Writing

I used to express my awe in sunrises and sunsets in poetry and proses; now I have replaced them with iPhone photography. I used to be very sensitive to breezes and stars and reflect this sensitivity in my writing; now I have replaced it with occasional 140-letter tweets. Time has changed, but more blame should be on my own lifestyle. I am no longer the sensitive and productive, though unsuccessful, writer of youth and vigour, but a technologically enslaved and bureaucratically toiled teacher who seeks consolation in reading and alcohol but not in writing or art activities.

I would not say whether this is a bliss or a curse; to me it has been natural, though it should never be pre-destined. It is the easier way out, with iPhone and Twitter as my tools. Sometimes I found it difficult to limit my thoughts within 140 characters; but when I tried to write it in this blog, it could never exceed 200 characters. My mind has been adapted, or trained to adapt, to the fast-food-like, fragmented writing styles of the modern technological era.

I ask my pupils to write more while I myself stop writing; I preach the importance of frequent writing exercises while I myself seldom write. My personality has been torn and my integrity has been ruined; but what should I do? I have had interesting ideas that could have been expanded into a voluminous novel, just to meet my limited time and skills. Without the pious practice I have lost most of the zeal and techniques, and it would be unfeasible, or at least impractical, to pick them up at the moment, under the current circumstances.

Or maybe that is just an excuse. Maybe I am just too lazy, hopeless, pessimistic and negative. Being nostalgic does not help. The action-denial itself is devastating. I often convince myself that I can resume my writing enterprise any time I like, but of course it is not true. I can only mourn for the past, for the beautified memory and rosy past, like what I am doing now.