My thoughtful words crumble in anxiety as I nakedly strive to open my life to you. Though words crowd my life, I still doubt that a million lines are enough to explain a writer’s life.
Every writer is unique but uses a common tool: words. Our inner world is so rich with emotions that the outer universe sometimes seems to be non-existent.
My journey to become a writer began before I knew who I was.
Concentration being my biggest enemy and surviving solely on the merit of imagination, the early years of my life breathed with ease. I ran like a free-flowing river unaware about what lies ahead.
The only thing that troubled me was – I was not able to think like others and unfortunately, nobody ever tried to think like me.
Every day I pushed my mind to focus on the present but my heart’s voice was too spiritually loud to distract it. I unabashedly thought I was only talented enough to wonder.
Observing people, not writing, was my first hobby.
Sitting in the class, distracted from what the teacher was teaching and admiring girls and absorbing their beauty, calculating the times they irresistibly smiled and subtly adjusted their hair made me realize a valuable lesson:
Only girls can make a guy’s life interesting, so, better waste time in understanding them. The rest (dreams, passions, the ‘Finding Myself’ moment) will divinely fall into place.
Those flirtatious dialogues and sparkling moments made me love myself. It made me feel free and now that fu*king rule book that says ‘Behave-This-Way-Or-Be-Like-That’ held no importance. Emotions found solace in words and the words found freedom on the page.
I became a writer. Temporarily.
Initially, every moment of disappointment ended in a page of frustration. Failure got converted into a motivational song and a heartbreak into a short story. But somewhere I know, I had taken my first step to dive into the complexity of an artist.
The road ahead was ready for my makeover but was I prepared?
No, I wasn’t.
The first glimpse of angst and depression took hold of me and I was taken aback. The suffering was essential but was short-lived. Later, the storm settled and I could envision my dreams clearly.
My mind became a restless genius.
The mind opened its closed windows and the demons also caged out. I could imagine, create and write things that were beyond a normal person’s understanding. Creativity was blooming in every moment. My distinctive thought-process was visible and the world questioned it but I unapologetically trusted in what I believed.
My heart became wiser.
The heart found its treasure in words and the soul rested in ecstasy. The voice of the heart graced my biggest decisions in life. I was not afraid to lose and compete with anyone because my journey was mine. The more I listened to my heart, the universe magnetized people and situations to support my desires.
Love changed its meaning.
The heart couldn’t accept the foolish theory anymore – ‘We-Find-Each-Other-Attractive-So-Let’s-Date’, it started searching for something more deep and real. It longed for a connection that won’t age with time and had a promise of wisdom and loyalty.
So, if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. You will always be living in his pages either with the breath of pain or love.
A writer’s life is not easy, every day he challenges the depth of his emotions and questions what’s not questioned and writes what’s not written before.
You, as a reader, see a piece of article as an amalgamation of words, but it’s his life that you are actually reading.