When I say that I have never got out of bed ;late at night because of a strong urge to write, I mean never. That was, up until now. It’s like wave after wave of late night realizations are hitting me and I’m afraid that they will vanish from my memory if I do not take note of it. I am frankly struggling to wrap my head around the fact that I got out of bed and told my parents that I was too awake to sleep and would hence sit and write in the dining room. I’m looking at the clock and it is 11pm! This is certainly an astounding new occurrence in my life, such that I can’t help but be mesmerized.
Now before we proceed, I may be 17 but I have a good sleep cycle and parents who hold me to a bedtime, so 11pm is indeed late. If you are reading this, it is likely because I actually successfully copied down whatever I wrote in this notebook of mine, reserved for such activities. I want to work on claiming all of myself, including my imperfection.
Funny as it may be, there is some writing to the right of the page upon which the tip of a ball point pen rolled over to create whatever this is. That page bothers me. This may seem comical to you, oh fortunate one who stares into an inorganic screen, but for me, the minor irritating inconvenience is very much real! For whatever reason, seeing my plans for a fantasy series I want to work on but haven’t quite started working on ‘enough, puts me off. ACTUALLY, I am well aware of the reason and I already gave part of it away. The remnants of the vile, cancerous imperfectionist of which I am yet to be purged of, (yes, I am being dramatic on purpose) seems to scream in hate and rage and pain like a demon being forced out of its wonderful human tool because of an exorcism. Seeing my work incomplete and imperfect pains that side of me. But. I am killing off the foul beast as much as I can, part by part if that is how my battles must be. Should the demon arise from its supposed eternal slumber, it shall not be of relevance because come what my, today, at 11.11pm on the 8th of April, 2022, I am embracing as much of my imperfection as possible.
I’m going to — AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! A — cockroach — has interrupted my state of idkwhatchucall it. It really got my blood rushing and pumping. Nasty winged vermin with wings! It flew! It freaking flew! I’m really trying not to curse but dang it. You best believe I ran. I just grabbed the book and my pen and ran to the bedroom. I am currently writing under the table lamp in this room. I’m contemplating whether or not to dare venture into the other room, switch off the lights and continue writing here. I am fairly sure that I will accept that I don’t have a choice and will switch off the light and fan there. I always advocate for reducing wastage of electricity. I am a man of my word, and will not sacrifice my honour and integrity over my silly fear of a brown, fast, creepy, filthy pest!
(Psst! Over here! So I was trying to find an image of a flying cockroach with Medium’s Unsplash intergration, and look what I found:
The search results are hilarious!)
(OKAY SO, it looks like the results on Microsoft Bing is much better. Time for cockroach pictures and memes I actually find funny and can relate to)
Okay. I am internally laughing a lot at what I know I’ve written. I’m having so much fun with this. This is the first time in years in my memory that I happily wrote this freely. I know that I will publish this as it is, on yet another new Medium account. But wait, ,that is letting the perfectionist win. No! I refuse to make another Medium account! I will publish this on the latest imperfect account of mine on which I have a few imperfect publications.
I know I’ve mentioned imperfection multiple times already, but it is because I don’t think most people understand what I mean. I don’t know if any written piece expresses what I’m talking about. I don’t care if someone explained it already because that’s their take and their presentation, it is their view. I want to share my stories and my views, my way.
You see, I have so much to share and it is truly a huge step for me to do this, but I’m going to say whatever I have to say in as good a way as I can try to say it. I do not care if other people dislike it. This is freeing for me. I know that at least one person somewhere on this humongous plant will relate. Even if I’m the only one and I am crazy, I do not care. I am owning it. I’m the only me, and I have a rough past and trauma, but I do not and will not let it define me. It is hard, and I struggle sometimes but I will do what needs doing.
I call myself a storyteller sometimes. I aspire to a great storyteller in multiple mediums. I try to work towards that. As far as I’m concerned, what better place to start than the stories I hold close to my heart. I am a bit overwhelmed right now. I’m going to share my stories over time in ways I never thought I would. It is not solely to help others, but it is also to free myself even more. The more you tell a story, the less power it has over you, or so I have heard. What I have heard also happens to coincide with the conclusion I have drawn from my own experiences.
I sometimes find it hard to accept everything that I have been through, everything I have done and everything I am. I have my struggles, and each one comes with its own sets of challenges I need to overcome. I want to cry sometimes. I want to cry right now, but I will not, because although it is perfectly human to cry and everyone is allowed to let themselves cry, the environment I am in prohibits that. I am pained by that. I suffocated by that. I have much to share, so I will try to share as many stories as possible and reasonable because while I know it won’t be the easiest thing to pull off (not in this household at least), it certainly is worth it. If even one person benefits from one story, it makes sharing that story worth it.
I suppose what started off as a comical hyperactive spiel has turned into a deep, vulnerable piece of writing. (Note: I admit not knowing the meaning of the word ‘spiel’, at least not clearly. Maybe it isn’t even a word, I’ll just search that up before publishing this, ONLY to know that it isn’t something offensive.)
I have much to claim and own up to, and I will do that in the due course of time. I will however, try to remove my full legal name from this platform to protect my privacy a bit. While I fully understand that my name will inevitably end up on the internet, I want to currently not have it on this platform. I’d much rather have my name show up on the internet because of the things I do, and in ways that I can be proud of.
I think I will write about my experiences which amounted to nothing. About my crazy imagination and my demons of paranoia and other unpleasant things.
It is now the 9th of April. I certainly would not have slept if I had just stayed in bed, so I am quite glad I wrote what I have. I am now sufficiently drowsy enough to consider going to bed. I think I’ll sign off by sharing one of my favourite lines of poetry that I learnt this academic year.
“With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
It is still a beautiful world”
- ‘Desiderata’ by Max Ehrmann
