Confessions : Of Uncertainty

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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.

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Confessions: Of Bewilderment

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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.

Confessions: Of Ambiguity

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It is strange that how I wrote these little snippets of advice to myself obscuring it with whole lot of  drama that I was then facing. I’ve always disliked being ambiguous about my life because of the kind of control freak that I am, but when I think about it, the most joy I’ve ever had in writing my short stories or drawing was when I was ambiguous of what I wanted and every word that I joined on the paper to make a sentence would be a surprise.

 

 

This is a part of a series of confessions, written in old sketchbooks bought to life here on this blog.

Confessions of: Murder

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I don’t indulge much  in reminiscing about the old times these past few months, but this still holds true. Sometimes it feels like my memory space is too small to catalog everything we say or do to other people or what they say to us, so I end up silently murdering all the other glorious memories of others in haste to provide space for the memories of present, however fleeting it may be.

Confessions: Of Obsession

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Oh, well, sometimes “it’s not you, it’s me” is the best thing we can say. Some people are born with a larger perspective so much so that they genuinely care for things that are bigger than them. Others like me get stuck in a place where you can’t look beyond reflections of oneself. This is a part of the  confession series .

Confessions : Of choices

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The two people I always Have a love hate relationship is with art and architecture. Architecture is like a stable marriage, you don’t hate it neither do you love it after the initial throes of passion. But art is seductive and in return it makes you constantly miserable. My choices of life always oscillate between both of these men in my life. Sigh!