A Piece of Dust.

In keeping with the trend of the previous post, this post too was prompted by a book. This shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to you, reader, because as of now, the only stimulating things at arm’s length are books. 

The only thing worse than scary university exams is the one month of ‘holidays’ prior to aforementioned scary university exams. You plan to accomplish six chapters a day, but then suddenly it’s 9 pm and you’re still on the second page of the first chapter wondering just how time got the better of you. As you chastise yourself for being useless, you rush to the one thing nobody can take away from you- your books. If it weren’t for reading, I’d be a rotten vegetable by now. 

Anyway, I digress. I’ve taken to The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, though in regulated doses so that it’ll last a little longer. Today, I cheated. I  went ahead and read three chapters in a row, and it took me every ounce of my will-power to stop. 

An interesting issue came up in chapter 5. The protagonist, who’s doing a literature major and who has a particular passion for poetry is in conversation with her boyfriend of sorts, a medical student. ‘Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’ he asks self-importantly and then goes on to call it ‘a piece of dust’, thinking himself to be exceedingly witty. 

Science and literature, I’ve come to notice, are always pitted against each other. Those with a passion for logic and rational thinking roll their eyes at worthless arts like poetry. It has to be one or the other, doesn’t it? 

Well, I’m a medical student. (Hi. Thank you in advance for your condolences. 😋) And I can’t think of anything more beautiful than poetry. I adore science, reason and everything practical. At the same time, I can’t help but fall in love with literature, vagueness and exotic vocabularies. And I think a healthy mixture of both sides is a lot more enriching for my brain. 

I’m loving this book so far, by the way. It’s too soon to judge though. More on this later. Speaking of being a doctor, I should probably go finish that second page, though. Baby steps. 🙈

If poetry is a piece of dust, it must be gold dust they allude to. Everything is dust, though, if you look closely enough. Doctoring dust, writing dust… All this dust is sparking off my allergies. xD

(Lame, Sas. 🙄)

(Shush, your opinion is null and void because you are dust.)


Paper Has More Patience Than People


Nothing gives me solace the way pen and paper do. (Figuratively, of course. Gone are the days when everything had to be scribbled out, as opposed to typed out.) Leave me in a room alone with an empty book and if you come back a week later, I’ll still be crouched over it. (Provided the pen still works, that is.)

As you’ll come to discover soon enough, I have two very contradictory writing styles. The first style is casual and effortless, where I type out every thought that comes to my head and lose all my inner censors. When I write in the second style, which you’ll see less frequently, I spend hours brooding and editing and the post will only come up when the perfectionist in me is finally satiated.

There are issues I really can’t talk to even my closest friends about- not because I’m secretive but because I know they won’t understand it the way I want them to. This is where the beauty of paper comes in. When I write, I can put all my thoughts across and not have to worry about whether the reader gets it. (Of course I’d like you to get it, reader, but I’m just saying it’s not a necessity.) If something’s constantly on my mind, I know discussing it with people repeatedly will just exhaust them. When I write though, I can talk about the same thing in a million different ways if I wish to. ‘Paper has more patience than people,’ as Anne Frank very rightly pointed out.

I know this is technically my ‘first’ post, but I’ve tried my best to not emphasise this fact, because this very post would have been the 538th post on another blog if things had worked out differently. (#mysterious Sas) Nevertheless, join me on an all new journey of self-discovery and watch in amusement as I tumble through the awkwardness that is life.

(You know what a first post feels like? In India, when you have an arranged marriage, the family of the groom will come over to see the bride and both families then decide if they should proceed with the marriage. This post is not characteristic of me- I have made an attempt to censor in order to impress you, reader. Worry not, though. Once you get engaged with this blog, I’ll let my guard down and be myself. ……I just creeped you out, didn’t I?)

(Yay I managed to get through an entire post without using a single emoji. 😀

Oh wait.


There. Now the post is complete.)