The simple will to grow

I visited my previous article, All eyes on me, to check out what’s going on with the blog. I read it some time ago. And, here’s what I think: I’ve lost the touch, it seems. And, I don’t really like the way I have structured the whole article either. When I fail to make out what I’m saying, I feel embarrassed. And, it does seem like I’ve lost the touch of some kind. But, I still know how to write – so I’m not going to claim that I’ve lost the touch of writing. It’s an impossible thing to happen out of the few impossible things to happen in this world.

It’s like swimming. Once you learn how to swim, you are least likely to forget the form next time you’re drowning. This article is my attempt at swimming, somewhere between the lines of deep-diving at nineteen and drowning at twenty-two.

We’ll know what we’ve lost, as a blog. Here’s what we’ll do (I’ll do) to get back on the track:

  1. REMEMBER
  2. REASON
  3. REPEAT

I just came up with three “REs” just like that. Always a fan of such patterns.


First, I’ll try to remember why I started this blog – or the whole journey of creativity in general. Then, I’ll argue my reasons for doing what I did as a writer (self-acclaimed, phew). And, I’ll probably end up luring myself to repeat the habit of writing.

We know we’ll repeat, so why not do it properly, eh?

REMEMBER

As far as I know, before looking at my first article – Start – on this blog, I can tell that I have always wanted to write down my thoughts. Maybe because my mind never runs out of them. I always have thoughts running around from one corner of my mind to the other. To the middle. Upwards. Sideways. Back and forth. And, that’s how I know I’m like you – an entity with a brain, and that too of a human. So cool, right?

Right, so now that I’ve taken a look at the article and I am close, but not nearly in remembering why I started. Here’s what I can make out after reading (skimming through) it:

  • I wanted to share my journey with the world
  • Showcase my photography and grow at it
  • Get better at writing

I can see why I want to do the last two of these three – they seem (but, are not) physical as reasons to start a blog. But, why would someone want to share their journey with the world when no-one has ever asked for it. I don’t know.

Hopefully, we can answer that in the reasons to come.

REASON

Fuck it, I love writing and that’s enough of a reason for me. Onto the next one.

REPEAT

It’s pretty clear that my previous way of doing things around the blog have worked their potential in building what’s currently the status of this blog. I might have never imagined a number like 8,000 to be the number of hits on this website. It’s a small number, compared to the other big players, but I’m no player at this game you’re referring to. I do this for me and the few readers (thank you) who come visit my blog now and then.

But, it’s not enough. See there’s this simple will to grow in me. And, I am seeking the help of this blog in getting there. I am not looking to be perfect at life. I’m not stupid enough to expect that out of my journey. But, I want to try and be the imperfect-yet-comfortable-with-his-life kind of human. I don’t want to wake up late and regret rest of the day waking up late. Instead, I’ll build the habit to wake up early. I don’t want to regret not cycling and instead make my own ways of cultivating the good habit. You get the idea right?

I just want to attempt at things that are possible for me to do. I don’t want to be the richest person. But, I want to make sure I don’t face any money problems in my life. And, the only way to do that is to get rich. There’s simply no harm in wanting to get rid of the bad tomato in your life, and replace it with a gem.

NOTE: I read this somewhere, probably on Twitter, and it has stuck with me forever: Money doesn’t solve all your problems. It does solve your money problems.


All I know from what I know is that I am not always uncertain. Who is? What happens when we know all the time? Wait, do you – now – know what I am telling?

Enough of the riddle twister.

Back to here. Why do I write? And, why should I write? Don’t mix the two, they can be as different as the poles – but they’re just really the same at the end of a stick. There’s ice and there is me – drowing away.

The simple will to grow. It never fades or shuts down, right? We all, assuming there’s sanity in this world, grow in their life. Whether you like it or not, you have stopped riding a tricycle. And, so, I too want to grow.

So, I’ll repeat the cycle. Tomorrow, I take birth to the change that is. To the future that lies in darkness, or should I say – a blinding bright star?

The simple will to grow.

Questions you cannot ask, but you will

I don’t believe that you don’t understand how babies are made. If you don’t, this concept I present about doubt and fear reaches closer to your hearts than a gynecologist. I was about thirteen, or maybe nine when I learnt the concept of sex. Before that, I thought all it took was two humans to sleep over one another. Like a sandwich without the jam or the sauce. Steady and still.

Then, boom! You just made a baby.

Two breads | Pikrepo

You see, I’m lucky from the beginning to not have believed that it was a fairy with the disguise of a milkman who delivered me to my mom. No! It definitely had something to do with these two giants who seem to like it when I widen my lips as they peek-a-boo with seemingly larger dots of white beneath their lips. It must be them. Turns out, it definitely was.

But, it took me nearly six years of science at school and four HIV banners painted by the Government on it’s walls, for me to understand the concept of conception.

“One condom, three benefits” was a regular sight before gas cylinders became the saviours. Sigh.

My parents still haven’t confessed about lying that it was God and only God who had anything to do with my existence. I still don’t know, or even try to know, about why we find answers from the weirdest sources for such basic questions. I mean, we all are here, right? And, someone had to put their penis in some vagina for humans to be. What more could be obvious? And, what more could be frightening that a concept so basic is often left to haunt the unknowing?

Much like most of the hip culture being taboo in the Brahmin household I live in, the concept of uncertainty remains widely untouched or even frowned upon in the world I’m kicked into. Given the fact that sex-talk remains unassumingly scary at my house, but even at yours, I am only bound to believe that even without the norms of a religion, the human race doesn’t understand itself as much as it pretends to know this planet.

We don’t know much. Yet, we like to boast the idea of information so much as to the fact that much of this world would stand still without it.

If you don’t know what to do with your life, you lack passion. If you don’t know what to work with, you are incapable. If you don’t know what to eat for lunch, you have no taste. When you don’t understand what to choose, the egg or the chicken during when they ask that question. Black or white? In or out? Up or down? Tic or toe?

Grey. Middle. Door. Draw.

You cannot choose these answers because you will be yet another normalcy in this chaotic piece of land, so tiny. You, somehow, have to come up with an equation to match someone else’s. You just have to know what to do when asked to do whatever it is that you are supposed to do.

Most of times, it is you yourself pushing further to know something out of human control. Often, out of human control.

Like, why does black look nothing like yellow? Why do we wake up? Why would anyone vote for Donald Trump? And, most importantly, why would Shreyas not say anything about his country’s Prime Minister but speak so boldly about some citrus fruit in America? Sorry, says the world, but you just have to know.

What if we fail in trying to know? Well, you can go fuck yourself and write a blog about it.

But, my friend, when someone tells you about your failure – they just don’t understand what failure means. They only know that someone did the same to that other person in a situation similar to yours. They believe in the notions of failure set by someone who never failed. Either that, or it is the lab instructor who could barely understand why would anyone write poems when the person could easily learn about databases and give up failing at life.

And yes, you will call yourself a failure, when seven others near you do. These seven do not understand that their voices sound like every other billion. And that their statements are burying the dreams, it’s hopeless optimism and even the seen/unseen passion. Be it any kind, people bury all of this back into the deeper cells of life – only to die. Only to suffer yet another single human, yourself, to pour the last shovel.

And, why? Only because you didn’t know. Didn’t know how to cope up with the never ending pressure during the age of information. Why would you not know? Maybe you are as blank as the bird I met in my dream, when it does not understand – why?

Why are these red-dead sheets of thin life swimming without effort? I touch and they react, unlike life they seem dead. It smells like the thing that choked my neighborhood last week. Why doesn’t it move? Maybe it is weak. Let me eat. This sucks. And, why did I die?

Questions you cannot ask, but you will definitely do, are my favourites. You cannot just ask me, why would anyone kill a dream? Why would anyone divide homes into colonies? Why should one wake up? Why won’t the sun turn blue? Why don’t you know anything?

One way to end my words here, is to pretend like I know how to do it. There are endings where I thought I knew. Most of the times, I did. You see, wewjfenmjfekfjrgrkjngjgktgmtjg.

Foul soul

Why does no one talk about regret being a good thing? Mostly because it’s the continuation of this feeling from which many of us run away. From our very own faults. I want to be normal for once when I talk about how I’m not a superhuman to this feeling.

I regret a lot from my past.

There’s hardly any bad moment from the past that I wish I had nothing to do with. Else, it’s not a bad moment at all, right? This is not the regular regret particularly as I just wish I was not a ‘part’ of such happenings in life. If the reason for such bad moments seemingly points out to me – then I deplore myself.

It’s a good thing, personally to confront my bad behaviour like that.

Not only confront, but because I am kind to myself I’ve observed to always forgive the cues to get better. That’s only way I know about dealing with remorse itself. Be it the choices, a relationship or the decisions of life – it’s all connected to me remaining independent.

The same independence in choosing to dwell on these subjects could be good, because I mostly get tired and they are solved forever pretty quicker than most around me. It’s an observation I have been seeing frequently, but not so definitively.

Photo by Aidan Roof

Forever having to regret about the past is one point of view and confronting this remorse right at it’s deepest foul is another. I love the latter because honestly I am incapable of lodging myself into the loop of rue. Someone says “I don’t regret anything from my life” and I am bound to believe they’ve dealt with the remorse. It means for me to regret when I know, and I know I should go past it only without denial.

Hence, I’m never guilty of what I do but only a convict in their face already.


Thank you for reading. You can follow the blog to receive an email every time I post something. I’ve been posting daily for 106 days now.

Comment below your thoughts and find articles, artworks linked below 😀

Read articles:

See artwork:

Will that work?

I’m trying to remember a moment of kindness. From someone I know, love or spoke to as a stranger. Strangers are always kind to me and I can hardly remember a time when it was troublesome. You know it is tough to speak to a stranger only if they start judging you. This hardly happens if none of you do it. One starts and the whole trip goes opposite to kindness and you will bury the fact.

Now, as I try to remember a moment of kindness, I realise there must have been many. So many that I can’t pick the moment out of my timeline to find it as unique. Partially, it’s all my memory’s fault to not signify these hours. I mean, they are precious to me. But, somehow it is very common to my mind – this kindness.

Maybe that’s how I’ll remain grateful to this life. By taking everything that comes my way as kind enough to be normal and not a memory. Will that work?