A word, just a word
Yet so much more to me
Mine, all mine
All I could imagine it to be…
Update (June 2016) : This blog has now been active for more than 9 years and I see how I’ve gravitated towards poetry. What I love about poetry is the fact that it is like the art of Burlesque – It is the best to vent without having all for show.
Besides that fact – all written below still holds true.
It’s been 3 years since I’ve been seriously blogging and what initially started as an experimental hobby has grown into a full blown obsession. I blog because I have a lot to say… nothing that’s an eye-opener or even remotely intelligent… chances are that you might leave the blog more stupid than wise, having spent moments of your life on a blog that you take away nothing from… But, at the end of the day, I write for me. I write because I have the need to be heard and an overpowering fear of rejection. I talk to my blog because it won’t talk back, it won’t put me down and it won’t desert me. My words don’t try to drum their ideas into my head. They don’t get bored and irritated and they don’t run away. I can come here again and again, and my words are right there to greet me.
I am possessive about my blog posts, proud of the fact that they are my creation and naïve enough to believe that no one can take this away from me. My blog is and has been my best friend… my best way to unwind, to make sense of the zillion thoughts that buzz in my head, my ally and the worst keeper of my secrets.
Initially, I had thought this blog will be my happy place and which was why it was created. At that time, my disposition towards life was lukewarm, to put it mildly. But, then something spectacular happened. My real world became my happy place. And this blog became a place where all my darker thoughts came out of my system and stayed and thrived into popular blog posts. And I became calmer, more tolerant, and easier to be with. I’m not sure which was the cause and which the effect. Did my blog create a happier me or did the happier me create an alternative reality? The question still lies unanswered and I shall contemplate it at another time. The answer could be as simple as “I grew up!” But simple answers don’t make for great plots. And mediocre plots don’t make good writers.
What’s on my blog? A friend once told me that my blog is like a sea, that isn’t easy to navigate. I wish it was. I wish I could say that my blog caters to only those who read poetry, or that it is a travel blog, or a blog with funny anecdotes. I wish I could say that my blog is organized writing with proper categorizations.
But my blog is ME. I couldn’t categorize what I write, much as our emotions can’t be categorized in any shade of gray. The blog is utterly random; its blog posts are at times deep and thoughtful, at other times frivolous and stupid, there are moments of being loquacious, then there are moments of brevity, there are moments of using big words like loquacious, and then there are moments of keeping it simple. I rhyme, I spin stories, I write an essay, I try my hand (and usually fail) at humor, I’m terrified of writing terrifyingly bad horror genre, I write about love when I have never experienced it, I write about loss and do the emotion injustice.
Point is- I write. I send out all my sentiments to this cyber space void with no specific intention beyond the act of writing. Yet, sometimes I get lucky and find out that someone like you reads what I write… and gratitude light up my eyes just as a smile lights up my face…