Saturday, January 22, 2011

The call

Sometimes, I can't believe that I have a blog in which I write everyday.

Most of the time, I can't believe that I write on a forum that is accessible to the world.

This is because for a long time, I had silenced the voice in my head that is the source of these words.

The voice was muffled and uttered expletives faintly time and again, while I shushed it and looked around in embarrassment, hoping that no one had heard.

The voice wanted to reverberate and be heard and I was as determined to keep it hidden.

I didn't want anyone to know that there was a voice dictating words in my head. I didn't want to write these words down. It was as simple as that. And sadly, I convinced myself that I couldn't.

But the thing is that anyone can write. It is like a river. And once you let it flow, it does. Unendingly. With exponential speed.

That is why they say that if you want to be a writer, all you need to do is to write and then write some more.

And because I have written a lot in the first twenty one years of my life, maybe the remnants of it remained in the next four and that is why I am still able to write.

But I am absolutely surprised that I enjoy an activity that I was convinced I would detest.

I can hardly believe how much I am reveling in the processes that go into this blog, because it was not too long ago in the past when my mantra was, "I don't want to be a writer because I want to enjoy my job and I just don't enjoy writing."

But sometimes, things about yourself that you are so blind to are crystal clear to those around you.

And maybe that is why Thom never let up. And maybe that is why in the 48 months that he has known me, he has told me that my calling was simply to be a writer at least 48 times.

However anguished I might have been at not having a vocation or convinced that I was meant to be a painter or a dancer or a statistician or a beautician or a chef, he has always told me with absolute placidity that I would make a better writer than most other things.

Now I don't think he was talking about skill, and neither am I, when I am saying this.

I don't think I am anything more than an averagely skilled writer.

But it goes without saying that he was right in that writing is possibly my calling. It is, if a calling is something that you would rather do than most other things in the world and if the process comes considerably easily and naturally to you.

All these things are true about writing for me, and most definitely for photography as well.

So I guess I did find my calling after all.

Now all that's left for me is to figure out what to do with it and how I am going to save the world in the process (which incidentally is what my father thinks my calling is). 

1 comment:

  1. thank you sweetheart! you are the best writer in the world :)I am really glad that you are loving this..


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