Still Writing

I have the exact same feeling as a teenager who didn't show up to college for months and is embarrassed to go back. It's difficult to search for a greeting while appearing again, and that’s why and how I started with a shy line instead of a loud Hello!!

It has been more than two months since I wrote for my blog. That doesn't mean I was writing something else. I had just sat back. During the course of these two months, I completed a semester exam and I have a ring shining bright on my left hand. Two months isn't a big disappearance, but it feels so because I went through so much and that makes it feel like a year altogether. When life overwhelms you, you forget your life for a while. That "while" took me two months. Fair enough! Many times, I had a very strong urge to write and I did come here and type something. But they were all left unfinished, and I didn't want to continue them when I came back. At the present, those drafts didn't make sense to me anymore, and they went to the trash can. 

Showing up needs courage. Be it for anything. Be it in front of a long-lost friend, be it in front of your dad after a quarrel, be it in front of your dust-covered books, be it for your own diary, be it for your readers!!! I caught myself in a strange mix of guilt and frustration about losing the few genuine readers I have had. I made sincere attempts to sneak back into my Wednesday Window. But I couldn't sit for long, and so, I disappeared again.

I've had a self-brought misery these days. I remember someone saying, "True writers can write in any situation and in any phase of their life." This kept ringing in my head, and the fear of drifting away from being a writer in the making grew larger every day.

Eventually, I think we all carry some unknown pressure that we put on ourselves. Even when nothing is being demanded from us, we create expectations inside our own minds. We turn hobbies into duties, passions into performance, and simple joys into checkpoints. It is strange how we manage to exhaust ourselves without anyone even asking us to. We fear slowing down, not because the world will judge us, but because we already are. And sometimes, that invisible pressure weighs heavier than real deadlines ever could.

Although I didn't write for long, I always had my silent observations, untold feelings, and bloggable conversations. Silence didn’t mean emptiness. I’ve noticed this often — everyone carries pressure. Some of it is placed by others, but most of it is self-made. For me, it was the pressure of coming back to my blog. Believe me, coming back feels harder than starting. Harder because now there is memory, there are expectations, and a fear of "Is my voice still the same?" Silence feels heavier than noise. Always. Long-lost hobbies need a lil extra love and care. Hobbies too behave like long-lost friends, demanding extra effort. Returning feels like walking into a room where everyone remembers who you used to be, and now you have to recall how you were.

Sometimes, I tried writing with an explanation for my absence, and that felt silly later on, so the gap only grew. Maybe my subconscious had the pressure of being "better than before." Clearly, I didn’t know when I could creep back into my blog. I tried many times and failed. I didn't know it would cost me a fever!!

Here I am, at 1 am, caught with a fever from the previous day, with sleep eluding me. I wanted to distract myself from the wrenching body pain. I somehow knew my mind would ignore the restlessness once I started typing. These past days, it was my mind that hesitated to write, while my fingers were always ready. Tonight, my fingers are trembling, but it is the mind that has won.

I’m excited to sense this baffling pleasure again; hearing the clucking keyboard sound when the world falls asleep. I had totally forgotten about cicadas, and now it feels soothing to notice them while my gaze stays fixed on the screen. It now seems to me that my Window doesn’t need explanations, only my presence. I’ll drift into sleep before the paracetamol loses its power. I want fireworks in my dreams for returning here again (I better be realistic!) or at least a strong coffee in the morning. The FOMO teenager in me is brave now and will come sit on the Window next week, open for convos.