Saturday, May 7, 2016
Sometimes, the more I know about people the more I tend to write. The more I write, the more I find peace. Writing is such an addiction –I write almost all the time. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of sleep and write in my phone. Sometimes, on my way to office. Basically, I write anytime a thought hits me and it is kind of annoying if can’t write it down. Sometimes, you don’t find words and that’s when you feel not everything can be explained. If I write about something, I have already thought about it hundred times. I still would have written less as compared to what I thought, it is just you can’t shut your mind off. It is one damn thing that is on all the time. Another reason why I love Sylvia Plath, love her to the moon and back.
I realized, sometimes you don’t have to tell things to people. Sometimes, it is not a good idea to tell. Rather write it down on paper and burn it down. Write it down and fold it into Origami, let someone unwrap it with their will to know. Write on a piece of paper, fold it in a paper airplane and fly it away or simply tell it to your pets. You’ll be maniac if you choose to tell it to God, God is a good listener –He’s drunk, anyway. I don’t know, I don’t like setting my expectations on people. It always lets you down, always. When I want a listener, they just don’t listen –they compare too. I dislike that.
I stopped giving nicknames to people, nicknames symbolize affection. Once you give them nicknames, you authorize them for more affection. I don’t like somebody giving me nicknames either. I am basically kind of demolishing anything that shows affection, anything that symbolizes it. In a way, turning cold. Closeness is scary and I do anything to avoid it. I shut people off who show care, for me it is threat –like one day they will ask things in return. I stopped sharing my blog link on Facebook or anywhere, I want it to be private. Maybe soon, my blog will no longer be public. It will be private or maybe just 2, 3 authors will have access to it.
I know, people don’t comment on my blog but few have subscribed. They read, regularly. They tell me and ask me about it. Some send me emails, about becoming the ghost writer. Some email me about writing contest they are organizing, some ask me to authorize them to write in my space. But point is, I never supported ads on my page and never will. I never did commercial writing, I believe it will lose the value then. I never used AdSense and never will. Money, is many things –not everything. Every time I am on Blogger –I either write, adjust my template, reply to the comments or read other blogs.
October 2015, I wrote a post called “Luca” for TOI, it was rejected. I don’t know, what rejected authors do. They are still beautiful people, I want to meet more rejected authors. I want to know, how rejections inspire or break them. I wrote about it, in December 2015 and hid that piece of paper under my mattress which I found later in February 2016 and laughed. I then realized, setbacks look more painful when they are fresh. But later you’re gonna laugh over them and tell stories to your kids. Rejections are such nice compilation of stories someone’s gonna hear someday. If they don’t listen your setback stories, don’t invite them to your success parties.
Why I believe in writing on a piece of paper and folding it into an Origami is –you are gonna unfold it someday and go back in time to realize things, good things and bad things. Sometimes, it is nice to know what you’ve been through. You are warrior of your own story and nobody can take that title away. I always write things on tissue paper, draw things. You’ll always find something written at the back of every note book I own. My signature, incomplete lines, lines from song that I sung while writing, idioms, unusual words, one word made from two words like –chill + relax =chillax, fantastic + fabulous = fantabulous, mad + angry =mangry etc. You will find, lot of papers under my mattress. Lots! When I clean, I unfold them, read them and hide them somewhere again. I am home, I just saw my Diary from college. Oh, I was so naïve. I am reading my own diary these days. I am carrying my Diary this time with me. Signing out, may God bless y’all.
P.S. Written on May 5, 2016, posting today. No internet connectivity.