Some of you have been asking me, why am I not writing as much as before? Am I not motivated to write anymore? Well, no. That is not the case. Personally, I’m penning down bunch of thoughts. Bunch of emotions. But not all of which can be shared. So they sit as drafts on my iMac, as I take another approach to writing my thoughts online.
It has been a long year. Last year, at this point, I was a full time student – hell bound to finish my Masters by summer – travelling around Bengal to see what I want to write about in my thesis, researching, studying…. and all of a sudden out of no where came a man I thought was genuinely good. But internet persona is so different from actual person.
The mask we wear in the digital world, the language we use to express ourselves – is as separate from the true person as possible. The few who are truly, unabashedly able to be themselves online are the ones like myself – who grew up with a PC since 1990, and internet access since/before 2000! I was one of those privileged kids who had a Motorola in her school bag in 1997 – cause parents were worried that I might be kidnapped and murdered. Rightful concern of most parents of daughters in India. Only few would spend substantial amount to nurture and protect their girl children. I am truly lucky in that aspect.
So last year, as I travelled to India, the world was engulfed in a viral pandemic that had claimed over a million lives, very few had the means to travel as flight tickets were sky rocketing. The panic caused by “computers are down” at the airport – and the thought “do I have to buy another damned flight ticket”, “will I make it home to CH after these 3 months”, was constant. Amidst it all, someone love-bombing over the net, was not considered as life threatening as other matters surrounding Covid and Covid-time voyage would cause. My concerns were least about my own mental and emotional health – as every good South Asian girl, my thoughts were about physical health. I considered myself unbreakable, and unshakable.
I was a different person back then.
So this December as I look back, I see how much I’ve grown. How much I’ve changed. And documenting that here amidst constant scrutiny and (for lack of better words) – “back bitching” from those who didn’t understand the purpose of blogging the change-of-heart/change-of-mind/healing-through-writing that I took on and went through: is a different kind of courage. No one will pat my back to say “well done” or “thank you” – but some did say they are glad they read my blog as it helped them recognise toxic behaviours that would otherwise go undetected in people they dated, had as friends, grew up in the same household with – narcissists they were always excusing and in return getting anxiety and depression. Those are the feedbacks that really mattered.
Few days ago a friend jokingly said “you are the wisest person in the room” after both my beerchildren (a term best described as mentee in English) made it to the committee of my student association. I had to laugh. He probably meant my age – for in my heart I am still learning, growing, observing, and change is constant. Last year, at this very moment, I was a different person, yet to live those experiences that would change me forever.
ANTHROPOLOGY OF LOVE 