We Make (no) Progress

I keep starting writings in different platforms. I think it’s because I am hoping that a fresh start will fix my life somehow. I am aware just how annoyingly pathetic that sounds. Even more annoying that I refuse to do anything about it than just sit and endure. Make others around me suffer because of it.

When I listen to songs that talk about people just being fucking horrible people and saying, “I want to fix myself but I just can’t”, and relate to it, there is this constant thought in the back of mind that I am in the same boat as them but they are at least making art out of their misery, while I just waste away.

But I also strongly contend that to create art or.. just create anything, you need to experience things, live life. I don’t think I am even experiencing anything right now, not even misery actually. I suppose that is the difference between me and the people who’s art I consume. There should be some perk to feeling nothing. I haven’t figured that out, Yet. Even though it has been two years that I have been in this pit.

(It is insanely funny to me that my music app just started to play Right Where You Left Me as I finished typing the last paragraph.)

I look back at my life every now and then (everyday) and try to figure where I went off  the track. And there is just so many things, its just embarrassing. Probably one of my biggest regrets would be my loss of ability to write. I used to write essays everyday in my journal. It only used to be minute-by-minute update of my day. But I never ran out of words. I find it truly pathetic when I struggle to find words to explain what I am feeling sometimes. I think it has got a lot to do with how little I read nowadays. Got so busy with academics that when it all ended I am just left with a shell of whatever the hell I used to be. The kid who used to read, used to write, used to do a lot of things.

And here I am back to playing the victim card. As if all of the things I am right now in life is not because of all the decisions I consciously took. It feels like I did things just to spite my younger, older, all versions of myself. Even now, I started writing all this because I don’t want to face the reality that I have to stand up to people, take some tough decisions. And that is a real fear I have. That I will waste away my life because I am too afraid to stand up for myself. The possibility that I might just live my whole life as a fake version of myself that is acceptable to my family is.. not zero. And that thought is extremely funny to me. Because knowing me, I just might do it. Which has to be funny because the alternative is just sad.

There are huge parts of me that my family can’t ever know, no matter how much I want them to. And those parts will always weigh on me and my decisions. I am struggling to figure out if I should just let it all consume me or find a way out. It would have been plenty helpful if either one of those alternatives presented as an easier path. But both seem equally fucking horrible from where I am standing. So… we are back to where we started.

Last year or two has been one for mourning. Mourning my dreams that I don’t think are made for me anymore, mourning a part of my identity that I have got hidden in some dark corner of my head, mourning people that pulled me out of the water just to leave me when I am afloat. I know people say it is all for the best, things get better with time and all that cliché lines. I don’t think that is ever going to be me. Maybe that is how everyone feels in the thick of it all. But the version of me that I imagine gets over whatever has happened in my life in the past few weeks sounds like a horrible person because how can she do that... So I think I prefer not to get over it. From a third person perspective I definitely see how insane I sound. But it makes perfect sense from where I am standing, so I will just let me be for now.

Every time I sit to write whatever the hell this is, I half-expect myself to make some breakthrough with my issues. Unsurprisingly, I never do. That is some consistency I am weirdly committed to. Yay. Here’s to a load of nothing.   

I discovered I have an account

 Stumbling across my own sad writing 4 years later was not on my bingo card for 2025. I woke up today determined to write something just to get my brain working. Turns out I have been in the same ditch since 2021. 

I might be biased but I do think 2021 me was funnier. Like.. that's just a little girl thinking too much about herself. God knows why I stopped writing after just one post (which I don't even remember writing in the first place). 

My neighbour chechi is an English professor. Once during the pandemic years, I had sent her a link to one of my articles that had been published in Women's Web. Since then, every time we see each other, she asks me what new thing I have written, that I should keep writing, etc. I do think she is just being nice because she is a nice person like that. But, I have really been in a slump mental health-wise and writing and using my brain for something won't put me in a worse place than I already am in. 

So this is me attempting to start writing again. Zero idea what the over-arching theme of the blogs is going to be but i suspect it will just end up being a sophisticated version of my journal entries. Younger me would fret over the lack of creative juices flowing through me right now but present me is more than happy that I am able to form full sentences that aren't filled with texting abbreviations. 

So yay ! Writing era (or something like that).

Setting the Wheels on Motion...

    Its been almost three weeks since I created this blog. I still haven't posted any content. The prospect of putting my "work" out for the scrutiny of the public eye scares me. And all this while, I am also aware that my blog won't have much reach so I really won't be getting essay type of responses or any response at all. Both these thoughts are equally scary and exist in my mind at the very same time. It's a bit funny if you think about it. Ironic, might be a better suited word.

    I started this blog in a state of desperation. I am nearing the end of my first year in college. I have been to my college previously on seven occasions- first time to register myself for the exams, second to get a covid test for the exams, and five times after that for giving the exam. So, I have spent almost one-third of my whole college life holed up in my home, sitting at the same table that I have been using since I was in eighth standard. Couple of weeks ago, my friends started discussing the number of credits they had obtained for doing extra-curricular activities. We have a requirement of five credits for the whole of three years that we spend in college. Most of my friends had already got three, even four credits, sitting at home. 

    I freaked out. I hurriedly started looking online internships as an amateur writer in any area or genre or whatever. When filling up my resume, I found out that I was required to submit some of my works, to show my writing prowess, as I like to say. And that put my hurried decision making to a halt. 

    I have been into writing since school. Creative writing competitions, full marks in creative writing sections in exams... I have had my fair share of glory in that department while I was in school. I had imagined that the same would be the case for me in college. I will find posters and flyers about competition stuck on the bulletin board and I would pick it up from there and stare into air and smile, whilst a very optimistic and enthusiastic type of wind blows, making my loose curls flutter, impatient for the win I was sure to achieve. Another scenario was where I would be the undiscovered gem of the class until my very amazing work in one of the assignments I submitted for English impresses my professor and he/she/they would reveal my talent to the college, making me an instant hit. I just knew writing would be my thing. Knowing how I fared in the fields of dancing, singing or drawing, writing is the last straw I held onto to keep myself afloat.

    Despite all this, at that moment, I was incapable of providing any sort of proof for what type of content I write. I had no document that I could give as a sample. So I did what every GenZ kid would do. I googled. And Google aunty said that maintaining a blog is very effective. I spent three days trying to set up the web page. Actually, I have two blogs on two different servers now. I ditched the other one because it had to much specifics that I could customize and that made my brain worry too much on tiny details. 

    When I was done setting up this one my brain froze. I got scared as to what qualifies as good enough to post online, what exactly is my style of writing and deeper questions like if I was even good t writing started doing merry-go-round in my head. I bookmarked the page, closed the tab and shut down my PC. I didn't open the page for three weeks straight.

    Around the beginning of this week, I found myself in a kind of personal hell where I was grappling with questions like what is the purpose of my life, where am I headed and what the bloody hell am I doing with my life right now. I hated that I had nothing to work for or work towards. The feeling of uncertainty never sits well with me. So I decided that I need to do something, have something happening in my life, to make sure I don't walk around like a 'niraasha kaamukan' in my house. And then, I remembered this blog.  

    So we are all caught up! In a nutshell, I will produce content when I am either euphoric or when my brain is on the verge of combusting. I still don't know what type of content I will be publishing. I want this to be free space for me to explore. Oh! I also would be coming up with content when I am angry or disappointed at someone, something or just with world and life in general. I promise to try and not make this blog my online journal.

Much love, 
Resh