Poornima Manco

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The joys of Procrastination (and the side effects)

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I have no one to blame but myself. You do not start a story with no clear plot in mind. This is what I have done…again. Previously, it has somehow worked. This time, not so much. My story has stuttered to a halt. And rather than do what all writers must do, which is, show up, shut up and write, I am procrastinating.

Suddenly that circuits class at the gym…the one that’s going to kill you…looks very attractive. Oh, and cleaning! The pleasure I am deriving from that. Not to mention, the laundry, the dusting, the cooking, the unloading of the dishwasher…. Heck, I’ll even slap on some gloves and give the toilet a thorough cleaning. Anything but what I must do. Which is write.

I could argue that I am writing….doesn’t this blog count towards something?

Yeah, I know.

Back to the dusting then.

A change is as good as a rest

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I am back after a brief hiatus. It was the necessary amount of time it took me to reassess, recuperate and rebound (somewhat) from the sad sad time in our lives. The sun is shining and in some small way, so is my outlook. I cannot thank my friends, and my lovely readers/followers for believing in me and allowing me the luxury of wallowing in my sorrow for a bit.

Onwards and upwards hereon.

Is it worth it?

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I was in the middle of writing a story when I found out about the demise of a family member. That was nearly two weeks ago. Since then, I have been unable to return to that story, even with a submission deadline looming.

I could ascribe it to writer’s block. Or being far too busy, or far too grief stricken. But underneath that unwillingness to carry on writing, lies quite another beast. One that I find myself unable to name.

Is it doubt? All writers have their fair share of that. Is it ennui? There is certainly some of that within me, right now . But the overriding feeling is one of hopelessness. Why am I writing? What is the purpose here?Is anyone even reading what I write? And what do I hope to accomplish with my half baked stories and strange ramblings? Do I expect to become some kind of best selling novelist at my ripe age? Haha to that.

All human beings want to leave some kind of a mark on the world. Whether it is in the form of art or music or progeny or a business venture, there is always a yearning to be remembered. In the end, however, how many of us really are?

Death is a great leveller.

Right now, it is making me question all that I have felt was important or worthwhile. Will I come out the other end still writing? Only time will tell.

Mother

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Having lost another loved one recently, emotions that were long suppressed have been churned up once again.

Today is my mother’s birthday. Or would have been, if she were still here. Only, I lost her nearly fifteen years ago. At the time it was like a tsunami had devastated me. I sleep walked through an entire year, unable to comprehend the magnitude of my loss. Slowly,however, with the help of my near and dear ones, I regained equilibrium, and started to live life once more.

The death of a parent is a reality all of us have to face at some point in our lives. It is normal to feel adrift…rudderless. Mothers, Fathers, siblings…..these are the people who know you, warts and all, from the very beginning. They are your moorings. How does one pick oneself up once they are gone?

With great difficulty.

My grandmother said to me at the time, ” You are not the first, and you will not be the last.” Wise words from a lady who had been orphaned at a very young age.

And so, you put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving.

We are doing just that right now.

In love and remembrance of my wonderful, brave mother. And all the others we have lost along the way. God Bless you and keep you.

The anatomy of grief

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Once again I am face to face with grief. The sort that wrenches everything apart. The sort that shreds the fabric of normality.
When the dust settles and the pieces fall back into place, they are never quite ‘in place’. It is a different reality. One that requires another getting used to.
Grief changes people. I know that for a fact. But does it change our intrinsic nature, or merely our world view? Is it possible to go back to a time of innocence, before the fact? I look into my children’s eyes and think not. Even innocence is altered forever.