my entry into writing

HANG ON, HANG ON. SO I KNOW NOBODY READS ME BUT IS THAT REASON ENOUGH TO STOP WRITING?  well, yes it sometimes is because writing is also communication and to speak continuously when no one is listening is useless (also, hurtful.) but never mind that there is a lot of written material and if you make it to pass under someone's eyes, it perhaps is enough. then, i have never had anything grand to say. stories from my life have been simple, well lived, if not well written. yes, sometimes my self shatters. but should i tell it to you? what tells me that you are listening?

i remember hiding, tearing, burning, eating and consuming my writings as a child but some part of me always wished that they were read (by the right people that is). destruction was self- defense because my writings revealed a lot of me... as a vulnerable young child, i could not let that happen. i could not let my parents know, then, that i was passionate, anguished and agonized. perhaps, i cannot even now. but things are better now. perhaps i have found the way to make the right excuses, if not the right noises.

then, only "correct" and "appropriate" writings appeared. i never know how much i believed in them. perhaps, then i did. maybe, i had no other choice. so a whole stream of inspirational writes followed, also patriotism and nature poetry. all was fine. but while studying and in dark lonely nights secretly in my notebooks somewhere i wrote what i wished to and then destroyed it. as an adolescent girl, locking doors was very important for me at certain points of my life. so, i locked the doors to write too, locked them to destroy them too. dustbins carried eaten blue paper. my books and notebooks carried blood marks. i was a self mutilator. an anguished adolescent... there was nothing new about it. i flushed many little poems. so, what survives is a very small part of what i wrote.

sweat, blood, anger and self discovery, self agony and self hurt was me then and so was my writing. i indulge in self pity sometimes even now. perhaps i am indulging in it right now too. my aspirations and desires have always been many and they have been big. so, even as i write this i hope that it will be important someday... someday when i will be famous even when a voice inside me tells me that that day will never come. but hopes are immortal and i will keep hoping.