I started Monologues around the same time I started Backpacker. But while the traveller in me was quick to share, the persona living inside me was not always in a mood to write. Despite that, 99 posts have been written and I feel compelled now to write my 100th , although I have no thoughts or topics in my mind .
Monologues is not really a monologue...it is actually a conversation . It is between her and me and we share a bond. We wrote whenever we felt an impulse to say something. It has always been impulsive and personal to a large extent, except that it is often not me , who is speaking .
I created a persona inside me , a " She" who said a whole lot of things and somewhere within her was a bit of me as well. My first post on the blog started with her and initially it was always her, pushing her voice through my fingers, eager to be heard until she vanished inside me. She observed, she dictated, she ranted, she cried . Then one fine day she disappeared, leaving me to deal with my own emptiness .
I continued trying to express my thoughts and feelings, but could never find her..And the thoughts seemed rather forced and deliberate.
I look for her in vain. She is silent, dormant and will not raise a voice. Cold, and indifferent to the world around her now, I wonder if I can possibly recreate her. Until then, I am left with neither monologues nor conversations.
Monologues is not really a monologue...it is actually a conversation . It is between her and me and we share a bond. We wrote whenever we felt an impulse to say something. It has always been impulsive and personal to a large extent, except that it is often not me , who is speaking .
I created a persona inside me , a " She" who said a whole lot of things and somewhere within her was a bit of me as well. My first post on the blog started with her and initially it was always her, pushing her voice through my fingers, eager to be heard until she vanished inside me. She observed, she dictated, she ranted, she cried . Then one fine day she disappeared, leaving me to deal with my own emptiness .
I continued trying to express my thoughts and feelings, but could never find her..And the thoughts seemed rather forced and deliberate.
I look for her in vain. She is silent, dormant and will not raise a voice. Cold, and indifferent to the world around her now, I wonder if I can possibly recreate her. Until then, I am left with neither monologues nor conversations.
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