Oh hello! A million thanks to you if you still come by this page (of course, that could have been due to social media). Eleven years since its birth, this blog has been languishing - my mind has been occupied with what appears to be endless reams of writing: writing as part of two jobs, writing for Spark, writing my journal - so much so that I have no space left to conjure something up for the beloved Blogger.
It's rather ironical that writing - for myself - which I used to turn to at every emotion, every stage of my life, has come to naught. Is this what they call adulting? My mind doesn't make up stories anymore, and my emotions have gotten too complex for me to put them down in writing. Working on gender and sexuality means the only non-fiction that immediately comes to mind has to do with feminism, social critiquing and a deep unhappiness at the current goings-on in the world. While I delight in writing these, at times, I just wish that I didn't have to outrage at every other thing, that I appreciate my privileges and learn to enjoy life a little bit more.
Travel, which used to supply me with faraway tales and magic, has also become a regular occurrence now. It's only August and I've already travelled to two countries (both second homes to Indians, and two countries may not be a big deal to many, but nevertheless). People, sights and foreign things don't enthrall me as much anymore, and I see myself routinely going to places, sitting down, trying to absorb things in my mind and not clicking pictures.
And finally, of course, there's marriage, which is a full-time job in itself. As my partner and I navigate our lives together - building memories, overwriting old ones, fighting-forgiving, forging new paths - marriage puts us through tests of patience, emotions, affection and perseverance. And mind you, I have had it rather easy so far, and yet that's me complaining about the enormity of it all. What if, and when, the serious adult things come into the picture? Like an aged parent, job woes, long distance marriage, etc.? My mind grapples with the complexity of all that marriage is, and writing - non-journal writing, that is - comes only in sputters, starting with little promise, coughing and dying an early death.
I wish - and desperately hope - that this is just a phase, for my mental well-being (and heck, identity) depends extensively on conveying thoughts, painting pictures and weaving tales through words. Friendships, partners, jobs - many of these have come about because of writing. At times I have to stifle a depressive sob when I think about how words have just dried up in my mind. But I have little else to do than to soldier on, praying that the words come back.
One evening, a cousin, the partner and I were lazing about, when an interesting question came up. What would you want to stay with you your entire life? I answered that I want books, music and writing to always move me as they do today. On a more cheerful note, let's hope this blog post, coming as it is after many months, marks renewed enthusiasm for writing.
It's rather ironical that writing - for myself - which I used to turn to at every emotion, every stage of my life, has come to naught. Is this what they call adulting? My mind doesn't make up stories anymore, and my emotions have gotten too complex for me to put them down in writing. Working on gender and sexuality means the only non-fiction that immediately comes to mind has to do with feminism, social critiquing and a deep unhappiness at the current goings-on in the world. While I delight in writing these, at times, I just wish that I didn't have to outrage at every other thing, that I appreciate my privileges and learn to enjoy life a little bit more.
Travel, which used to supply me with faraway tales and magic, has also become a regular occurrence now. It's only August and I've already travelled to two countries (both second homes to Indians, and two countries may not be a big deal to many, but nevertheless). People, sights and foreign things don't enthrall me as much anymore, and I see myself routinely going to places, sitting down, trying to absorb things in my mind and not clicking pictures.
And finally, of course, there's marriage, which is a full-time job in itself. As my partner and I navigate our lives together - building memories, overwriting old ones, fighting-forgiving, forging new paths - marriage puts us through tests of patience, emotions, affection and perseverance. And mind you, I have had it rather easy so far, and yet that's me complaining about the enormity of it all. What if, and when, the serious adult things come into the picture? Like an aged parent, job woes, long distance marriage, etc.? My mind grapples with the complexity of all that marriage is, and writing - non-journal writing, that is - comes only in sputters, starting with little promise, coughing and dying an early death.
I wish - and desperately hope - that this is just a phase, for my mental well-being (and heck, identity) depends extensively on conveying thoughts, painting pictures and weaving tales through words. Friendships, partners, jobs - many of these have come about because of writing. At times I have to stifle a depressive sob when I think about how words have just dried up in my mind. But I have little else to do than to soldier on, praying that the words come back.
One evening, a cousin, the partner and I were lazing about, when an interesting question came up. What would you want to stay with you your entire life? I answered that I want books, music and writing to always move me as they do today. On a more cheerful note, let's hope this blog post, coming as it is after many months, marks renewed enthusiasm for writing.
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