I was unbelievably restless! I felt I had to write. Just write. Take those words out of my mind where they had been careening around; spew them out on a paper or whatever. I wanted to recognise my thoughts in the physical world. I wanted to examine them to see if they were real.
I had visions of writing for hours on end. In a secluded mountain cottage. Only a forest around. A clear stream. Chirping birds and the rustle of the bushes as animals darted in and out. A clichéd setting, no doubt and note that it was all pleasant. Even the animals I expected to come around the cottage were not wild or dangerous. I had a feeling that only the act of writing and expressing myself would put my mind to rest. I thought of words like ‘posterity’ and even ‘immortality’. There were so many things unsaid, so many emotions unrecorded. I imagined myself penning down my legacy.
I had a few questions as well. Was I coherent? Was I readable? Writing (create a blog perhaps) and have others read it would help me find out. So, with a little push and a lot of trepidation, I decided to write for an audience. But I was not an intrepid writer. For days, I was paralysed at the prospect of anybody in the world looking at my words. But slowly, with practice, things got better.
I was and still am an intensely private person. I knew that as I wrote I would draw from my life experience and facts about me would tumble out. On my blog, I created the most obscure ‘About’ page ever.
I started by writing why I was here on a public platform and a little about my life till now. I talked of my peripatetic existence and how I needed to find roots. I was trying to find an anchor by writing.
I have been here for some months now. I am not very prolific but then I have not been idle too. I have been fortunate that my posts get read by a few. I have been enriched with the interaction I have had with my fellow bloggers. Every few days, I have an ‘Aha’ moment when I find a fascinating read, an entirely new idea, a captivating story. And the people behind the excellence.
But many things have changed. Things I write about and the way I put forth my views. I still hide behind the facelessness of the internet but now I have a voice and a take that is uniquely mine. I have opened up a bit, online and offline. Before, I needed a pen and paper alone to bring me out of my misery but now I can make do with my keyboard and my screen.
I may be more articulate and better at structuring my pieces now but I am more aware that I am being read and that even through my writing I project an image. So, these days I do not free-write. I dam the flow at times, so that it all does not tumble out at once and in an unmanageable flow. I can express myself but am I still a free soul? Do I bleed?