I’m stuck. Stuck between my creative inclinations and my need to earn money. The soul and the bank account are running on empty.
Time flies. Goes apeshit crazy on weekends. When you write you step into a personality. A voice. Different when angry, different when elated, different when applied professionally. A huge part of writing is learning what to write and how to write it. You learn from reading, from watching, and amazingly through observing.
And being a primary mode of communication and also a proprietary skill impacts the writer on an individual-level.
There’s a literary buzz we feel from time to time. It’s the simple pleasure of recognising that you’ve improved your craft. Indicators can be writing a sentence that overwhelms yourself as a reader. Or seamlessly using a word/phrase you recently discovered.
Education system is like a massive RPG with horrible UX. You keep jumping levels, you invest in trainers and walkthroughs, praying that they would help. The immediate gratification is non-existent. There is no feel good factor outside of friends made out of existential compassion of being in the same shit situation as the other.Continue reading
This article is part of a series I’m writing about my experiences with work addiction. While it still makes sense on its own, it also acts as a Part II to the Part I, labelled “Confessions of a workaholic“. I’d recommend you read it first and circle back here.
Oh, you’re back? That was quick. Let’s get started!
Work-life balance is a unicorn. But as Indian startups are proving that a unicorn is achievable, I’m striving to find that balance and have a firm conversation with it.
I’ve been working full-time since I got out of college. That’s a broke 20-year old boy out in the big city trying to make a living. And as most people say when they talk about themselves, I also have worked hard to get to where I am.Read further
Mosquitoes, I don’t quite understand.
I remember years ago I had put up a Facebook status on how I hate mosquitoes while questioning their existence. I was expecting a scientific response, if any. What I got was an old tuition/gym/area acquaintance whose only conversational memory I had, was of him bullying me when I was a kid (in tuitions). He commented, telling me the religious relevance of the flying insect and how I shouldn’t question their existence.The rant continues…
I’ve been busy. Which is not necessarily a bad thing considering what all I do when I’m free (nothing).
But I’ve been so busy that it’s been a bit overwhelming to keep track of everything that’s going on. And I’m not talking about current affairs or the divisiveness over the 180-metre erection of national pride that wasn’t covered by the media for 3 and a half years while it was being made but now is buzzing about this amazing feat of the government. (Take that American dream!) Continue reading
It’s a different day. It feels different. Though the sun’s still piercing through the window, and crows are beginning to caw. But as I mentioned twice in three sentences, it feels different.
There’s a piece of thread or maybe a strand of hair hanging from the grill outside the window, and with it a piece of paper, interwoven as though a mini-kite.
Day 3 of writing for reason:
I don’t feel the urge to write this. But muscle memory won’t memorise itself. I understand how inaccurate that last sentence was and frankly I like the way it sounds. So it stays. When I say I don’t feel the urge to write this, it’s not out of anger or boredom. It’s not out of nihilism either. Thankfully.
Well, I’m back. I’ve convinced myself that writing these ramblings work like therapy. I have a table fan whirring in my ear and the sunlight seeping through the window. Sunlight, when you haven’t slept, appears to be piercing.