it’s been a long time since i last wrote here. the way a writer should write, with his pen in his hand and his strokes from his heart. it is a difficult thing, this writing. it makes you reflect on things that resist reflecting on, it makes you think about dangerous stuff and fragile make-believes. it makes you stop in the mad rush that your life has become and asks the question that you have long been evading: is it really worth it?
last night i leafed through my 2011 planner and realized how the year is fast approaching its end. just a couple of months and 2011 is all over. i went back to january and read my entries one by one. meetings, presentations, deadlines, a get-together, more meetings, workshops, deadlines, presentations, a night-out with friends, more meetings, more deadlines. i turned to february, then march, then april, until all the entries are gone. this is what my life has become: a endless line of meetings and deadlines punctuated with the occasional parties and night outs. and no, those meetings are not about feeding the hungry and helping the poor. those deadlines are not about doing my share to save the world.
those meetings and deadlines are all about the pay check that i will receive at the end of each bitchy month so that i can buy all the things i need to try to salve this gaping hole in me that goes by the name of purpose. those meetings and deadlines are all about pseudo accomplishments and praises that help distract me from this sinking feeling i sometimes call lost. those meetings and deadlines help me breakdown my year into minuscule irritants that would create the illusion of time flying by so fast that i’m actually enjoying life.
2 months to go before the year ends. 2 months to go.