Sunday, 22 July 2018

Blank.

Poster Man testa piena di pensieri confusi - Uomini
source: pixers.it



An eery silence is floating in the exam hall. There's the mild ruffle of answer sheets and the sound of scratching pens cutting the quiet in the room. My gel pen slips through my sweaty fingers, landing noisily on the floor. It takes forever for me to retrieve it from beneath the bench.

It's not over yet. I still have enough time to finish, right? Right?!

"Five minutes." the invigilator cries. Panic wells up inside me. I read the last question. I know this. That complicated concept I'd learned so well. I can do this.


I grip my blue gel harder, wishing it to ooze out the answer trapped in my mind. But nothing comes out the nib. Moreover, my watch seems to get louder every second.

The answer is right there in my mind, why couldn't I put it into words?!

I read the question once again in the hope of clearing my head. But not even the question registers this time. I look at my watch and find myself unable to decipher the time. All I know is that I can't get it all out in five minutes, and so my brain refuses to even try.

I realize that it is pointless. The panic is too much to bear. I get up and submit the incomplete paper, fully aware of how I could have done better if it weren't for my nonsensical tension. But I couldn't help it. I had gone blank.

. .


He's sitting next to me in complete despair. We all have our bouts of unfortunate times beating down on our self-esteem. It's been half an hour and my words of encouragement have fallen flat before him. I sit there, watching my repeated attempts of catharsis go in vain. Slowly, the fact of my being a futile presence sinks in. He looks dejected and done with life, and I feel utterly useless as a friend.

His eyes speak of the myriad worries floating inside his troubled mind. My mind is flooded with all the things that I wish I could tell him at that moment, of all that makes him who he is, of the greatness that he fails to see, of that load of passion inside him that he can't decide what to do with.

It was important for him to know it then, to understand it. It was important for me to say it. But the magnitude of thoughts inside my head hardly left any room to make sense of them. Once again, I try to squeeze out words but instead my mind decides to go numb.

 What little I could process of my thoughts, is no more there. It feels like I have forgotten how to think. And there, I go blank.

. .


I hit the backspace for the umpteenth time. A tangled mess of thoughts swirled inside my mind, waiting for the words to flow out and set them free. The rains outside seemed unable to decide upon its mood. A melancholic drizzle? An infuriated downpour? A cheerful patter? I believed that the rains reflected our individual moods. But today I could not decide on mine either.

I begin once again to write, this time about the feeling that lingers. The sweet taste that stays in the tongue long after devouring the dessert, the gush of emotions that come with the climax of a movie, the speech that leaves you in tears and moves you from within, the book you finished reading but couldn't stop thinking about...

And all too soon butts in a new urge to scribble away about my reison detre; the reason that keeps me going. And yet again, midway through the frantic writing comes the realization of being forever trapped in the rat race, and thus I halt and start seeking words to soothe the caged rebel.

From the sea of entangled thoughts emerged that indecisive part of my brain that prefers to resort to but one escape route in such a situation. Going blank.
. .


Whoever said that blank meant nothingness? Who said that blank was just something empty that needs filling? Because for me, it is a whole new dimension that is beyond our reach.

It is that flood of emotions seeping out of your soul to a point wherein you don't know what you feel. It is that moment of incomprehension in your brain when it is overloaded with information. It is when your chin drops down in utter shock and no words succeed in escaping your tongue. It is when whatever's in your senses transcends to a point exceeding your frequency. It is when you've traveled the entire track and reached back to the start of the circle.

Here again is this gush of thoughts wedging through the jam-packed mind, as if it were a mere pitcher being filled to the brim. Filled until it is more than what it can hold. Until it goes blank.

.
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