Back at my games
It has been more than a year since I updated this blog. I had forgotten about it quite happily, as I chased my imagination through the realms of fiction and reality, when my friend Disha reminded me about it.
What is it like, returning to a thing you know you loved, held sepia toned memories of close to your heart? It may not exactly be what you had imagined and glossed, put up on a pedestal due to the absence. It may have changed, you may have changed.
I used to love the feel of colours on my notebook. Every hue, every stroke mirrored my thoughts and became an amalgam of colour and me, spread out on a paper for all to discern.
I no longer experience the same, when I hold a brush in my hands.
Passion is the fuel of life, for me, and the reason of motivation and excellence. Though I try and fail in many things, I fervently hope for this passion. It makes me observe the world, not see, though ignorance too often blinds me.
To Disha, for reminding, there was one in the first place,
Pooja
What is it like, returning to a thing you know you loved, held sepia toned memories of close to your heart? It may not exactly be what you had imagined and glossed, put up on a pedestal due to the absence. It may have changed, you may have changed.
I used to love the feel of colours on my notebook. Every hue, every stroke mirrored my thoughts and became an amalgam of colour and me, spread out on a paper for all to discern.
I no longer experience the same, when I hold a brush in my hands.
Passion is the fuel of life, for me, and the reason of motivation and excellence. Though I try and fail in many things, I fervently hope for this passion. It makes me observe the world, not see, though ignorance too often blinds me.
To Disha, for reminding, there was one in the first place,
Pooja
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