He thought life is gonna be secure when he, like rest of the sheep, chose MBA as the savior of his sinking career, albeit, career might be the only branch of his climber-alike life which is either cut short or doesn’t care to grow, despite shape-shifting one profile to another.
It was like the impulse, flapping its wings to seize the destination even before assembling the bits and niche of journey which was unknown to him. Well, after a couple of years of thrusting, it came up to a hopeless, ugly- NOTHING.
A cluster of stalls- called MNCs in world of globalization had shone upon him to make him kiss their feet for being the constant reminder that they were the reason he wouldn’t have to be shamelessly asking funds for survival. All these hysterics and theatrics embossed one fact out though. He began writing if nothing.
“He wrote heart-aches/breaks and thought of himself as a budding Rumi, creating the world of metaphors and extracts that sometimes even he failed to understand, however, one thing irrevocably happens- criticism- more like feedbacks. We really got to stop taking feedback as ugly naked whiplashes on our backs.
Apparently writing doesn’t define the lusciousness of literature, it doesn’t carry the secrecy you swore to yourself, and it is definitely not a broken soul penning down its grief for others to sympathize; it’s for everyone to everyone. “
“He still is to figure out a lot that has puddled up but writing finds it clear-cloudless way like a guest whom you would wanna have best coffee conversations with. It shouldn’t be hard to find words when you wanna shred some piece of your mind, if it gets more complicated it’s probably not what you wanna shred. Just write words, broken sentences, ruptured signals, thoughts spilled like an espresso on a blank sheet. Don’t do it to right an inept language that hustles-up your confusion; write because you are not afraid of sharing your imperfections. Don’t write because you wanna flaunt it, but because it comes easy and absolutely free to you.”