Writing Worth

I think one of the biggest challenges of writing a blog post every day is finding the motivation to write it as well as examining what happened during the day that could be used for the post. Of course, this is if quite a bit of thought goes into writing a blog post rather than being a plain stream of conscious writing. I tend more towards the latter, I have noticed, especially during times when I have university work to deal with. When I was home during the break, I had a lot of time to allow my thoughts to marinate in my head. Sometimes, I actually felt like what I was writing could be of potential worth and value in the world I was putting it out in. But of course, that is quite a crisis-inducing question to ask.

I ask myself a lot of these questions these days, I cannot help myself sometimes. It is like my brain decided that there are some hard truths I need to be forced to face and that it should be the ones that come to me at the hardest times. The worst part is, I am fully conscious of my brain trying to start the question and it is like I am so depraved that I want that pain, that crisis that will push me to completely lose it. There you go, I have said it. I have started fancying pain and crisis, I have romanticised it enough. This is my brain once again making me realise the hard truths. Who wants to admit that they like to see themselves in pain, to put themselves in pain? Not me for sure, I doubt there are many others who want that.

What does it mean to put something of value out into the world? What does it mean to write anything at all? How am I supposed to know that whatever I am writing, why, take for example, this blog post itself, how am I supposed to know that this post was meant to be written at all? That there is something worthy of being written and read in these words? I am pretty sure that there is going to be at least one person who could read what I am writing and wonder what made me write it in the first place. I wonder that enough about myself that it is not completely foreign for me to put myself in some unknown imaginary reader’s shoes. Well, I guess it is quite moot point right now to wonder, especially when I have already written 430 words. So there I go, wondering again, life has never been this confusing has it?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Vulnerable Farces and Phases

I am still in that place of utter exhaustion and I feel tired to the deepest parts of my bones. But I am forcing myself to stay awake for this, so that I can finish this and go to sleep, for a good eight hours or so straight. I don’t have college tomorrow, which is both a good and bad thing. The good thing about it is that I get time to rest and relax, refresh myself after a hectic week of travel and study. But the bad part is, because I “don’t have any work”, I am left with a lot of time on my hands to wonder and ponder, and overthinking is the bane of my existence. But here, this overthinking gets in the way of the time I am supposed to be utilising to work on my assignments for my course. I haven’t even completely thought about my idea for my paper yet, my creative piece is a scary one, as in, it terrifies me because I don’t know if I want to use it or not. My friend thought it was fine and I would like to trust his opinion, especially because it has served me well on many occasions, but fear is a stupid and irrational thing.

There is something vulnerable in the act of writing something and putting it out there for someone else to see. This is not so just for a personal, private email or text message, but also the case for something like this blog post. This whole blog, for example, is a series of my own vulnerabilities, a vulnerability every day. When I write these posts, I go purely on my stream of conscious, with little to no editing. Once I have typed this word here, I don’t go back, especially if I have finished that one sentence or idea I intended to say. For me, this raises so many questions, for, in my vulnerability, I designate a very specific kind of readership. But I don’t know what or who comprise that readership. It could be people who just chanced upon my blog, people who read the blog regularly, people who pop their head in once in a while, just to say hi and read what’s new that month, or people who never come here at all. But which of these groups is the group I am looking for? I really don’t know, I am ill-possessed to figure out an answer.

I am realising that in my sleepy state, half the words I am saying make absolutely no sense. It is all just words and punctuation, coming together to make grammatical sense (kind of), but that which my brain is unable to comprehend. Anyway, that vulnerability is something that I have recently felt a lot in all my interactions with everyone. This fear of, what exactly, I cannot pinpoint, but a fear nonetheless. There is a fear that covers itself over everything I do, it is like this sudden atmosphere of smoke developed around my asthma-afflicted lungs. While others seem to be doing fine, doing great actually, I feel like I am in this pit, this bottomless pit in which I am constantly falling but also simultaneously not in motion. There is a word going around that I can get out of it, but the truth is, it is a farce. I am a farce, just like everything around me is. I will be able to end this phase, won’t I?

And that’s my memory for the day.