iām no good with words
As a child, I had crumpled up paper with poems and feelings written on them in the back of my cupboard, side of my bed and in very special days, torn up in the bin. I was embarrassed that I felt the need to express myself in words. It felt too raw. Art was a very pretty looking mask for all that I was feeling. Very acceptable so my mum wouldnāt ask whoās the boy that Iām writing about. I can just draw him and say mom, he is imaginary. It was culturally appropriate to imagine a fairy tale. Very wrong and dirty to live it.Till date I struggle to find words, write and rewrite emails, love letters and captions Ā words donāt fail meā I fail words. I know exactly what Iām feeling and Iām desperate to communicate it but the feelings donāt attach themselves to words but everything else. I cry easily. I get angry often. I fall in love easy. I love and obsess over the lyrics of a song, a good story teller and my favourite, someone who completes my sentences when Iām feeling it all and words are not catching up.
This year, I attended a poetry workshop conducted by my new friend that I instantly felt very comfortable with. Interacting with a someone who writes poetry feels very comforting to me because Iām always in the fear of being caught for feeling too much and expressing. I canāt get caught here. They know, love and appreciate feelings. To me, they are the most āsortedā people. Imagine being able to feel and give a name to the feeling and to be able to communicate and connect with people that way? IMAGINE. He gave me and around 30 other people prompts to write poetry. He asked everyone to recite their poetry. I was so fascinated by everyoneās courage and a small part of my either judging them for being so true to their feelings or jealous that Iām not like them. Iām not sure which one I was. My friend noticed that I hadnāt recited and I decided to one day share my poetry with him when iām ready.
I draw for a living. I get to express myself and get paid for a living. I wonder a lot why I chose drawing as the medium and so grateful that it stuck but I dislike the reason why it did. Art was acceptable, likeable and didnāt make anyone feel uncomfortable. Heck I donāt even draw nudes for myself. When a female teenage Disney Star outshines post teenage years into a bold, sexy, unapologetic woman I applaud her. I seek some sense of achievement with her because god alone knows if I would ever be able to outgrow my shell of ālikabilityā
Iām not a good writer. My thoughts are jumbled. Maybe thats why I journal a lot. I know that stories are supposed to have a beginning middle and an end. Ā Whenever I write these, I stop somewhere when I have made a few different khichdis out of few different thoughts and deep down I know they are working towards this common epiphany but I never quite find the words to that epiphany. Believe you me all that I said on top has narrowed to this one big thing. I donāt know what this big thing is called except that I do know. As a 26 year old I still operate they its appropriate for a 12 year old, middle class, Indian girl from a good family is supposed to operate it and I donāt know how to break out from it. There. I said it. (but doesnāt matter lol no one reads this blog)