Saturday, February 22, 2014

When I Write


As a kid growing up by modern standards, it seems pretty apparent that moderation is the key to well, almost everything. Extremes are never favored. Commonplace are the stories of people dying from extreme sports, essentially killing themselves by edging over to the end of the bar. Albeit being a rather rigid follower of probably most of today's ideals, I sometimes find myself drifting over to the fringe when I deal with certain issues, particularly those involving emotions. With particular concerns, it's either black or white for me, never grey.

When you eat an apple a day, it's healthy. When you eat ten in a day, suddenly it's called binge eating. I'm not calling that bad. In fact, it is true that overeating is bad for your body. But for me, extremes are simply how I deal with the creeping emotions whirling within. Love someone, love with everything that you've got. Hate someone, relinquish those last bits of adulation you still retain. Enjoy consuming, say, jelly? I gorge on them until my stomach cringes at the mere sight of jelly. And suddenly one day a switch is flicked, and I start craving jelly. And the cycle restarts. 

There's thin line between anger and relief. A thin line between love and hate. A thin line between happiness and sadness. Pushing myself over the threshold brings me intensity and eventually purges my soul of heart-rending inclinations. 

So I write. 

I write to rid myself of the despair that has been churning inside. Every single word encapsulates the inch that I have been angling towards. I write to ease myself and my soul.

Ergo, here's to regeneration of the spirits.



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