As I rock my chair to keep myself engaged in motion, I look at the ceiling. Looking at the blue ceiling has been a way to past my time. Surrounded by tall shelves of books that bring me a sense of comfort and achievement whenever I look at them, I always look up at the blue ceiling for hours whenever I come to this comfort zone of mine.

I have been a writer all my life.

Ever since my youth, I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. Springtime of youth lets you dream but like the cycle of seasons, dreams also have their own cycle.

I worked hard for my dreams. The dreams that gave me the wings to fly have now made me a cripple. A cripple who has lost things that make human life fruitful.

I wanted to be something and I worked hard to be that ‘something’. I thought that I would find out what that something was when I reached there and now that my hands have turned wrinkled and my eyes droopy to showcase the fact that they have seen a great passing of time, I have that something: A feeling of achievement.

On the road, I passed many things and now that I look back, I now know what they were. People say it’s never the goal but the journey that is the thing to look forward to. Regrets creep up from time to time in my mind, reminding of the things that I lost because I sometimes never had the courage to grab them or simply overlooked their importance.

Writing is liberating. Every emotion that I feel becomes lighter with every word that I write. Human beings need a medium of expression and we have a couple of ways. For an introvert like me, the writing was something that helped in letting out on my feelings discreetly but now that I think about it, I should have acted on those feelings.

Now, I feel sad but tears don’t come out of my eyes.

I am angry but I don’t feel like letting out.

I live in a shade of loneliness but I don’t want the comfort of anybody’s presence.

I have accepted the present and dream of changing the past.

How dearly I wish to go back to the time when I had choices to make and a life to live is something none can remotely imagine.

Now all the choices are made and I live in the results of those choices.

I won accolades but with time the number of people I could share my happiness dwindled because I didn’t extend my feelings at the right time.

Loneliness is a hail of slow-moving bullets. The relentless blunt forces hit hard, leaving behind an empty hole of despair on my psyche. My efforts to fix the messed-up psyche brought on by the despair feel futile. Now it only reminds of a beautiful state of my past before all the pieces of puzzle crumbled away in the reality of my present. Humanity’s woe is its ability to hope in the darkest of time and cursed by it, even I dream of something better.

This is not a story of my past but the thoughts of my present which I hope will guide you in your future. Your dreams won’t go anywhere but try to look for something more in life.

Yours truly,

An old man who knows things