Realisations.

I wish I could call my blog a Happy blog too, but it isn't and if I tried to make it so, I would be being a hypocrite.

All the last two months I was literally leading a 7 am to 12 midnight existence, I finally realised why I write what I write. I love writing. It's as simple as that. And strange too, coming from the only writer in an entire family of Doctors. I'm a kind of a black sheep in that sense, but that's totally by the point.

I write out of compulsion. What I write maybe senseless unorganised crap, but writing it shall be. And besides, very sadly enough, there's little, too little scope for me to indulge in all the things that I think are wonderful. Painting, photography.

And there was also another realization. If you deliberately concentrate on the better parts of your dreary life ( yes, they will be there no matter how dead you are), If you consciously make an effort not to let your lows spill into places you keep returning to every few nights and is invariably the last thing you see before you hit the bed, then you still have hope.

My posts had taken on a monotonous shade of grey, and I don't think I like that anymore.

Because, if there's something you love, its always worth the effort to make it happy, isn't it?