I once remember mentioning that writing for me was just a means of escape from my reality. So, if I start enjoying or worse loving my reality, will I Stop writing? The inspiration behind any creation what-so-ever is basically some form of passion. Can I ever be as passionate to any other emotions as I was to my desolation? But then, the origin of the word passion lies in endurance and suffering. So, is it that all creators are basically emotional masochists? Do they have to attract affliction even if there's no trace of it? Would we really put an effort to create something if the world around us is gregarious to our most unjust appeals? Don't the angels envy us the Earthians just because the trace of imperfection in our lives which makes us so colourful and unique? Why would one ever feel the need to articulate any of her feelings in any form of creation if she's too busy just absorbing and experiencing all the gifts nature can bestow upon her? If we're too busy caressing the time of our life we won’t really bother to reflect upon it or to document it. Thus we need emotional troughs as much as we need the crests (if not more!). Creations occur in those troughs when we've a hint of bereavement from those crests, when we can sit back and ponder upon the flow of apparent chaotic events and be thankful for what life had offered to us!
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