The last seems very likely. I tend to give up ventures that bring home the fact of my mediocrity. Yes i know that is typically mediocre. But over the past year I have learnt that it is not an es-capable fact. Or maybe, I just do not care anymore. So many motives; or none. One good thing about literature is that they have some dignity to confer (accidentally of course) to confounded minds: they call it 'ambiguity.'
It's not as though nothing has happened in such a long time, uneventful though my life may seem. I'm pursuing academics at a relatively higher level now. Well, it is a level where its called 'academics' if nothing else! I have a pet cat now who has once again proven to me how ironic life is ( I have always been a dog person; wanted a pet dog since I first held a stray pup at the age of 6 and never thought much of the feline species); and now she is the apple of my eye (she has also proven to me my ineptitude at mothering because I can spoil a cat silly!)
Relationships: they have changed a lot, as they do for everyone. Some old ones you treasure like the oldest of photo albums; memories in black and white have a lot of colour. Some you keep because you cannot discard them, like an old t-shirt or a frayed sweater, knowing you will never wear them again. These are the ones that create a no man's land like space between you and all your new equations with people. But they change also because we change. Ever complaining about how others change we are so blind about change in the self. Maybe because change, when it comes from within, when it is here to stay, is slow. When it comes, is even slower in making itself felt. So there are always times when you cannot imagine living without certain people; wonder how you do manage to live and how you are to keep doing so; and finally you live knowing you in fact cannot live with them.
Yes so in a nut-shell, most of the above happened.
Mostly, I love what i do. But it would be a lie to claim that learning of writers, criticisms, critical theories, technicalities, (yada-yada) has not been a cause for my inability to write. The more I came to know of them, the more felt like I was kidding myself. Yet it is also a fact that some of the people who are read were in fact kidding themselves (if not most).
No no I am not waiting to be 'discovered.' I write mostly about myself: not because I am THAT self absorbed, but because I am THAT ignorant! So what is to discover? But now I am arriving at a point (present-continuous because it is a process) where these things do not really seem to matter. There are thinkers and there are theories. There are people and there are opinions. Always will be. But the relationship between a one and one's pen is private. Always will be. At least as long as its private its safe.
On this note I sign off because cannot structure a good conclusion. Or rather i choose not to. Ambiguous? Ha I wish.
P.S.: the cat's name is Mauu.