where the writers are
Limited Addition

“You now have unlimited storage,” says the message when you check your mail. Does everything not have a limit? I may not have to worry about deleting large files, forwards, links…they can all remain where they are. New ones will come and my space would accommodate all of these.

You know something? I don’t like it. Earlier when I’d see that marker saying “You are using 60 per cent of your capacity” I at least knew that I was using something, that I was being used. Now? There is unlimited chaos. Things will come and lodge themselves in the place I inhabit; I have anyway not been good at deletions but the fear of losing something precious in the crowd made me move things out.

With this additional space I feel like I have the key to a house and don’t know how many rooms are there. I enter one and it opens out into another and then another…I want to use the facilities and it says, “All items in the Bulk Folder will be deleted automatically after 30 days”. I pull the flush several times a day, yet shit piles up. I run to find a bed to rest in, and just when I am getting comfortable I look around and find several beds, as though I am in a dormitory.

There are some smiles, some laughter, some tears, some stories, some truths, some lies. Unlimited supply.

I ought to be happy. This is what the world wants. Free space. Lots of it.

Fear grips me. With so much coming in, there is a sense of emptiness like everything is falling into a crater. There is a feeling that what is important will be lost. I can flag it, but isn’t the idea behind something important its ability to silently sit by your side without having to announce its presence?

I have stopped looking at the top right corner when I sign in. Don’t tell me I have all the space in the world.

I knocked off a knick-knack from its pedestal. It was unbreakable. But after its fall as it lay in repose on the floor, it looked different. It seemed like an animal twisted in pain, and it was a human figurine.

We do it all the time – drop, get hit by, hit out at, bang into things.

We can do it in large exhibition halls, art galleries, shopping malls. Even in open fields, we crush the grass as we walk on it.

As for large hearts, who wishes to belong to one that is dotted with cadavers rotting only because we say, hey, nothing is really over?

The one time I tried to paint after making a dark sketch, I realised I was filling it in, I was working within the circumference. The moment I went out of it, the marks of the pencil remained. Attempting to erase it left blotches on the colours. I was not doing justice to either.

When I use water-colours, I know the paper is of a certain size, I know my limited space. But there is such freedom as I mix the colours, dip the brush in and spread it on the paper with splashes of water. What forms with the basic idea may be better than what my imagination could conjure. The fluidity of the things in my possession takes it beyond even what I may be capable of. It is free to be itself for it has given me the power to call it its own.

I belong to it as it belongs to me.

Neither of us has ever asked for unlimited space.

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Farzana, Too much free space


Too much free space can be empty as you describe. Having too large a void to work in can bring anxiety, difficult to work without having some type of space, a boundary to create a sense of being grounded. I feel the same when I paint on a canvas. I don’t always know what will appear, but it helps to have a place to work within as I slop the paint on and see what it wants to become. It never ends up how I imagined and always takes on a life of its own. And if the canvas was an unlimited space, I would feel overwhelmed; I wouldn’t know how to begin or where to end. And as a space belongs to one as one belongs to the space, I suppose too that the space also belongs to all who rest their eyes upon or engage their minds in that space? This blog has been on my mind—so many layers to it. You don’t have any of your artwork in your gallery, Farzana?

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Yes, Rebecca, the space also

Yes, Rebecca, the space also belongs to others for we can only choose to be alone but not stop others from seeing us as such with its varied perceptions - and this part if important.

This blog post was written essentially to convey that freedom can be as much a burden as certain kinds of bondage are. I don't have issues with emotional ownership at all.

I have not put up my 'art' works here as yet, although I have wanted to. As you might have realised by now, I really don't mind being exposed, warts and all!

Perhaps I shall manage something over the weekend. There are just a few I have scanned and have moved on to photo-art, which started with me showing parts of myself to express fragmentation. I shall leave the explanations for later...


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…but not stop others from

…but not stop others from seeing us as such with its varied perceptions - and this part if important.  Yes, Farzana, this is true isn’t it? I often worry about “saying too much” however that may translate in any given moment. Ironically, I used to be a very private person, not sharing anything of myself. But at some point, I began sharing a little, a little more, and then I figured, what was the worst that could happen by divulging who I am. I’m still working on learning to be more comfortable sharing verbally, but writing is my natural space where it all comes out. By reading your blogs, even though they can be melancholy and they stir deep feelings, I think it’s good for me because it allows me to face any fears I may have and to learn about being exposed—as you say—with warts and all. It’s important to expose ourselves I suppose, and I think I realize that now more than ever.I look forward to viewing your ‘art’ 



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There is melancholy and then

There is melancholy and then there is the realisation of it. Not many are aware of it...the exposure I speak about, Rebecca, is as essential as honesty for me. Yet, I continue to be extremely private socially, almost a recluse. However, I am quite open in verbal communication when I get round to it...then all the pent-up words just explode. There is release and there is nakedness. I have no choice.

Your natural space is what makes you comfortable. I am okay with the exposure because I am helpless...it happens without my sometimes being aware of it.

I do hope you find some non-melancholic stuff around here...


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I was about to log out but

I was about to log out but caught this and couldn't help but reply in the moment...I must say, Farzana, we seem to have similar vibrations (and I’ve felt this with a few others) or perhaps I'm open to the vibration that I sense in you. I am also extremely private socially and also somewhat of a recluse or rather I have been in the past and am coming out of my shell. Though folks at work for example would see me as outgoing because in that environment I have to be come out of my shell a bit; I keep it as business and surface details, nothing personal is shared unless a small anecdote comes out of me, etc. Even my family doesn’t know all of me, but I share some of my writings with them on paper so they can know me. I have for the past ten or more years exposed myself only to the page for my eyes only and for a few close to me, but other than that, RR is the first time I have come out in the open so to speak.

Oh, yes, I do try to find the balance so that I don't fall over. And I definitely "find non-melancholic stuff around here..."

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I did not mean in the

I did not mean in the general domain, only my blogs, Rebecca. I am aware of a lot of other kinds of writing here and even by myself...melancholy or any one thing has never defined me.

It is always nice to find one's words echoing another's thoughts. And, no, you had not spoken too much...and you know what I am implying!