Thursday, July 17, 2014

Written In A World Not Mine

Hey there! How many times did you put pen to paper to put down something that has been nagging you? Yes, we are all not gifted with the skills that allows us to be up more front. Neither am I, but I make it my point of business to show my true self, never the less. 
There are things that are alien to us, there are things that we are not comfortable with and there are things that we thought never possible in our life. The facts are these "Nevers" become a constraint from our progress. 
When I say these things, I say it with earnest. I was never suited for the role, that I am generally in at the moment. I was never a person for the pen. 
There was a hidden spark within my soul, which I never knew existed. It just had to be harnessed but if I never that it was there, then there is no talk of being got. 
Then how, did I know that it existed? Things happen by mistakes, it was the mistake of doing something that I was not intended to do. I had other ambitions in life. The ones that were the more adventurous kind. I wanted to explore the depths of the unknown to the mind. 
Everyone is not born with a golden spoon in one's mouth and just as others, neither was I. I was made to do with the lesser things of life. I became what most would not want, a teacher. They say it is an honourable job. 
The only honour that stems from it is the fatigue that you get forcing what you know into the brain of others, irrespective if they are just toddlers or great big hulks attending university. It is a challenge of unimaginable proportion to a mind specially who did not want to be one. 
With every venture of life is supposed to be a learning field, the same can be said for a teacher. He learns more from what he teaches other. This gave me an encyclopedia of knowledge and it inured my skills as a writer as well. If you teach a language which I did most of my time as a teacher, then it is not necessary to mention, that you need to teacher others to write and before that you must know how to write as well. 
I did not like it to be pulled up, but being inadequate needs to get its punishment. Being made a fool time and time again made me prove myself to be better. I bet there is no one out there that can say that there mistakes being pointed out did not make them aware that they were mistake prone. 
Nearly thirty years in the field of teaching and now gave me the playing field to write, not just to project and portray my own thoughts but also of others. I am now not ashamed to say, that this allows me to earn handsomely.
So what does writing means to me? It is a world larger that can be comprehended in mere words of the mortal. It is a spectrum larger than expands the mind. It can simply be said to be an imagination conceived from the heart. It is the freedom to explore the inner self and to explain it in the way you know best. That is words that you have in your kitty bag. 
I need not have to go back to the vicious circle that I was not intended for, but never the less, reiteration is always better when you need to press home on the point. It was teaching alone that allowed me to see the light of the matter - words play a big part in who we are and what we can do. 
When this was entrenched into my brain box, I went all out of my way, to make words a part of my life and here I stand not better than where I started my journey in it. It is a never ending journey. It is not like hopping on a train and knowing where you will disembark. 
You just learn to forget. When you have learned new ones the old fellows have been forgotten. That is why, I make reading a part of life as well. I am not the only character on this planet to use words to express myself. There are many more nut-cases out there with their own ideas of what is to be and what is not. I may not like to read what they have written but I have no option but to. It just helps me not to forget what I have learned completely. Most of all, it allows me to be in contact with the literary world. 
Even thought I have written this in a world of my own, in seclusion of a cocoon, in a matter of thirty minutes with thoughts solely my own. It was a long journey that I had with my brethren - the other human folks around. 
William Pitts