So, this is going to be a more of a "letting my feelings out" kind of post.
If you don't want to know about me, then please go back to whatever you were doing before.
If you do want to know about me, then read on.
My grandfather doesn't want me to write.
He thinks I'm wasting my time.
He asks me what is the use of writing a blog and letting other people read it.
He asks me what I'd do if people who read my blog misuse my content or my account.
He worries that I'll get into trouble and mess up.
He doesn't want to try read my blog.
My dad has never read anything I've ever wrote and he doesn't understand what a blog means.
I mean, he obviously cares for me but just not in the way I expect him to.
My dream dad would have been the first to read my blog posts and comment to me that I was doing a great job.
But my dad thinks that I'm using someone else's (Blogger by Google) web space for free without paying for my own web space to have my own website.
My grandma tries to read my stuff but she doesn't know English that well or rather she isn't that confident of her own English comprehending skills.
My mom is busy with her own set of problems about managing on her own in UK.
Besides, she also has a very important exam coming up and she doesn't have the time to read what I write.
I guess that's why I like to share my blog link in FaceBook.
So that more people will see my blog and that atleast one of them would come back to me and say "Good job, bud".
I don't know if the fact that I crave for some sort of recognition for my writing makes me a bad person.
All I know is that I want someone to think that what I write isn't a whole pile of bullshit and that it actually helps someone feel better.
Till now, I've never understood if people are just scared to talk to me or if it's just an excuse to NOT talk to me.
I don't know if I'm actually an irritating and unpleasant person or if it's just the way I'm projected to be.
I don't know how I write.
I don't know if what I do makes sense to others.
I don't know anything about things that I've never gone through and I constantly worry whether it makes me a bad and selfish person.
I've never been great in anything.
There was always someone better, more improvised and more liked.
This is both family wise and school wise.
The day my brother was born was the day I started what has grown to be a huge inferiority complex.
I don't resent my brother, no not at all.
In fact, I love him a lot because that's just the type of person he is.
Anyone who meets him, likes him and I am no different.
That day in the hospital when he held my tiny finger in his even tinier hand, I knew that I'd love him even if others don't.
But then, everyone did love him, just a lot lot more than I could ever expect to be loved.
If this wasn't enough, I soon realised another thing.
Everyone I knew in school had suddenly grown up while I still held on to my childhood dreams and innocence.
Everyone seemed to think that maybe I wasn't really needed anymore.
Therein started my huge desire to get recognised and to inspire a lot of people.
I didn't have any noticeable features and traits.
I was just another person in the whole school.
I had friends, I spoke to them but never went beyond making lame jokes.
In fact, this is the first time I'm actually confessing my feelings to someone or rather everyone.
I started to get comfortable there when the next realisation came, I had to move.
My carefree life had ended and in came 11th with it's own share of problems and chaos.
All the things I'd thought I was comfortable with became uncomfortable.
The people I considered my closest friends became just another page in my slam book and journal.
Before you decide that this post is a sob story, I have to tell you one thing.
I did have my fun.
I got selected as the Assistant Secretary of my school's Interact Club and I was Ok, maybe this thing wouldn't be so bad.
I wasn't wrong. I had my own things to do.
I started writing again.
I am quite happy.
Yes, there are people who are way better than me in many things.
There are people who are way less than me in many things.
There are people without whom I can't live (my mom, my grandma and my brother and in some way my grandfather and dad too).
Maybe just maybe, I would get to live that life.
Maybe one day, I'd get recognised.
Maybe one day, I'll inspire lots of people and do something good to the world.
Maybe one day, I'll find that being me was the best way to make someone love me and care for me.
Maybe one day, I'll look back to this post and think about how it came to be.
Till that one day, I'll be waiting.
Sometimes with a frown, sometimes with a smile
Sometimes with tears that can be seen from a mile.
I'll be waiting for that one day.
Because, that's what we all do best.
If you don't want to know about me, then please go back to whatever you were doing before.
If you do want to know about me, then read on.
My grandfather doesn't want me to write.
He thinks I'm wasting my time.
He asks me what is the use of writing a blog and letting other people read it.
He asks me what I'd do if people who read my blog misuse my content or my account.
He worries that I'll get into trouble and mess up.
He doesn't want to try read my blog.
My dad has never read anything I've ever wrote and he doesn't understand what a blog means.
I mean, he obviously cares for me but just not in the way I expect him to.
My dream dad would have been the first to read my blog posts and comment to me that I was doing a great job.
But my dad thinks that I'm using someone else's (Blogger by Google) web space for free without paying for my own web space to have my own website.
My grandma tries to read my stuff but she doesn't know English that well or rather she isn't that confident of her own English comprehending skills.
My mom is busy with her own set of problems about managing on her own in UK.
Besides, she also has a very important exam coming up and she doesn't have the time to read what I write.
I guess that's why I like to share my blog link in FaceBook.
So that more people will see my blog and that atleast one of them would come back to me and say "Good job, bud".
I don't know if the fact that I crave for some sort of recognition for my writing makes me a bad person.
All I know is that I want someone to think that what I write isn't a whole pile of bullshit and that it actually helps someone feel better.
Till now, I've never understood if people are just scared to talk to me or if it's just an excuse to NOT talk to me.
I don't know if I'm actually an irritating and unpleasant person or if it's just the way I'm projected to be.
I don't know how I write.
I don't know if what I do makes sense to others.
I don't know anything about things that I've never gone through and I constantly worry whether it makes me a bad and selfish person.
I've never been great in anything.
There was always someone better, more improvised and more liked.
This is both family wise and school wise.
The day my brother was born was the day I started what has grown to be a huge inferiority complex.
I don't resent my brother, no not at all.
In fact, I love him a lot because that's just the type of person he is.
Anyone who meets him, likes him and I am no different.
That day in the hospital when he held my tiny finger in his even tinier hand, I knew that I'd love him even if others don't.
But then, everyone did love him, just a lot lot more than I could ever expect to be loved.
If this wasn't enough, I soon realised another thing.
Everyone I knew in school had suddenly grown up while I still held on to my childhood dreams and innocence.
Everyone seemed to think that maybe I wasn't really needed anymore.
Therein started my huge desire to get recognised and to inspire a lot of people.
I didn't have any noticeable features and traits.
I was just another person in the whole school.
I had friends, I spoke to them but never went beyond making lame jokes.
In fact, this is the first time I'm actually confessing my feelings to someone or rather everyone.
I started to get comfortable there when the next realisation came, I had to move.
My carefree life had ended and in came 11th with it's own share of problems and chaos.
All the things I'd thought I was comfortable with became uncomfortable.
The people I considered my closest friends became just another page in my slam book and journal.
Before you decide that this post is a sob story, I have to tell you one thing.
I did have my fun.
I got selected as the Assistant Secretary of my school's Interact Club and I was Ok, maybe this thing wouldn't be so bad.
I wasn't wrong. I had my own things to do.
I started writing again.
I am quite happy.
Yes, there are people who are way better than me in many things.
There are people who are way less than me in many things.
There are people without whom I can't live (my mom, my grandma and my brother and in some way my grandfather and dad too).
Maybe just maybe, I would get to live that life.
Maybe one day, I'd get recognised.
Maybe one day, I'll inspire lots of people and do something good to the world.
Maybe one day, I'll find that being me was the best way to make someone love me and care for me.
Maybe one day, I'll look back to this post and think about how it came to be.
Till that one day, I'll be waiting.
Sometimes with a frown, sometimes with a smile
Sometimes with tears that can be seen from a mile.
I'll be waiting for that one day.
Because, that's what we all do best.
No comments:
Post a Comment