White Pencil and Blue Pencil

He was sad. He couldn’t figure out why on the whole world he alone should be short. Why was he secured with this steel ring around? On rare occasions he would be picked up and then he has to move in a circle. Huh.. not a millimeter this way or that, but only in a circle. He looked at the guy on his right. He is dancing along the paper with such smooth movements. No two patterns he makes are the same. He is polished every now and then. Wow, that boy is actually nibbling him. He must be so loved by his pal. He is so lucky to have such an exciting life… He was picked up again. This time he was made to draw a smaller circle, a circle again, for heaven’s sake…
He was sad. He couldn’t figure out why on the whole world he alone should be sharpened every now and then. Why should he alone run miles and miles on the white paper? Why on earth he should be picked up the moment he starts resting? Yuck… the boy put him in his mouth for a second, sheesh… He looked at the guy on his left. He is happily sitting inside that ring. Occasionally he does a circle in a single graceful movement. Then he goes back to his blissful posture watching others. It must be fun to have such a cool life. He was again sharpened a bit and dragged across the paper. Grudgingly he moved along the paper…

I write because…

I write because 

1. I love writing 
2. it gives clarity to my thoughts
3. it gives me a sense of purpose
4. I can be myself
5. that is the easiest thing to do!

6. I don’t have to worry about convincing anyone
7. I won’t be stopped midline with a counter point
8. that is one of the skills I am good at
9. I am more focused when I do
10. it amazes me with the power of vocabulary

11. it makes me realize many of my convictions look weird once it is out on the paper
12. it humbles me with the depth and breadth of knowledge that is beyond me
13. it makes me more mindful of the everyday events
14. it makes me see the road as a path to travel, not as the means to my destination
15. it gives a fresh perspective to long forgotten moments

16. there is no right or wrong
17. it is not the only thing I do
18. it takes minimal resources
19. it makes use of my most coveted organ
20. I get stuck and get a break

21. it frees me from my emotional deposits
22. it gives a chance to my public self to be more in line with my real self
23. I can always edit
24. I can do it anytime
25. it makes me welcome my mood swings as mostly it triggers a writing session

26. it makes me wonder the power of brain to correlate seemingly unrelated things
27. it amuses me with the evolutionary path I had been through so far
28. I get more ideas to write when I write
29. I want to!

I was responding to the #everydayinspiration. Most of my above reasons are for writing/journaling in general, not necessarily blogging. I thought of penning down 10 reasons, ended up at 29. On re-reading I find some are similar, but leaving them as they are because this is how my brain responded to the question! How does yours?

Afterthoughts on Tithing

Have you ever experienced difficulty in giving to someone you know? I have, often.

We, as a family, believe in tithing. It is not religious, but a matter of principle. Every now and then, a relative would come in our list of recipients. My mental agony starts! In my mind, tithing fund is already spent; I don’t consider it as money we have. If that is true, then I shouldn’t have any afterthoughts on who receives the fund. But I have and am trying to figure out why.

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A daring feat!

Today I am feeling particularly bold, if revealing one’s name and pic is considered an extremely daring feat 😉

I am a branded introvert from time immemorial. Whenever my family introduced me to others, they had a tailpiece that went something like this : ‘she doesn’t speak much / she is a bit quiet/shy/reserved ‘; you get the drift. Not at all blaming my family, but this type casting was so much of a norm for me that I grew up living up to that expectation. It was something that defined me, a definition I strived to keep intact. I chose friends who were equally reserved; I was praised for the ‘nice’ group I hang out with. I avoided events where I would be expected to speak up; my parents were relieved that I wouldn’t go to any unfamiliar settings. But was I really an introvert?

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