A conversation between my “Heart” and “Mind”

Grey Cells and Red, Lub-dubbing Pump, sitting on a park bench.

Heart: “Why is it so difficult to write?”

Mind: (turns around with a bored look yawning) “If it was easy, everyone would be a writer, duh!”

Heart: “But everyone IS a writer nowadays, can’t you see?”

Mind: “Everyone writes, yes. But not everyone is a writer.”

Heart: “What’s the difference anyway? You write. You get noticed. People praise you and the next thing you know, they’re holding your paperback and you’re attending meet-and-greets.”

Mind: “That’s why there are formulas. Pour your writing batter into preformed moulds and walk through the three courses of the menu. Or strain your imagination for something original but obviously market-savvy  and let publishers lap it up.”

Heart: “I don’t think if I want to conform.”

Mind: “You don’t have to.”

Heart: “Well, I cannot fathom something strikingly original either.”

Mind: “Nothing is truly original.”

Heart:”Ugh! Don’t Pablo Picasso me now!”

Mind: “Whatever! Listen, you have to make nonsense make sense. That is possible if you’re at it anyway.”

Heart: “At what?”

Mind: “At work!”

Heart: “What work?”

Mind: (tilts head and shoots a deadly glance)

Heart: “Yeah I get it, I get it. You get pissed easily.”

Mind: “Because my business is to find sense.”

Heart: “Mine is to entertain nonsense! (chuckles) Words keep chattering inside my head like a classroom… all day. I cannot understand what they mean. It is like ‘finding a needle in a stack of needles’.”

Mind: (exasperatedly whispers) “Who’s famous-quoting now? (yet trying to be uber-positive) Anyway, doesn’t matter. You still can. Just gather your thoughts and sort through what clicks you the most.”

Heart: “As if!” (sniggers)

Mind: “What?”

Heart: “You know how filled to the brim with nonsense I am.”

Mind: “You mean, things that don’t make sense! Most things don’t make sense. Not political causes or economic. Not traditional warfares or modern. Not professional identities or personal. But that’s how it goes for everyone. You find a semblance of…”

Heart: “No it doesn’t! Everyone else is so sorted! They just know where they are going.”

Mind: “Because they told you?”

Me: “Because I see them and I know.”

Mind: “Why was I not informed of your profound cerebral illumination? And how did it happen without me? Was it AI?”

Me: “Who knows!” (makes robotic noises and chuckles like an idiot)

Mind: “Shut up and listen, goddammit!”

Silence. Mind, panting because it is outraged by the frolicking. Heart, looking at the floor, ashamed. 

Mind: “First up. Stop cribbing. Its getting on my nerves. Second, write, just because. Third, original or not, complete it. Then we can have this talk again. Till then, no pansy hobbying. No break-taking. No sugar-craving. And definitely no binge-watching Narcos!”

Pause. Thoughtful pause. Thoughtful but prolonged and gradually turning into creepy pause.

Mind: “So???”

Heart: “You’re right. I will do it. I will complete what I began. I will commit to it.”

Mind: “Good. Now get on with it.”

Optimism. Decisiveness. Slow Thoughtfulness. Rising Doubt. Increasing Frenzy. Panic. Cold realisation. Acceptance. Fragile help-seeking.

Heart: “So what do I write?”

Mind: (Deep sigh. Closed eyes. Unveiled annoyance.)

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