An Ode to a Life of Writing
Iām gonna do something that Iāve never done in my blogs before: Iām gonna tell a story. But itās not like a short-story, flash-fiction, or even a narrative essay. To be honest, even Iām not sure what I wanna achieve by telling you guys this story. But I just⦠want to get this out of my head.
Iāve never told this story to anybody else. Iāve never talked about it. Even my closest friends who Iāve spoken with know just some partsāthey don't have the full picture.
For some reason, it never came out of my head the way I wanted it to be. I still don't know how to tell this story, but Iām gonna try my best.
This is the story of my collegeās first semester⦠and my very first writersā block.
Howād you feel if you got admission into the best liberal arts university in your country? Man, I was ecstatic. I still remember that day when Iād read the mail: I was in the kitchen with my mom, by the countertop as I was scrolling through the mails, waiting for the results. I got the admission. Unconditional confirmation.
I was in. I didn't even do shit, just flexed my writing experiences and thatās it. And I was pretty bad as a writer at that time. I probably still am, but at least Iām a lot better than I used to be, lol.
Anyway, the four-month break between school and university suddenly felt like such a long time. I was told to enjoy this time to the fullestāand I did. I pampered myself too much. Iād wake up late, eat shit all day long, and spend a lot of time with my friends.
I didn't like that phase, lol. I couldn't meet my friends every day like I used to do during my school. But I didn't hate it. I was still meeting them every other day, at cheap restaurants, yāknow. Just swearing at each other to the fullest and laughing so hard our lungs hurt.
I loved my friends, and I knew it: I was gonna miss them. I was gonna miss all these days. I was gonna miss the two years that Iād spent with them. But I didn't let my future worries decide my presentāI enjoyed the days to the fullest, like I always used to do.
Also, Iād got admission into one of the best colleges in the country. What could go wrong, man? Itād be tough starting overāliving in the hostel, making new friends, beginning a new life all by myselfābut I knew that once Iād make some good friends, Iād be laughing with them all day long. Without restrictions, because there was no home-time in college. And then all the problems of my life wonāt feel as big as they really were.
I daydreamed about such a life every single day for four months, man. I was overjoyed. My life was going just in the right direction and I was loving every single part of it.
I knew good times always precede the bad times, lol. Nothing lasts forever. Learned that long ago, but I still had faith in myself. I was brimming with optimism.
The summer break finally ended. Monsoon came in, and I finally stepped inside the university for the first time. And⦠I was mesmerized. The whole first day went well.
I met my new roommateāI couldn't believe I was gonna live with a random fellow for a whole year, lol. I still can't believe that, even though itās been so long. The fact just seems so⦠so not-a-thing-Iād-do.
I roamed around the campus, looking at the big buildings. I saw all those new kids, all smiling and laughing and having fun. We had some ice-breaking activities the first night, lol. I couldn't participate in any, because Iām kinda an introvert, but it was still fun.
And that was the day I realized this: this place was just so different from what Iām used to. All of them were dressed up in shining colors, talking in English rather than our native languages, and just seemed so full of confidence.
Now, mind ya, Iām not from a small-town or something, but⦠I was just never too close to such kinda people. You can say I am a small-town kid, but not from a small-town, if it makes any sense.
I was used to wearing pajamas all day long. I never went to parties or drank liquor. I never smoked. I was never even close to smoking at any point in my life.
Iāve never dated. Iāve been in love, but never dated. It just⦠Things just ever went that far. Now it seems like I missed a couple of things during my school, but looking back, I knew I was so damn busy just laughing and swearing with my friends that I donāt really regret not having a girlfriend, lol.
Anyways, here I was: in between those kinda kids that had done it all. They were just seventeen, like me, but theyād experienced shit that Iād not. That Iād just seen in American high-school dramas. That Iād just daydreamed about, and then thrown those dreams out of my head because I thought it was just so damn unrealistic to even think Iād be like those people.
Also, many of them came from rich families. They kinda knew how to act with strangers. And dress up. I⦠Iād been growing my hair for really long, so they looked so messed up all the damn time. And my shirt had wrinkles because Iād pulled them out of my pants. My whole outfit was just a mess.
No, it was probably not a mess. But I always felt it was. I always just⦠felt out of place. I always felt inferior.
Looking back, I can't even pinpoint itāif my clothes were okay or not. Probably it was because everybody was speaking in English, while I just wasn't used to the language. Or probably that everybody was so brimming with confidence as they talked to new kids around, or participated in activities such as karaoke together, among other strangers.
I stood by the edge, looking at it all. I was completely overwhelmed by it all. There were⦠just so many people. All my age, but looked so widely different from me. Or they didnātāI just thought they did.
The lines between whatās real and whatās not started to blur. My own thoughts had started to take over my eyesāthey only showed me what I thought was real.
And what I thought was real was that I was different. I was different from all these people who could speak fluent English and joke around without the need to swear at every damn sentence. They wanted drinksāthey didn't care about the money. They didn't go to cheap restaurants to talk with their friends.
Something in me started to change.
I knew these patterns, not gonna lie. I used to be quite shy and introverted at one point, so⦠I knew what was coming. And I feared what was coming.
I was gonna be alone. I was gonna be hating every single one of them. And this was gonna go on for four damn years. Man, I was done.
I tried to fit in. I made a couple of friends in the first week. And I showed them a part of my real self. I refuse to be like the others hereāI was gonna be who I actually was.
I thought we were close. I thought Iād found a home. I thought I could share anything with them.
One of them was really close. She was just as sad as I was, and her home was way further away than mine, so she was a lot more stressed than me. I thought we could share anything with each other. To be honest, I kinda loved herānot romantically, but I did. I wanted her to be happy.
And soon, she found some other friends. Good for her. I was happy that sheād finally made some friends and settled here, but⦠but she soon got busy. Yāknow, college got intense, assignments popped up, and now she had new friends she could spend her free time with.
She left me behind. Again, I was alone. And more alone than ever, because⦠yāknow. I trusted her too early. Now, when I look back, I can see it clearlyāshe probably didn't see me as close as I thought we were. I don't know her perspective on this story, and I don't think I ever will. Weāre still kinda friends, but not really. And definitely not so close that I could go ask her about her perspective.
Definitely not what we used to be. At least, in my eyes.
God, good that she hates reading. Sheād probably never read all this shit. And, I hope she doesn't. I really hope she doesn't.
Because as much as Iād wish her well, I kinda hate it. We were in this mess together, right? We were in this damn mess together, but⦠but she moved on. Found her place. And left me behind.
There were days I wanted to talk to somebody. So Iād call her, and sheād not pick up. Nobody would. Iād lie on my bed, in the middle of that dark room. Iād be by myself. Iād want to take off my shirt and shoes, but Iād be just too tired to care about that.
Iād start sweating all over my body. But I still wonāt get up until I could finally take no more.
Everything started to get much worse than it was. Like Iād predicted. Time passed, and nothing changed.
Iād just go to classes, sit in a cafe to study, eat alone in the mess, and sleep. Iād sleep lateābecause one of my friends used to call me at midnight and weād spend around an hour talking to each otherāand wake up early. My classes began at nine, so Iād wake up at six, work on my novels between seven to nine, and then go to my classes. After classes, Iād hit the gym.
Gym was heaven for me. Itād help me distract myself from everything that was going on in my life, even if it was only for an hour. Itād suppress my anxiety, pump up my blood, and give me a reason to be alive.
I wasn't taking in enough protein. I wasn't even eating much those days. Yeah, I ate all three days of the meal, but⦠it was never enough for bodybuilding. So my muscles were almost always hurting.
That was alright, though. As long as I could write and gym, I knew Iād be alright. I knew Iād bounce back, like always.
Those two things have helped me a lot. Theyāve given me purpose in lifeātheyāve given me something to chase.
But man, I forgot I was going through a hard time. Nothing was supposed to be good.
No, I didn't have to leave gymming and writing. Iād never give up on them, man. Theyāre important. Iād rather give up on studying, lol.
What happened soon⦠was that⦠I hit a writersā block. And man, the damn timing. It couldn't have been worse.
During that time, I was working on the second draft of one of my novels. I generally don't do thatāI just type, edit, and then upload on RR or some shit. But this story was serious, and I knew Iād need to be serious too. Iād also planned on a third draft.
But, writing the same story over and over again⦠made it much more boring to me, yāknow. I had all of the plot planned out already, I was just fixing the scenes, you could say. And I don't think I was doing a good job at it either.
Trigger warning: skip the next paragraph.
My story dealt with the themes of guilt and suicide. It was the story of a school-girl whose ex-boyfriend had just killed himself.
As you can see, it was⦠a really serious theme. I knew I had to handle the story with care, taking other peopleās opinions into consideration. I was gonna use Reddit to get in contact with people whoāve experienced loss like this, just to be sure I handled everything maturely. I was gonna get my second draft beta-read like that.
I was excited for the project. Iād first begun it during the break, and the second draft went well for a couple of days. Until⦠it didn't.
I soon lost all motivation to write the story. My inferiority complex hit me hard too: was I mature enough to tell a story like this? Have I experienced life this much that I could write about these topics?
High-schoolersā suicide is a big problem in my country, because of our education system. I won't go into much details, but itās really messed up. I wanted to start a conversation about it. I wanted to bring forward a story of these kids, whoād given their lives because they couldn't live in such an environment anymore.
But Iād never experienced all this first-hand. Just news, Reddits postsāstuff like that.
Still, I dragged myself on for three damn months. I was averaging six-hundred words a day, even though I used to average around eighteen-hundred before. On some days, Iād write just three- to four-hundred words in those two hours. Even though I knew the whole damn story!
All of it messed me up even more. I now know how this story of my writersā block ends, but⦠I didn't know how itād end when I was living it.
Questions swelled up in my mind. Am I done? Can I really not write anymore? Have I lost all interest and motivation from writing? Have I⦠grown out of it?
Iāve given writing my all. Iāve had several fights with my mom because I was writing stories instead of studying. Iāve been doing it for years, spent so much time learning and absorbing it all. Was it all⦠for nothing?
Whenever Iām going through a hard time, I tell myself that while it lasts, it was gonna hurt. But, at least Iād have a story for later. I could use these experiences in my art. But⦠if I can't write, do I even need these stories? Do I even need experiences in my life anymore?
All of my experiences, good or bad, are just content for my creative work. If Iām not writing⦠is life even worth living anymore?
I wasn't suicidal. But⦠you can say I was purposeless now.
Writing wasn't my personality. But writing was my life. It gives me a way to live. It shows me a future I can aim for. And now that I believed I was losing it⦠shit got way worse.
Suddenly I didn't know what my life was gonna be years down the line. I didn't know what I was aiming to be now. And, I didn't know how I was gonna tell society that Iād given up on words, after telling them how passionate I was about it.
I was scared. I was lost. I was done.
So, is it how the story of my stories come to an end?
I didn't know how to accept it, but one day or the other, I knew Iād have to. I can wail and beat my arms around like a kid all day long, but the truth won't change.
Every college has a gossip app, apparently. Even mine did. I kinda knew about it, but never downloaded it.
Yāknow, I kinda hated everybody there. So I was obviously reluctant to associate myself with stuff like that. But I soon caught wind of a certain post that was made on the app, and⦠just for a brief moment of time, I downloaded it.
Somebody had asked for reviews on me.
Somebody had written how I was a creep.
Somebody had written how I was a loser, because my deadlifts were too weak.
I don't think much of it now. But as a mind that just needed another reason to punch my chest, it hurt. It hurt so damn much.
After over three-and-a-half months of constantly struggling to fit in, to write, to work on myself and my self-image, I⦠cried. I let myself cry for a really long time. And all that time, I just hoped my roommate wouldn't just stomp in.
I was alone. Lying on the bed. Like always.
I still don't know why the writersā block had hit me. Iāve written such a big blog in just one sitting now, but at that time, I wouldn't have written even half of it in a week.
It was probably because I couldn't sleep at nights, so I was always drowsy. It was probably because I just lost all motivation to write that novel. Probably bothāI don't know.
I scrapped the project soon. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it justice, and the themes were too significant. I was not the right human to write something like that. Iād let this story be told by somebody else who can, or later in life when I know how I can tackle this story.
Also, I changed my time. I don't write in the morning anymore. Iām probably just not a morning person, lol. Only evenings work for me.
And yeah, lifeās good now. My newer project is coming out goodāIām having a lot of fun writing it. I love it, Iām proud of it. Itās the best thing Iāve written so far.
And, things havenāt really changed much. Iām still kinda alone, and I still don't have close friends here. But, at least I have people I know. People who know my name, and probably accept me for who I am.
Iāve started working on my dietāI finally get the protein I need, lol. And I feel so good, both physically and mentally.
Iām still working on my personality, though. Iām changed, and Iām learning from people around me. I don't know if itās for better or for worse, as Juice WRLD said in his song Robbery, but Iām changingāand I can't reverse it.
Lol, don't ask me how addicted I am to Juice WRLD. Man helped me through some hard times. And it wasn't just himāI have a lot of singers I have to thank for it. Kanye West, Charlie Puth, Eminem, SZA, Tame Impalaāthe list goes on and on.
Oh, how I love music. And how I love writing.
Also, the first semester was a good experience while it lasted. It inspired me to write a story about it, lol. Like I said, all experiences are just content for writers, man. Thatās probably one of the reasons why I romanticize most of my suffering.
Anyway, Iām doing fine now. Iām in a better place than I was, and I hope shit just gets better from now on. Iām still trying to make myself a life thatās as happy and fulfilling as my last years of high-school had been. Itās kinda tough, but Iām positive Iād get there.
Also, I like a girl, and Iād probably confess to her soon. Wish me luck!