I have this tendency of starting every piece I write with ‘Lately’ or ‘Sometimes’ or ‘Nowadays’. This makes me extremely lazy and from being someone who would write entire pages, I have fallen into the Instagram writer halo who posts short melodramatic snippets straight out of a high-school breakup.
So here’s to brutally assaulting the new world’s 23 year old urban soul who overuses the word soul. Of late, here it goes again, but yes of late, I have been sinking into the freedom of living independently and ultimately losing the drive to create. No no I don’t want this to be another damn social media usage rant, no. But its affecting me, its affecting all of us who record and document the most mundane things we do. Oh isn’t it amazing that I managed to cozy up in my dinosaur printed bed-sheets and read a cool book with yellow lights that bokehs in the background. It’s all mundane, none of it is raw enough to be documented so vehemently. Yet here we are.
Even the introvert in me has been buried deep down somewhere and is screaming to be left alone. The concept of quiet is drowning in all the white noise that my screens are generating. It’s all too loud. It’s all too bright.
Almost as if to make up for all these shenanigans that the modern hipsters in us do, I have begun to retreat into the darkness, into the quiet places. To not be a imitation of literally every other 23 year old in the city, to not be everyone else.
Even if that means to be not cool at first glance. To be our own awkward selves. To not sell all my secrets to strangers. Apologies for this rant, but it is the result of not writing for a year, of making up excuses, of adding too many commas and using it to trash write.