a comma share together.
Ever sat down and thought about commas and dots? Perhaps not, but I do. I think of beautiful letters, pretty words, perfect spaces, complete sentences, flawless punctuation, and short cute paragraphs. I sometimes grab a book and not read, but stare at those alluring written words; how they beautifully intertwine till they form novels, books, etc, etc.
I can go on forever talking about words, just not me. Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about words, for they cure a heaving child within me and sing me lullabies to sleep.
I am nothing without my words. I am everything with my words, and that’s enough. So maybe I fail at describing myself in what I love and hate. Maybe I could only talk about words, but that’s probably because words are this invisible spine that lifts my head up even when I’m in the lowest of lows. I can live without people, but I cannot be without words.