On Writing

Writing, I personally think, is for the haughty.

Those who believe in their values, that their opinions are justifiable, that they can withstand criticism, who claim responsibility and ownership, even demand credit over the fruits of their mind. People with statements to defend, with battles to win against a better equipped enemy, and words to weave into a legacy. These people, I’m truly jealous of. They spin tales of pretentious awareness, write for an audience that believes in the author’s competence just a little less than the author themselves, write pitiful real life tales with happy endings for social media to fawn over, publish articles that make one believe they are the refugees unable to seek asylum rather than first world softies they really are (probably).

 

I write, though because I cannot be bothered to express otherwise.

Because I don’t like to.

Because I don’t know how to.

Because there’s not always an audience to receive.

Because there are some things you just cannot speak out.

Because everything sounds like poetry when I read it silently, the eloquence that’s often missing in speech.

And because it’s the quietest show of power there could be.

The power of the words to make harmonious comprehension, the power of an idea that could potentially change lives and the power of permanence in the fluid world of text.

 

I’ve never found more satisfaction in expression than I have whilst writing. Sadly, however, I have lost my touch, the talent that is better in memory than it probably was when I believe I had it. Hence, as a project to help my words flow, my fingers type with a hundred mistakes a minute and an effort to be accountable to the skill I think I lost, is this blog, whose story you do not know (nor wish to, presumably).

Writing here, I think, has given me more than a legitimate excuse to procrastinate from all that burdens me. It gives me an ambition to write more and for more eyes than my two, it gives me tangible goals to set (and yes, break), and a sense of propriety for what I choose to express. Thank a higher power for the internet that makes this possible.

 

Let’s also not talk about me for a change.

Except everything I write is more representative of me than what I could ever tell you. I write like people use pictures on Instagram- to tell a tale indirectly, to prove to the world they really do exist and in a more curated manner than IRL.

I couldn’t flood you with a barrage of words like I will in a particularly interesting (for me) blogpost. I couldn’t wait to find someone with the patience to listen to me rant about the most mundane, wacky, pedestrian subjects ever. Like my writing about writing.

Like how I would craft very imaginary, fictitious worlds in my head over the years but never bothered to pen the numerous stories that could be down because I was scared of how they would be received. Think Gossip Girl meets real life characters like you or me. Think pushing the limits of fanfiction.

 

All the teasers aside, writing is seriously integral to my identity now, a mirror into my small imagination that was once a labyrinth of possibilities. I intend to write till I can produce that content I like to read (or that I remember me writing), or I die.

Whichever comes first.

Our Proclivity To Procrastinate

I’m disappointing myself on many levels by writing something on such a generic and passe’ phenomenon, by replacing something so much deeper and quirky with a quickly typed, poorly edited and half-hearted post that i’m putting out to avoid putting off writing my blog for any longer.

(I do get the irony of writing about procrastination to avoid exactly that, but I’m a hypocrite anyway.)

 

Last week I read a piece that insisted on defending procrastination and segmenting humans into procrastinators and normal people.

I read it with a slight bitterness because I don’t think the line is so fine at all and that frustrated me.

Is there a line?

There probably is, if you insist, but certainly not with normal people and procrastinators. There’s a lot of self help that suggests that the reason people are “normal” is because they procrastinate.

What that article further insinuated is that people that procrastinated had more fun than people that didn’t and didn’t have to deal with anxiety and deadlines until the very last minute which means they get more time to have fun.

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On Identity and Insecurities

 

In case you missed it, I have certain reservations about my writing and that’s because I’m no expert at anything and that fact steeps me in so much insecurity, I’d but almost given this(typing) up. I also have little readership that will be significantly affected if I stop writing but it would’ve given me some other fact to be insecure about- that I failed at blogging (but at least I tried, right? Wrong.).

Okay, my preliminary insecurities aside so that you can’t call me out later on, what about other people?

I just spent today morning watching one of the many that call themselves YouTubers talking about how he’d given up opportunities to do really cool projects because he felt he looked fat. I can’t explain how terrible I felt to hear him talk about his insecurity with his weight issues so openly because all his regular videos are usually taking on a more sarcastic side of his being fat and gross and un-funny. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. He said he’d lost his sense of security when he wasn’t controlling the camera because he’d be called fat for being reasonably healthy and that gave him extreme anxiety- but nearly every other video of his is him being all jovial and confident about those very topics and roasting himself in front of his fans. Worse still, in any metric of “success”, he seems like a perfect candidate- he has 2 published books, millions of viewers, short films and a successful podcast. I felt personally very, very sorry for him because this seemed very out of character for him but then I realized the confidence could be a part of his personal YouTube persona and it wasn’t really all him and the anxious, scared and insecure part was a lot of him off screen and that cost me some time wondering how much of our identities are made up and how much of it was dictated by our insecurities. I don’t know your answer to this, I’m not you and neither am I on Facebook or Instagram or any other photo sharing apps because of my insecurity based on how I look. I don’t need to go through the judgement and self deprecation I might face on seeing ugly (read all) pictures of myself on the interweb.

I have insecurities, admittedly.

I wonder why though? Read more

Talking about Gender Roles

 

Everyone knows society right? Those pervasive and loud voices that dictate, often, what people are supposed to do and not in their lives because it’s deemed decent or right. This could mean little to a whole lot based on what your social background is and that of the people you interact with is, which is why I have had some pretty weird exchanges in my little social life.

 

I remember during a few family get togethers that all the men would get together and discuss politics and economics and the women would always be separately discussing their friends and their children’s lives and sometimes food and clothes and as kids, we’d not be interested in either discussion. Later on, as we wanted something more playing than board games, we’d go and try to join either discussions but I remember that the topic would promptly change as my cousins and I walked into one room to something like academics and subtle comparisons between my cousins and I but it was still better than the change of conversation in the other room where all the elders would compare us with the number of accolades we’d recently earned, how socially proper we could be and basically anything that could go onto a resume which reflected directly on our mother’s capabilities. I bring this up because after a point, the conversations stopped being dictated by if we were in earshot to being dictated in the most obscure of ways- by the majority gender that was present. If I’d entered the guy’s domain with my male cousins, I’d be subjected to the best kind of banter about driving vehicles, business and sometimes, politics and exercise and sports. In the female dominated room, I’d be made to hear about weddings and clothes and household chores and scandalous gossip on love marriages and weight- because that’s what females did, right?

This article (here) just reiterates what I experience.

I detest(ed) this, and thus defer from choosing tables or rooms if I can avoid it. Read more

The Fallacy In Success

 

 

So I remember how all through high school we’d be forced to write short essays on Success and the factors affecting people’s success stories and I don’t believe how silly, almost just paraphrased all our write-ups would be (because that was what was expected of us then- a simple sense of correct grammar with a smattering of vocabulary was enough to fetch you the mark you thought you deserved, regardless of if the essay was plagiarised or not). All my reservations regarding the education system aside, there’s a huge issue I find in the problem of analyzing success and glorifying the mother of all abstract concepts- there can never be one single statutory definition of success and that in itself disqualifies the right of failure being such an issue in our lives. All our lives we do things we’re assuredly good at or are meant to be good at so we can avoid failure but doesn’t  failure just become moot when there is a big logical gap in what success is and hence, what you consider as failure?

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The Cruelty In Comfort

This article I have honestly tried to write 6 times before and kept scrapping it on account of how badly I was explaining myself.
By the 3rd attempt I tried questioning the validity of my stance itself.
Due to lack of a better platform and time, I’m going to try and reassure myself why I think comfort is the single most abused concept today and why I wanted everyone to know it here.
So we all do something in life, right? Whether or not we know what we’re doing, we’ve been told why by society ages ago, when we were set on the path of formal education. To get a job that provides us with the means to live comfortably.
Now, I do not question the relationship between living comfortably and wealth, nor entirely the relationship between a job and wealth, but I question deeply what living in comfort really is. REALLY.

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