Journal

The Lost Painting by Vanessa Lemen

It's a piece of art on paper, or coded on a screen wherein we write our conversations with ourselves. Most of what we write isn't the whole truth, it's our truth and our lie. Here, we see the insanity in us, the ripe human emotions unleash themselves through pen, print, graphite or even tears. It gives us clarity of who we are, of how we felt and of things we couldn't say out loud. Just like how I'm expressing myself, of things my voice couldn't let out loud. 

It's hilarious that I think, here too I should use better words. That's how judgemental I can be even on a note to myself. Such pure expressions too aren't free of egoic censors! I've been gloomy, although not hopeless. Sometimes lonely, yet courageous...so much so that it may sound I'm fooling myself. There have been too many challenges, that it was unsuitable for a journal all throughout my life. It seems I lied to myself  often, for it looked like the only way to survive. 

We have been a warrior in life knowing the price of what they call blessings, somewhere we don't go too close to anyone or even ourselves. Burdened with the reality of life until death, surrounded by destiny's tricks we lead our life with faith and humility. Those around us know not, and there is no need either for the price of being Independent does come with a freedom struggle. Don't make much of it...I'm just recording whatever I think right now, it's just a Journal of one thought amongst the sixty thousand thoughts we have everyday. On this blog I usually type on occasions of despair, longing or on brightest days for my creative vigour.  Today, I wander mindlessly for sometimes a wanderer is lost with questions- amongst which I think...

Could we write sixty thousand thoughts in a journal everyday for three sixty five days till a sixty to possibly even a hundred years of our lifetime? If not, then how true is all that we record on a journal for us to reflect from our selectively judgmental memory.