This is my last confession. Not because I’ve been absolved, but because I think it is time to move on with exciting new things to write about. However, this series definitely wasn’t one of the mistakes. I’ve run out of old sketchbooks to extract writings from my past and I might as well begin conjuring up some words for my future self to ponder upon.
This is a part of confession series. Written in old sketchbooks, brought to life here.
I don’t forget the birthdays of people who actually do matter to me and I am slightly proud of it, but I almost did today owing to the million parallel thoughts in my head. In my search for some funny material for a birthday card I went through all my email conversations with him from a time when emailing about the happenings of your life was a cool thing to do. Long story short, I found this piece of advice I gave him for whatever life crisis he was going through during that phase. I guess my 19 year old self was truly 19 going on 60 ! 😀
This is a part of confession series, written in old sketchbooks/emails brought to life here.
It is funny how I’ve conveniently forgotten how it feels to be inadequate. I move around in loops in my life evidently and it’s that phase again where I stumble into life with wobbly legs and butter hands unable to hold on to my sense of confidence and questioning my existence.
This is a part of confession series, written in old sketch books bought to life here.
The whirlpool of “what ifs” is terrible. Running around in circles of uncertainty can make even the most confident person falter their step. I’m not sure when I wrote this little piece, for I have moved far too many times to far too distant places, dreamed of it even. But now that I re-read it, the timing seems apt and a love far too real gets left behind again.
This is a part of Confessions Series. Written and forgotten in old sketchbooks, bought to life again here.
There are something that keep you alive and kicking ; mostly they just happen to be your insecurities.
This is a part of Confession Series. Written and forgotten in old sketch books bought to life here.
In the end we all want to believe that we are at the drivers seat, directing our life to the best possible choices ;running on a fuel of our own volatile emotions. The need for that control is essential to keep reinventing yourself and so is a sense of purpose.
As Camus says “This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart. The absurd depends as much on man as on the world. For the moment it is all that links them together.”
This is a part of the Confession Series, written in old sketch books, revived to life here.
I can’t be always strong.
Facing my fears head along.
Sometimes I just hide and abide, until;
until a time I learn to slip by.
This is a part of the confession series, written in old sketch books revived to life here.
Sometimes I just can’t edit my larger monologues into shorter crisper versions. Sometimes I’m just too attached to the documented version of me. Anyway, Falling apart is a process not a singular event. So might as well immerse yourself in the process,right?
This is a part of Confession Series, written in old sketch books revived to life here.
One of the reasons I dream of Travel is the same reason why I don’t bother to make ever lasting connections. This little confession of mine has sort of formed who I am today, a vague image of my dreams.
This is a part of Confession Series. written in old sketch books as reflections of my past bought to life here.
They say old habits die hard. I say the only reason old habits/people/things stick around because we reason with ourselves that the murky history is essential, because who are we if not for our pasts ?
This is a part of Confession Series , little figments of writings scribbled down in old sketchbooks bought to life here.
Restlessly Random 