six

April 2021 marks six years since I wrote my first (serious) post for this blog (well, as serious as a twelve year old can be). I’m not sure why a ‘big five’ celebration never occurred to me in 2020. Perhaps it was a reminder of hope I was meant to discover only this year. (:

Going through my earliest pieces over the last few weeks certainly made me think ‘Did I really have to write that for the entire world to see?’ a fair few times (In all honesty, I doubt more than ten people read my earliest words (: ). But what surprised me even more was how unhesitatingly that little girl wrote—devoid of an inner critic, she put her heart to paper, because there was no one else she could turn to. Moreover, the very first thing she wrote for this blog was about her love for books and reading. As I sit here reflecting on my journey today, I’m an older (and wiser?) version of myself, but six years ago, there she was, already dreaming about words. I think then, I might be coming full circle, in more ways than one.

Words and I have traversed a long road together, and we have had our ups and downs. They have angered, frustrated and terrified me—I cannot recall the number of hours spent in front of blank pages and blinking cursors; or the sleepless nights spent wondering whether I could do justice to words—the singular thing I have admired and respected for as long as I can remember.

But they have also loved, understood and moved me, in deeper and more liberating ways that I can wrap my head around. I sometimes tend to wander off into long reveries when I write, but I warned myself not to do that today. Instead, I simply wanted to feel and express gratitude for the fact that my words have always come back to me, however long the separation. They gave me a voice and told me I mattered, when I wasn’t sure I did. In 2020, when I was deeply struggling, when no meaningful sentences would take form, I found poetry running across the pages of my journal instead. Rooting me, steadying me, breathing life into Life itself. Words first stemmed during one of the darkest times of my life and came back to me again, when I needed them most. Perhaps then, it is not just me, who is coming full circle. (:

I celebrate these six years with words because they have borne silent witness to tears and self-doubt; but also a tremendous amount of resilience—the simple yet strong belief of being a survivor. Yet, I have lived for, and loved words for far more; and I’d like to think that they have loved me back too. I think that is all what love really is—something that takes you by surprise, tiptoes into the darkest corners of your heart to undo knots that you have always fumbled with; and smudges the dirt off your windows to let in the first beginnings of light.

I wondered how I should mark this special milestone, but I found nothing as fitting as remembering to savour the journey between those milestones. So often we get entangled in the vicious cycle of ‘nexts’ that the ‘now’, which we have worked hard for, remains unnoticed and unappreciated. So I thought, what better, than to be inspired by the subjects of my own words? In taking joy in the rumble of bus rides and in a sudden cool wind on a hot summer night, stopping by the sidewalk to admire a pretty flower or the swirls in the skies; even as strangers wonder what could possibly be interesting about something so ordinary. But oh, it is the ordinary which brings us as close as possible to experiencing something magical—warmth, love, beauty. It is these simple emotions that bring the greatest colour to our lives. In times like these, they are all we have to hold on to. It is ironically, in trying to be more present, than holding onto an elusive perfection, that I think I can do the most justice to words; and live by the words I write.

Lastly, to you, my dear readers, thank you. I hope my words have brought some happiness to you; perhaps a smile, perhaps a gentle nudge into thought or fond memory. A friend of mine who is an artist recently posted this with a piece of hers which spoke to me; and better helped me understand my own relationship with what I create—

“I don’t know if I am a good artist or not. But for as long as I am on this planet, till every strand of my hair turns grey, I want to be related to art.”

Words and I share a similar, complicated relationship and I’m not sure how good I am with them. But they make me happy like few other things do, which is why I intend to write for a long time. There lie many paths ahead, waiting to be traversed. Along this long and possibly difficult journey, I hope you will continue giving your gracious company to this young traveller.