Four days of not being able to post anything in my blog seems eternity. I do not understand why I cannot save anything if I’m using the internet connection in my room. For the past four days, I also had bouts of insomnia. At three in the morning, my mind is as active as if I drank seven cups of coffee. There is no correlation between not posting anything in my blog and my lack of sleep, I’m quite sure of that. If this is addiction, I might not survive the withdrawal syndrome then.
So while walking home from my class which ended until nine this evening, I decided to pass by a cafe with a fairly good WiFi connection and write something. I ordered beer to ease my sleeplessness later tonight. Heineken runs smoothly down my throat. A former student in my Journalism class sent me an email two days ago, which I was only able to read minutes ago, told me that I am taking blogging too seriously. At some point he is right. Like anything else, I take everything that comes to my life too seriously, blogging being one of them. However, writing has evolved into something from just “letting time pass” to something without it time is simply passing. I know in terms of literariness, my writing is far from being decently literary. In fact I’m not aiming for it. But honesty keeps it a representative of my reality. The world in my eyes.
The red and yellow neon lights outside the cafe are too beautiful. A portion is starting to flicker. I can even hear the humming of my laptop. My ability to sense every thing seems magnified by my lack of sleep. I just hope that this post will ease me from my conscience’s unending goading to write (or face the consequence of death).
Writing can be this cruel I realize. A kind of cruelty I want to be a subject of over and over again. Without it the world seems to go on a slow motion until it eventually stops. Only words formed into a web of sentences, which make sense sometimes, but are simply rambling most of the time can prod it to go around again.