Note – You should know that I am already having tears filling up my cheeks as I write this. So, grammar, tense and spell checks weren’t really checked.
Funny I haven’t really written about writing. What it does to me. Why I write, forget about what I write. What instigated me to write. I remember it like yesterday. Sitting on the floor with hot coffee on the side stool and floor cushions giving me the comfort that I needed. An old long size ruled notebook. French windows giving way to the balcony that welcomed chilly air. What’s not to like ? I didn’t know what to write. I didn’t know if I wanted to write. I stared at the notebook for hours. Most of my nights were spent sitting by the balcony. The only company was the security constantly tapping the ground to keep a check on thieves.
Pages ran empty. Still nothing to write about. The sudden shift in life was still a bit much to take. What do I write about? My happy childhood? My physical abuse? Failed marriage? The food I like? My secret crush? Wasn’t sure. Wasn’t clear. The new found freedom in life gave way for many things. For one, I could sit by the balcony at 3 am and not really be questioned why. I made friends. New ones. But I lived alone. I didn’t call them home. Didn’t have the need to. I had got catch up a lot on with myself. I never had people stay over. It was a very quiet home. Mind you, home not a house. My home. A feeling that’s priceless. During one of those nights, the pages started to fill magically. It started to fill with random words. So abstract that it didn’t make sense when put together as sentences and paragraphs. Yet I wrote. I continued to. The very first topic I wrote was “the good the bad and the ugly” which spoke about the men in my life. Next was about “the other woman” and then wrote on how “I am a bad daughter”. All of these never made it to my blog site. They still sit on those old pages in the long size rule book.
I bought a small pocket size book. The long one didn’t fit in my office bag. I wanted to write during my long travels to work and back home, hence. I started to observe. People, things, hoardings, more people. I wrote what I thought about them. My one way journey to work took 1.5 hours and two buses. Very comfortable a/c volvo buses. No pitiable past here. I had enough money to go by auto also. The more I wrote, the more I started to connect with myself and there by I was happier. The feeling of being happy was nice. I liked it. It was different. A feeling that I hadn’t experienced for a long time. Yes, you can pity me here. Sad no? Anyways, writing became a hobby and a regular routine. I never had the guts to show my writing to anybody. One day, someone at work asked my opinion on women and how dumb they are to choose life partners in a very unrealistic way. I wrote something and he liked it. He said I should blog. I asked why. He said I write quite okay. I said I write better than quite okay. He laughed. I started to blog.
Once I started to blog, topics came rushing to my mind. They were all there. I didn’t have to ask anyone. I didn’t have to think. Funnily it was all welled up inside. A strange feeling. It’s been four years since. Writing kept me going. It kept me moving forward. To look up for something. It gave me a sense of direction. It realigned my thoughts to what I should be doing in life. Helped me know what my passion truly is. Helped me connect with my past. Understand the emotions that I went through. How I could have handled it differently. More than all of this, writing helped me rediscover myself. A journey that is still an ongoing one.
There were times when I jumped with happiness for having one person tell me that they liked what I wrote. And that one person will be a dear friend, so you can imagine the bias in it. Today as I look back, it was those small moments of happiness that kept me going. That gave me a reassurance about what I do. It took four years after that day to bid goodbye to my high or not so high paying corporate HR / consulting job to decide to get into writing full time. This by far is the best decision I have made in my life. I earn quarter of what I used to but all my bills are being paid by me like before. Magic no? 🙂
At times a vague topic comes to my mind and the entire blog is already written up there. I open the laptop and it takes all of seven minutes to finish it and I hastily upload it. That becomes my most read and appreciated blog. At times, I decide I should write on a much debatable topic and stare for days at the empty page and with much difficultly write a very niche blog and then not many like it. Writing does that to you. It’s funny. It’s stupid. It’s okay. At least I am being stupid by doing something I love.
I have said enough. But I have just started to write. Here’s to another hundred.