These Five Years...

When I started this blog page, I was 24 years old, freshly disillusioned of my dream of becoming a teenage writing prodigy. Now, I am 30 and I still don't have a published book to my name. A couple of years back, I came across this book at a bookstore written by a 12 year old boy, a science fiction novel. Everyday I look at actors, content creators, stand up comedians younger than me, create a name for themselves, be heard and seen, and appreciated. And here, I keep refreshing my blog page to be welcomed by 45 to 50 odd views on the articles I write.

I keep trying to convince myself that it's not about the readership or the views or the comments. I keep telling myself that it's about keeping the writer in me alive. But seeking validation is but natural, isn't it? I recently deactivated my social media profiles - Facebook, Instagram & Twitter. There's no specific reason for doing that, it's not like I was spending a lot of time on these platforms. But I just decided I didn't want to be there. 

I have been pretty caught up for the last few years. I think I understand the wisdom in my grandfather's words, "surviving today is a full time job". Because I have been alive but I haven't lived much. I have survived. Most of the "interesting" stuff that happened in my life were "self-inflicted". Be it the best of my relationships or the worst of my struggles, they were all a result of cold calculated decisions or intricate web of self sabotage. Nothing just happened, where I had no control over how things played out - except maybe the death of my kin. 

Even now, with this write up, by mentioning the dead relatives, I am (maybe subconsciously) trying to invoke some sympathy, or at least some reaction from my future readers. Am I a control freak then? I don't know. And this uncertainty feels strangely welcome, you know. Some time back, I "fell in love" with someone who'd "never be mine". I pursued her like crazy, I said all the right words, expressed all the right emotions, but she didn't budge. And the fact that I couldn't control the outcome made her more and more intriguing for me. I realized I hadn't felt that moved by anyone in a long time. It was maybe the fact she wasn't playing into my ruse that turned me on, made her that desirable. I let go of people who worshiped me because I was afraid it would never be as fulfilling or as interesting as the "rejection", the "struggle", the "tragedy".

And even as I write this, my mind comes up with negating arguments. Maybe the only truth here is that there's no absolute statement that can define me. While I am used to sabotaging myself, I don't do it all the time. The problem there is that I don't always enjoy the bad, I sometimes crave the good too. I got into the biggest relationship of my life, because I was disillusioned with the relationship before that, and it was a nightmare. A nightmare I still can't wake up from.

And just like that, I have managed to make this article all about myself. I often get accused of being self centred. And I am guilty all the way. It is the only way I know. I am instinctively protective of myself. I will pull my hand away if I am getting burnt. Or if I think I am. It is that instinct that made me break up the arguably healthiest relationship I was ever in. Because I was "afraid of being burnt". Now, how much I hurt the other person in my quest to protect myself is another story altogether.

Now since I have already drifted away from the central topic of this article, let me take another turn and cover the title topic - the last 5 years. A lot happened to me between the age of 25 and 30. I lived in many places, handled various job profiles, dealt with a few broken relationships and managed to mature a little bit. I don't check myself in the mirror as much. And I tried some genuinely new experiences, experiences I can't really write about on this page. (Yes, they're that juicy!) One last thing, I managed to keep this blog alive. And that's something, because this blog is now older than all my relationships, except one.

Am I any close to publishing a book than I was 5 years ago? No. Am I happier? No. Am I alive? Barely. Am I wiser? Arguable. Do more people hate me? I think so. Would this article get more than 50 views? I don't think so.


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