why I write

People have different defaults. My default state is trying to figure out how I can make myself better, how I can solve the problems of my life to optimize for maximum success and happiness. That is why I started reading non-fiction prose. I stayed because over time, I did find some value in it. I adopted new ways of thinking and adapted new perspectives of living.

One of the first books I read was ‘Ikigai’ and I fully intend to brag because I read it before everyone was reading it. I was either 15 or 16, not entirely sure. I have a distant memory, almost like an indiscriminate blur, of me glancing at the magnificent, famed Ikigai Venn Diagram. The glancing turned to staring, the staring turned to ogling. I was obsessed with finding my Ikigai.

I felt like the devasted Prince with a glass slipper, looking for his Cinderella. Except I had no idea who my Cinderella was or what she looked like. I did dance with a lot of eligible young hobbies, still do on a daily basis, never knowing who it might be. I flirt with a new subject or activity but eventually, I get bored. Or I get tired. Or I run out of patience.

I go back to the drawing board and snap open my wooden chester. In the last drawer resides the glass slipper. I take it out, clutching onto it with both hands. I gently caress its pages until I reach the one I am looking for. Then comes the moment of truth. I carry out a detailed analysis. My heart is thumping loudly as my supposed Cinderella tries on the glass slipper. It does not fit. I am disappointed yet again.

More than anything, I am hurt. I am hurt because like a fool, I get my hopes up again and again. I teach myself to not have expectations anymore. I teach myself that ‘meant to be’ is a lie. I teach myself that fairytales are fairytales for a reason. I only do what benefits me- socially, economically, practically. I do not do what makes me happy because I think nothing can make me happy.

Something you must know about me is that I speak a lot, often for no reason at all. When I cannot speak, I feel handicapped. I feel like the Little Mermaid who has lost her voice. She loses her voice in order to find her Prince. Who knew fairytales could bleed into reality?

One unimaginative, insignificant day in the January of 2022, I lost my voice (quite literally). My throat was clogged and ached like a foot tip-toeing on red-hot coals each time I opened my mouth to speak. The fact that I was in quarantine notwithstanding, this time I truly began to feel lonely.

Thus, I wrote only because I could not speak. In a moment of brief candidness, I impulsively, mindlessly published what I had written only because I had nothing better to do. The rest, as they say, is history. Last night, I was randomly flipping pages when I chanced upon the Ikigai diagram. I smiled to myself, amused at my past tactics. I shook my head and was about to move on — but old habits die hard. I gave it a second look, and within a minute I had my answer. Writing seamlessly satisfied all requirements.

The glass slipper had fit without me even having to try. I was not surprised. I had been writing since the age of at least 5, if not earlier, and might I say at the risk of sounding grandiose and self-absorbed, writing relatively well. I knew I could write, but along the way, I forgot. It has taken me thirteen years to remember.

People ask me why I write. Actually, nobody does. I am people. I ask myself almost everyday why I write.

I think I have an answer now. I write to find a way back to myself.

The glass slipper fits but I don’t know if it always will. Cinderella is allowed to put on a little weight or maybe buy a pair of boots. I personally think sneakers would be a good idea — the memory foam ones are a blessing to mankind. However, till the glass slipper fits, I am going to wear the shit out of it.

I understand if you feel this particular blog edition does not add value to your life. It wasn’t meant to. This one’s just for me :)

Do feel free to reach out to me, new thoughts and ideas are always welcome :)