Hashtag, IHopeIAmAllowedToRamble
Thinking about the things that happened around this time last year, I cannot help but know how I would have done things differently with that boy, now. Not that I’d change a thing, he after all inspired my mediocre writing on love. I've come such a long way. I've aged in ways I wouldn't know how to exactly express. I wish I could tell you without getting judged for it or without disclosing information that people have trusted me with. One thing is for sure, though. Nothing stays confidential for a long time. People forget you but they remember your secrets. And secrets always make great whiskey conversations. “Promise me you won’t tell this to anyone, or she’ll kill me.” – I've heard this one so many times, how could I trust anyone with my stories? I've been working on how to be honest with myself and believe me; it’s not as easy as it sounds. I've also started giving the critic in me a chance, but I’m also keeping from becoming a critical human being.
Fuck, my hands are so cold, it has destroyed my handwriting. So, here I sit in my new bedroom on the coldest day Delhi has ever seen. Listening to my winter folk play list that never really makes sense in summers and longing for company. A new kind of company. And of course, I want them to like me and I want to be able to care about them. But I don’t wish for love anymore. I just want to be able to make great conversations, the kind that makes you realize - “did I just come up with that?” Quite honestly, I only begin writing about something when I've talked about that particular topic with somebody. And writing is not always something that comes first to me. Sometimes it’s just painting an idea or photography. I very recently read somewhere that ‘some write to impress and some write because they’re damned to’. But I’m a lonesome person; I need ways to keep my relationship with myself alive. And if I’m writing right now, then that is because I was talking to myself over a cigarette in my balcony about all of this.
However, I did begin to think about how I’ve grown up. To start with, I don’t get brain washed very easily anymore. I can tell when a bloke speaks about wanting to share his world with me whenever, whatever time of the day; to his own convenience. Not like I will not reciprocate, I mean nothing good or bad would come out of anything if you do well, nothing. I sometimes get cheesed off at predictable comments about my work and how I appear to people. I do always welcome heartfelt sharing of feelings but you cannot expect me to be real with you if you’re not being real with me. And real doesn't always have to be intense. If I’m starting to sound unapproachable to you, then you probably aren't the kind who prefers to hear the truth. And the truth doesn't always have to be harsh. I see people suck up to each other everywhere, for simple things like a follow back on Instagram. A year ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between who’s genuine and who’s all about the show.
For years, this planet has worked their way (and tried their best) to make themselves seem so desirable in the virtual world. I mean I joined Facebook in 2007, it’s been 8 years and that’s a long fucking time for unrealistic self actualization get the best of you. I won’t hold myself from saying this -- I've been trying to make myself (honest effort) seem as realistic and close to me on the internet. See, if you’re judging me for talking about something shallow such as this, then you’re only able to because you’re using your virtual identity to do so. It is so easy to lose who you are with everyone creating a desirable, unapproachable and unrealistic curriculum vitae all around you.
Try looking at your virtual self like you're browsing through a mutual friend's account for the first time, and you'd know what I'm talking about.
Writer & Photographer: Jagrati Marwaha
