Of Irreverence, Writing, and New Beginnings

It is 4:45 in the morning and after many, many weeks I have been able to wake up at this hour without feeling giddy with exhaustion only to fall in my bed again. After many weeks I feel like spending some time with my thoughts on this blog. But what do I write about?

Earlier today -- rather yesterday -- I shared a piece with my friends that I had written three years ago. I had shared it because I still agreed with what I had said back then, but more so because I was pleasantly surprised by the irreverence in my writing. Unlike many other posts, I had many reactions to this, mostly of people who agreed with the point. Friends and acquaintances from whom I had not heard in a while wrote to me; some of them called too. I also had many, many (over 200)  others reading it without saying much. Seems like everyone else liked the irreverence too.

When I had written that post, being read by 200 people was not something I had ever expected or imagined would happen. At that time, at the most, 2 people read my posts: one, the husband; two, a friend. Anything extra was a bonus to be celebrated. 

Perhaps that is why I could write so uninhibitedly.

I could put on paper -- or on the screen -- what I had not been able to say all those years. Sometimes what came out after a night long tryst with my thoughts surprised others, mostly it surprised me: was I even capable of saying all this?  Where had I been hiding so much? I am not sure about others but I really liked the woman who spoke in New Beginning. It was a indeed new beginning for her.

Today, three years later, the same woman is totally lost. The beginning that had been made has been going rather well. The dream of writing and being read has been fulfilled but the irreverence is lost. It has since been replaced by 'what will they say' syndrome. I seem to be going the way most writers do. 

"What will they say' syndrome is not new to me though. If that is what keeps me from writing blasphemous things now, it prevented me from sharing what I wrote. I was unsure of the reactions and judgements people might make after reading all that I wrote. And I, the dutiful wife, the doting mother, the daughter, the sister, the friend, could not risk my image, could I? And so, even though the pages of this blog are full of things I wanted to say, and did say, they were never shared with people I know, or who know me.

My writing, when it started, was not only a result of what I hadn't said until then. It was a direct reflection of what I read and how much I read. It was also fueled by unhappiness with the system. A friend had once commented on how angry my posts were. Nobody likes to read angry writing, he added, people have enough anger of their own. Even though I did not agree with what he said then, subconsciously it seems to have affected me. My posts started becoming more and more tepid. Not something I want or like. 

And so, today, three years after it all began, and months since I wrote for myself, I promise myself another new beginning, in which I will go back to being who I truly am. I only hope I am still capable of doing that.