For someone who technically started blogging more than fifteen years ago, it’s almost comical how overwhelming this is now. It really, really shouldn’t be. There was a time when my friends had told me I didn’t have the gift of gab, but the curse of gab, given how much I could talk non-stop. And that actually gave rise to my first blog to begin with.
It was a beautiful feeling, blogging you know. It suddenly gave me a platform to just vomit out everything I was thinking and feeling, no filters involved. And I wrote, a lot.
Of course life moved on, full of break-ups and setbacks, but if anything, it gave me even more fodder for my blogs. I’d like to believe I was funny, or at least confident of my writing if nothing else. And then, suddenly one day, I had the desire to leave it all behind, the tiny number of followers (100+ was a lot to me at the time), and start a new blog altogether, sappy lovey headline et all. Even though I left it in between, I tried, I really did (please believe me?) to come back to it every now and then. But now just the title of it embarrasses me. And that’s where all the trouble really started, I think.
Not sure how it started, maybe when I suddenly surrounded myself with popular writers rather than regular people, but suddenly I started caring what people thought of me. Now this might not sound like a big deal to you, but anyone who knows me knows just how little I’ve usually cared about other peoples’ opinions of me – even when it’s landed me in a lot of trouble. So this, this sudden caring, is new. And not something I’ve still gotten used to. Because you see, caring comes with a lot of heavy baggage that at best weighs you down and at worst, drowns you brutally.
What I wrote started to become tuned to Instagram – the character limits, the mode, the image of yourself you want your followers to see. The type of writing was suddenly full of thoughts of would this be considered good enough? What would they think of me at work? Will I ever seriously be considered a writer, or will I always just be a wannabe, never really good enough. Is my poetry strong enough? Does it impact people? Will I get followers from this piece?
Ugh. When did I become about followers?
When did my selfishness turn into so much self-consciousness?
So what I ended up being faced with was months of the worst writers block in my history of writers blocks. It’s still going on. And not the best time, given that I’m in the middle of re-writing my novel (but that’s another long story for another long post some time).
But that said, I figured something had to be done. I had to somehow manage to go back to my old self, irrespective of what this world thinks is trending at the moment.
Yes, I know nobody really clicks on links anymore, and blogs are a dying medium.
Yes, I know I don’t have swipe-ups on my IG.
Yes, I know that I’ll probably be the only one to ever read this.
But you see, I’m kinda counting on that this time. Because I just want to write, and not give a shit about what you think of it, or of me.
I just want to spend time, and find myself again.
So, here goes.