Writing Experiments: Can I Feel Whatever I Want Through These Words?
It is a cold morning. The sky is overcast, and the wind is harsh. But I am warm inside this new apartment I moved into yesterday. I am here standing and writing this because I don’t have a chair yet. Although this is not at all comfortable, I am bringing myself to do this by telling myself that Hemingway wrote like this.
The floor is squeaky. The tea I made myself this morning was strong, so I am having some pretty intense bowel movements. My body hurts at places due to stuff carried yesterday. I have a lot to manage in this new place. I have things to buy and organize. With all these things to do, I don’t have time to ask myself ‘What is life?’
But I want to be asking myself that question!
Once I told myself I had to be a writer or some kind of artist because that’s the only way I can ask that all important question. And the fact that I am here, amidst practical chaos, typing ‘What is life?’ makes me feel I made the right choice.
What is life, by the way?
Is it that which gets to exist only if you manage to find food, clothes and shelter for yourself?
Or is it something that doesn’t exist as long as you don’t ask what it is?
In the first case, I am living life as long as I eat, wear and dwell. In the second case, I only get to live life as long as I am a writer or an artist.
In any case, ‘What is life?’ has answers only if you have that question. Otherwise, you don’t have life, you only have rent, food, clothes, soaps, and oranges.
My goal when I began writing this was to make an experiment. I wanted to make myself feel one emotion of choice through this writing. I had chosen joy for this morning. But I talked on the phone where I also said I missed frequent drinking parties that we had. That phone call interrupted my writing and its purpose. But it did manage to bring joy into me. So, the purpose has been fulfilled through some other means.
Which means I have to now choose something else that I have to evoke inside me through this writing.