I had forgotten about the existence of this Blog.
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My student shared a really vulnerable writing of hers' that I happened to read, and it inspired me so much that I hungrily started searching for the time I used to write like that. Shamelessly, honestly, vulnerably. Read here how she named her Guitar.
I read a couple of my old posts and I am in awe! I have fiction-ed stories that never happened and I completely forgot about the existence of this side of my mind. I do journal my real emotions every now and then, but weaving stories that are hardly related to any real life moment - how did I do that? And why did I ever stop? I guess social media has a part to play - the need for instant validation.
This was indeed a beautiful world I was building and I was probably not even expecting someone to read it, it was my own little bubble. I am confused because writing like this was a grand escape that I let go. I did write a poem a few days ago that felt liberating, and this poem was also inspired by my student's poem. Life is coming a full circle, no?
I used to put effort in editing, italicizing and breaking down paragraphs and imagining the story as a whole. The surprising thing is, I was doing all of that without expecting anyone to read it ever. The aim was to seek the joy within the task itself. I do acknowledge the fact that I hungrily seek validation with music at present. I hope to get past this emotion the next time I come here to express.
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I am grateful that a past version of me inspired a future version of me:)
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