Writing

It began with pictures. Pictures became symbols. Symbols evolved. The evolution caused a spark. The spark of creativity. Creativity unleashed the mind, and that's when it got lost in the world of imagination. The jungle of imagination is a funny place. When you try to find your way there, you invariably land up at the harbor of truth and reality, showing you the vast oceans that lay untouched as everything constantly changes. Unconsciously, however, the mind will move towards the labyrinth that is wild and untamed.

Many instruments exist for recording such journeys. It began with carvings, and then moved to stone. Soon, however, with some portability, it moved towards ink, and carbon. Today, its more just a bunch of dots lighting up in strange ways depending on the way some electrons dance.

There was a time when I needed to hold something in hand whenever I wanted to enter the land where rules can be broken. It was my key, without which everything would be boring and mundane. With time, all I needed was the strangely laid out board with symbols. Button presses would emit a surge of feelings, warped in a web of words.

I tried the pen again few days ago. Its amazing how much we rely on something from a machine. It felt strange to grip something and move the hand in a way that would create symbols that could be read by the eye, and deciphered. That day, however, I struggled to read my own handwriting. Pencils are better though. They help in clear thoughts, and give you the freedom to make mistakes.

But to think, I need to type.