the second coming

Despite my best efforts, I find it impossible to shake off the sense of desperate ennui that seems to have engulfed my life over the past few days. I just can't remember having felt so uninspired for a long time. Perhaps it has something to do my courses, some of which I looked forward to with so much anticipation, now fizzling out with little more than stifled atleast-look-at-me-once whimpers.

Over the last week or so, i have also made what i believe is an important decision. In this twentieth year of my existence, i have resolved to become a writer. Knowing fully well that this demands, as Jack Kerouac put it, the 'energy of a benny addict', besides great skill,dedication and perhaps most importantly, patience.

I've never had any great passion for engineering, and my first three semesters at the country's premier engineering college have only served to drive the point home. A talent for physics and math do not hide deficiencies in tech creativity and innovative thinking. You don't build buildings on paper, and actual problems always amount to more than just advanced mathematics.

And moreover, a brilliantly designed circuit can never do to me what a beautiful book, or a song, can. When you read a really good book, a part of it becomes part of your soul, never to be erased - a reminder of days past and of lessons unlearnt.
The first truly great book I read was 'The Catcher in the Rye' , and I just know that the conundrum of the birds in Central Park will remained etched in my memory forever.

A critic, reviewing Catcher, wrote, " It's like walking into a mirror for the first time " - but then all great works of art are like that - each revealing a new facet in your own personality, and reshaping your very identity.

Here's to the future, and happiness and all that.