Old Yellow Pages ✓

31. attached, detached

9th january, wednesday, 2019

dear diary,

I'm always poking and prodding at the same feelings and emotions, trying to write them out in a different way using my limited vocabulary. Trying to figure out what is left of the memories.

I'm scared to never feel that way again.

Writing was my escape. It was something big. I had stumbled upon my purpose.

Maybe the passion was taken away from me for a reason? Maybe now I'm interested in music because it has a higher purpose? Maybe god knew that if I kept on writing, I would never give anything else a chance, and he had to take it away so that I could discover myself fully? Maybe I
should combine both these gifts and do something with them?

Sometimes, I feel guilty about music because I feel like I cheated on writing.

Liam was my writing. He came, and I discovered words, already inside me, waiting to be let out. I guess they were always there. It's just that because of him, I suddenly knew exactly what to do with them. I loved him fiercely, to the extent that without ever having even met him, I was able to create vivid scenarios in my head, feel the emotions, and write them out. That is how alive writing made me feel.

Kush was my music. He brought me in touch with my desi side. I started feeling Hindi songs. I loved Kush subtly, in a soft way. The thought of kissing him seemed like a far away thing, something that wasn't much likely to happen, and also something I wasn't very keen to do. Sometimes I wonder if it was love at all. That is how music makes me feel. Comfort, and a soft kind of affection. A hobby. Something that makes me happy but doesn't set me on fire.

Music is something that can't really pull me towards itself. I can't leave everything for it as I could have for writing.

Sometimes when I think of myself becoming a musician, I can't believe it. I don't think I have that kind of talent yet. Of course, I can develop it.

But when I think of myself becoming a writer, I can. Seems right. That is probably because it was a natural gift, and it seemed like I was good at it without ever having learnt it. Effortless. 

Music is like meditation. It is a sedative. I lose myself and calm down.

But when I wrote, I was alive. I was creating something. I was the master of the story. The characters did whatever I wanted them to. It was my creation. I felt certain that it would be a big hit, and it was.

I was so attached.

Now I'm nothing but detached. I've fallen out of love. I can't relate to romantic songs and novels anymore.

I wonder if falling in love actually feels like it did with Liam. Just imagining touching him gave me goosebumps. How would that feel in real life?

❄