Seven Years, yes. For someone who has been inconsistent in everything in my life, this blog reaching its seven year is a tremendous feeling in itself. However, the dwindling amount of published posts in the recent years do concern me. I have many posts lined up and incomplete, waiting to be picked up and brushed up in the drafts.
I cannot understand why I cannot remain consistent. Every month I promise myself to write something, to post here, but then comes the 30th and I have posted nothing. The writer in me screams and pulls her hairs out and yet only half-written drafts in multiple applications are the net result of all that.
I know that instead of striving for perfection, I should focus on completing the projects (and boy do I take up multiple projects up at the same time). It is just I feel this invisible reader and an invisible clock. When they both combine, I kind of get those half-baked numerous ideas in forms of drafts getting accumulated in my inbox. Even this post, very heartfelt and frustrating, has a complete leaning of getting stored in the drafts section. (I will try my best to publish this anyhow, even if it has lack of flow in the narratives, even if it has severe typos and grammatical errors, even if it makes no sense)
Ah, I digress.
Seven years of blogging. Today, seven years ago, I began publishing book reviews and random thoughts on this blog. I enjoyed writing, still do, and wanted to practice something more practical than writing reviews in copy for my consumption only. I wanted the attention of the world on my words, I wanted readers who will read my words and correct me, celebrate me and follow me. Not much has changed except for the fact that I have two degrees in literature and with that seeps in the fear of being wrong. Now I am scared of being wrong, grammatically, theoretically, thematically. I am scared that my opinions are going to reveal my lackings, that everyone will see that I do not deserve those degrees, that everyone will come together and take away those degrees, declaring me a sham. My words are scared now of the attention, because I learned attention can be of two types positive and negative.
But today is a happy occasion, right? Then why do i feel a sense of failing towards my older self who defied odds and began something all those years ago with hopes and ambition. Why do I feel like these seven years I grew up as an academic, but somehow I changed as a person. I feel like I gave up the fight a long time ago and what remains now is simply me going with the flow. The jest of creation rings hollow within me and the only reason this blog will ever see the face of world will be when I am sure that nobody will read it.
I am not going to edit this blog, I am going fearless. Not going to look back and reread and use backspaces to hide myself. Not going to check for the typos, grammar and offensive or defensive words I might have used. The fact that I am explaining it here again reflects my fears. Alas, the irony of the situation.
This post is for my younger self, for the little Nandani who sat behind a rusty laptop and dreamt of writing a novel one day. A novel that will make her proud, a novel that will provide the sense of joy to her even if no one else reads it. That little girl is still within me, waiting for the promised deed, patiently, with a book in her hand, reading and rereading. She still believes in me and waits for me, even when the present me feels that I am deluding her with my fancy degrees and slightly larger vocabulary.
The tick-tock of the clock chases me even when everyone around me says it’s okay, it’s not late. I have a dream to fulfil, but i don’t think I can. To someone looking from outside, it will always seem that i have everything under control, not the best situation, but a desirable one. However, every night I drown myself in media to escape the stare of the little girl within me, I use all kinds of distractions to prevent myself from looking within me. I am incapable of work, so I pretend. And why am I writing all this to a public forum where anyone can read my words and know my weaknesses? I don’t know. Maybe I want to have a comeback to anyone questioning my failure after 7 years that I had told the world about this years ago. An answer for that little girl who will come and question me, after her patience wanes, about the promise to myself years ago.
So, a big hurray to the seven years of inconsistent consistency. Like every year, this year too I will try to focus on writing and publishing more. Happy new Year everyone.
Love,
Raj Nandani