3 years now; time has raced, hasn’t it? Seems yesterday when I started to blog. Back then, I’d write a post and I would log back into my phone’s Blogger/WordPress app a million times just to check if a new comment had arrived. I consider myself a writer; pardon me for being delusional but everyone who writes is considered a writer in my book. Some just make it bigger than others. I won’t give you 100 reasons for why “some” make it bigger than others. Neither will I mention their hard work, nor all the night’s sleep they’ve missed. This post is not about all that. This ain’t a motivational piece, nor a success story. It’s written to share the story of a writer, an unknown writer, he is not successful, nor has he failed. any guesses for the writer is? Okay, it’s ME. It’s me.
I logged in to check for comments, and every good comment made me happy. I don’t know if that’s passion or not; however, that had me wanting to write more. But, with time, my blogs became a rarity and hence, those wonderful comments. I became inactive on Google Plus, then stopped having conversations on Facebook with most friends, all texts with my blogging mates ceased, and, Twitter – as fun as it was, it became something else, not by any means a showcase of my writing skills. As the visitors to the blog decreased, I lost more interest. With time, I stopped sending those posts to different webzines and sites in hope to get published. Badly lost enthusiasm. Stopped writing my book. No money coming in, no appreciation as well, and, the writer in me was almost lost. Somewhere in that period, I was out of college as well – without a degree.
When you can’t love what you do, you’ll have a hard time. I realized that with time. I often reflect and I feel that having been on the web actively, reading and learning about writing for a good 2 years. I wrote consistently during a certain period. Yet, I didn’t move an inch forward with regards to being a better writer. The command over the language, the vocabulary, all felt stagnant. In fact, when I read and discovered so many talented people, it scared me; it’s unnerving. Do I deserve to be successful? Can I do this better then these people? Should I even be here? Am I good enough? Is my best going to be good enough? You ask yourself questions, and you can’t answer them. It worries you, breaks you, and it hurts, rather badly. I tried to pretend I was still in love with writing. I hoped it was just one of those “writer’s block” but the truth is – it was not – but much more.
Something happened then, – I started to appreciate unrequited love. How? Life works in strange ways. I also started to understand myself better. How? That’s mysterious, even to me. However, special mention to an episode from the Mahabharata where Krishna talks to Arjuna about doing things without any expectations. While that didn’t create a magical change in me. It helped me rethink things I do. Somehow through all this I found a reason to write, write again.
I was in no mood to write a blog post anytime soon. Nor had any reason to write. But here I am; writing again and it’s not for all the stats, although all the wonderful comments will still make me smile (See what I did there?). The writer needed to write this piece. I write best when I need to, when it’s my way out. Blogging on a personal level won’t make me rich anytime soon, but it can help me stay sane. I fell in love with writing not because I was looking for lots of fame. Initially, I had no desires and just wrote stuff in a notebook I made for the purpose of writing; I found writing a great hobby. I fell in love with it. Afterwards, I started to dream, dream of being the world’s best writer. I dreamt to be rich by selling books. And, when the reality struck, and the doubts started creeping in, when I realized there were so many people writing much better stuff, and I could only notice my flaws: I stopped loving to write. I wished to be popular. I wished to be rich through my works. But, I lost the love I had for writing. Writing isn’t easy, and as a wise friend told me: creativity couldn’t be rushed.
When you can’t find a purpose to write (other than dreaming to be rich) and when you don’t find yourself good enough, you’d not be able to do the writer within you, justice. Being an introvert in a small city doesn’t help either. My life starts and ends in a room, and then even the writer can only sit back and worry than explore the world of imagination, and it’s saddening. However, sometimes if you just hang on, you get answers as well.
When somebody falls in love with another person. A person who doesn’t love them back. That somebody has two options. He/She can either own and appreciate their feelings and evolve into a stronger, wiser person and in the process one may well learn to love oneself. There’s a second thing they can do to, but I wouldn’t mention that because the first idea sounds so cool and dignified, and it also doesn’t hurt the person they “love”. The world doesn’t own anything to anyone.
Love is unconditional and without expectations. When you do anything you love, there should be no desires attached. As a wise man once said, “Never will a man without expectations be hurt.” If I ever like a girl, she’s perfectly entitled to even ignore my very existence. So, when I write, it’s perfectly okay for the writing Gods to avoid reading my crap. It’s perfectly okay for anyone to not read these posts. What’s necessary for me is to write and to try to get people reading them. But, I hope to not forget that I write to get peace, everything else is a bonus. Don’t get me wrong: I am still human.
My duty is to get back on the right track of learning, and grow into the best writer I can be. It’s my job to write the stories I can tell – hopefully in a way different from the rest. I am unique in some way, I have that feeling. I’ll have to search for myself. The news is that I am restarting my journey. I am getting back writing, sending pieces, typing random stuff on my phone. Vomitting “words” in my notebook. Starting to search for freelancing opportunities. Writing a crazy blog post once in a while. Even if my words and I aren’t visible in the virtual, I can safely say I will write, write everyday. The sort of things, I feel, only I write. But, I’d do everything without expecting anything in return. It might be difficult, but I know nothing will break me again. I will write, – that’s sure for this life. If not for anything else, just for the sake of happiness and peace only writing can provide me with. I still dream, dream to be rich, but my goal is to evolve into the best storyteller I can be.
I am in a unique situation. I have been teaching little kids off late; I have no degree yet, but I earn bit; what I earn is peanuts; but I do something. I never sit back and cry, and I’ve no idea what I am going to do next. The only thing I’d probably need now is some peace within. Something will happen for me someday; I won’t give up – what I know I will do. And, as always life will go on.
Have I got my answers? Maybe. Am I motivated to restart? YES! The present says I have my exams soon (I am pursuing a distance learning course now) and I found time for a thing that really makes me feel good: This feeling of having written. Yes, I am a writer; I write.
[PS: If you get this feeling, that I’m mostly trying to convince myself; you’re a genius. But, I am trying; trying because I know I am much worse at everything else.]
Lastly, a moment of silence for these words in the pic below.
Thanks for reading, see you in the comments. Good day.