I do apologise for the lapses between posts — they seem to be widening unproportionately to the strands of thoughts and reflections in my head. A substantial part of them go into the communal ‘swimming notes’ I share with two others who find air and clarity underwater as much as I do, and yet there are many more waiting to be drawn into less transient forms, untangled, clean. My journalling is turning into a classic Benjamin Button. It started flowing 14 years back, thick and hearty as any beard would be proud to be, but with time is returning to infancy as I battle with the intentions behind the sharing.
Do I share my reflections on reading — from Smith to Lessing, Barthes to Bhakti, Jacobson to Benjamin — when they’re only half-looking glasses, incomplete in context and breadth of knowledge? Or reflections essay-style, that are actually ‘drawers’ better opened at more appropriate timings? I am learning so much, so fast here. There is literature, philosophy, academic and literary language. When I arrived, I was only but a toddler in what I know and think, reduced over the years by focusing on different aspects, and in an environment which demands completely different priorities. I am still grasping to understand as a thirsty man does, but nowadays it feels a little less breathless, or maybe my lungs have strengthened.
My film photography has frozen with the winter; personal reflections and mutterings challenged every day, morphing too fast to crystallise into words, much less coherent posts. I’m questioning so constantly I feel like a walking curve, yet I seek no full-stops, only commas, semicolons, twists and games of punctuation. There will be a time when things fall into place enough for me to shape more coherency in this online journal, where my various notebooks and dried-out pens have not been scribbled on furiously for no reason, but till then, I am still here, always here, just in preparation, as silently as the minute pause before a breath is taken.