For it is the season - to think and reflect on past events, memories and thoughts, and also to philosophise - to ask, why am I doing this? Because blogging has a reason behind it. If I feel the urge to come here to blog, it is because I am motivated to do so. The motivation stems from the cognition of wanting to blog, and this same cognition has to be derived from somewhere. The problem with this mechanism is that I keep asking the same question (why am I doing this?) for each and every process.
The mind is a beautiful thing. It has baffled all kinds of intellectuals, and we have yet to come up with answers.
Another interesting aspect is the fact that when I come to write here, I seem to blank out and have no idea what to say. However, this very concept, of coming here with the knowledge that you do not know what to write, is inexplicable. I came here to write something - so why can't I transpose my thoughts into writing? Something in my mind tells me to write what I can't write. But is it because I can't write it, or is it because of some refusal from my brain to write?
The irony of the whole thing, or rather the scope of the whole thing, is that this is exactly what I'm writing. I'm writing what my mind cannot, or is refusing to write. It is this that I've been occupying in my brain. It is this text that the brain has tried to take away from me.
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