A Dry One For You

My last blog post got so much kindness to a point where I was pretty sure my stat counter was broken. Honestly I am glad for everything everyone said but I am pretty sure most will not come back for seconds. It was a one time thing though it did overwhelm me for a minute and I was pretty sure I would never be able to write anything for the public ever again.

But I am an arrogant ass so here I am again. 🙂

Last year my uncle asked me what I did as an extracurricular activity when I didn’t have class or anything (LOL!).  I looked him in the eyes, took a deep breath and said, “I write.” I was working part-time as a writer/editor for student-run website studentethiopia.com at the time. He didn’t look at me with flashing disappointment or throw the couch at me like I sorta expected him to but  he was in fact interested and he started giving me topics that would grab public attention. Among all the ideas he mentioned, the topic I discussed in my previous blog post was the one he insisted on and he was very right I guess. It was something many found they could relate to.

I complain about a lot of things and this world is not short of things to complain about. I think if I didn’t have things to complain about, I wouldn’t have anything to write about because if life was all rainbows and butterflies, there wouldn’t be anything anymore interesting.I have an understanding that if things start to appear like they’re going too well, a terrible storm is not far off and I honestly start to panic whenever things are good for a little while and if I am ever happy for a while, or rather if there is nothing wrong in my immediate life, I start to miss being miserable because I get bored.

If we really are happy,  we don’t usually stop to notice and take it in. We realize just how happy we were when the sadness starts to creep in and misery is especially worse but easy to come-by if the things that piss you off and make you sad are things such as littering and the fact that careless people exist and knowing that there will probably never be a world free of poverty in your lifetime and there isn’t much you can do about these things and even if you tried, you stop and notice that your effort, which is killing you really, doesn’t even make a small dent in the problem like it’s Godzilla and you’re the fly that isn’t even in the movie.

Artists are assumed to have great unrealized power and writers are like fire breathing dragons with the way they can rip worlds apart with basically something they scratched on a tissue paper at the cafe.I know there are a lot of things wrong with the world and it’s going to take armies of angles and demons and a whole lot of star dust to liberate us from all this wrong but it’s cute to see writers try. Everything that passes for good writing these days is criticism of everything wrong with us.

I want to be a writer not a critique of the world or perhaps I have totally missed the point of what being a writer means.

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