Back when I started blogging, I was 16 or 17 years old. I would write about anything and everything under the sun. Thoughts that lingered all throughout my day would pour themselves out – desperately seeking an exit from my system – into words and this blog became that container that held all of my emotions – intense, fleeting and subliminal.
I miss writing purposelessly. I miss writing without worry of pleasing my readers. I miss the raw audacious teenager inside of me who wasn’t scared to say what she thought or felt. As an adult, you start to load yourselves with so many responsibilities – it comes in slowly and then when you look back, with the passing time, you get piled on with your own social, moral or self-created boundaries. I am always worried that kids who read this will get influenced by my thoughts. What if I show life in a certain light that may affect one’s choices, I keep pondering upon. Then again, am I really a writer, if I look away from what is difficult to talk about? I guess not.
With every blog post that I share here, I am claiming my space of being a candid, out-spoken and free-willed writer. I am building myself back to the carefree girl, shrugged inside me – I am collecting the pieces dispersed and lost under that pile of responsibilities. So what if kids will get influenced by my work and so what if someone makes life choices after reading my work – after all, I am only going to teach them to be independent and self-aware.
I don’t know if I make sense to you, but if I do, thank you for reading and joining this space with me, as I unfold my heart one blog post at a time.