Writing

Sometimes one comes across a writing which, to use the oft repeated cliche, blows your mind. It could be a whole book, a whole chapter, a news article, an opinion piece or even a beautifully constructed sentence. Even if that book or an article, of which the sentence is a part, turns out to be a dud that one sentence would be etched in your memory as long it lasts.

One has to wonder how could one come up with such a simple but a memorable sentence. The words in such sentences, when taken individually, could be so trite that you wouldn’t even give these a second thought. But when put together, it feels like magic. Such sentences will not just move you it could even make you question your very existence. Here is a person who just by writing that one sentence or even half a sentence made your already insignificant life even more insignificant. You think you could write, but this one sentence makes you feel like a person from Paleolithic era.

There would always be people with an intellect far superior to you.(Their intellect could be due to various reasons which were not in their control completely). Even among these, there would be very few who will be capable of expressing their intellect in a way that makes them look even more brilliant than they already are. There wouldn’t be a problem, if you’re not aware of such people. You could feel good about yourself and even consider yourself to be an intellectual person. However, the moment you come across or become aware of the brilliant ones, your whole world crumbles taking you with it. You could try until you become non-existent, yet, you would still not be able to produce a half decent sentence, let alone a good one.

The only thing you could do when you come across such sentences/books/articles is to appreciate your absurd existence and if possible, write something that proves to you yet again of your insignificance in this cosmos.

Note: This is the result of reading The Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw and Indie Wire’s David Ehrlich review of “Past Lives“.

Peter Bradshaw’s “Futile luxury of regret”, and David Ehrlich’s “it’s a movie less interested in tempting its heroine with “the one who got away” than it is in allowing her to reconcile with the version of herself he kept as a souvenir when she left” (half) sentence made my already absurd insignificant life even more insignificant and absurd.