One of the things I’ve always wanted to be is a writer. The words I write may not be grammatically correct, or the strings of sequences that they appear in may not be informative, or they may not make sense. I’m working on these. I don’t particularly enjoy writing. I never imagined myself smiling or wishing I were writing when I was doing a difficult task. Writing is not my cushion; it’s not a comfort-zone, it’s not therapeutic. I acknowledge that it’s difficult, because the things I’m able to write may not always coincide with the things readers want to read. I wouldn’t say I hate it, either, though. It’s a form of expression, beside art and music and filmmaking and countless other examples of creativity.
I like creating things. Sometimes reading a good book or a good article, or even seeing a funny Facebook status with many likes instills me with jealousy. It’s not a burning, captivating, soul-crushing jealousy. It’s a mildly battered, lightly salted, feathery dose of reality which makes me realise that there are things I’ve not achieved yet. I rarely hold doubt that I don’t have the skill or the ability to sharpen those skills, except when it comes to sports. We all need these doses of reality injected from time to time to keep us from stagnating in a dark, desolate, barren slump of ignorance and gruel. It can help sharpen senses and heighten passion.
Many, many authors are asked advice on how to be one. They all always say that it’s the writing that needs to be done. You can’t be a writer if you haven’t written anything. You can’t ride a horse if you’ve never seen one. You can’t read a clock if you don’t care about the time. The last few were quite irrelevant. The point is, at a soft and comfortable level, we all need that little push to get started. But once we get started we need to continue with some material to achieve results.
I had a realisation the other day. I think I had achieved whatever little modicum of success I had, or atleast what my past self envisioned me having. I worked hard, I have wonderful friends (and more), I play whatever instruments I like, and I have the respect of my peers. To me, success is when people want you and your time; when it’s not just valuable, but an irreplaceable commodity. Back in seventh or eighth grade I always envisioned the Head Boy of a school to be some sort of demi-god with tear inducing powers and enough swagger to make a room full of pirates feel uncomfortable; suave enough to fit through cages and charming enough to bend glass windows. Many broken rules later, I have to say, that I was absolutely correct. (I still haven’t lost my famous humility, have I?)
Sometimes I think about deleting the old posts in this blogs. The ones before 2011, that were neither introspective nor informative. But I think this blog has been my personal, public diary. It shows growth, not just of my wonderful lexicon, but also of myself as an individual. It shows my interests, my fantasies and flaws. There’s not a single post I’ve deleted since I began this blog, and that’s because I’m not ashamed of anything. I’m not ashamed of mistakes. I am sorrowful, sometimes, but not ashamed. Learning is about making decisions and choices based on experience. I am not ashamed of the name “Upa007” – I created the name when I was eight years old after watching a few James Bond movies. I don’t regret it. James Bond is an idol. He represents desirability, and if three numbers reminds me that I’m associated with desirability, I prefer that. Shaken, not stirred.