Sunday, September 8

When I created something that was never created, ever.

You get up in the middle of the night, sweat is all over your body, you wake up with this idea, the idea that changes everything, the idea that’s too perfect, it seems like it has no flaw, it’s your big idea that changes your world. You promise yourself you’d write the whole thing tomorrow. Your heart tells you to write this thought somewhere, maybe record it in your little pad by the bed on the table, or the app you use for maintaining your todo lists, in case you were to forget. But you are half asleep and your senses half shut so your brain is able to convince you to go back to sleep, faking this sense which leads you to believe you’ll retain everything that’s on your mind right now. You’ll retain it till tomorrow and maybe some more. You retort back to sleep. Pleasant dreams. Fairytales. Childhood. All these scenes, beauty rich, hovered over your mind and you paid no heed. ‘I will remember all this, the lines that I have crafted, the words I have created.’ Alas!

You wake up. You do your normal work and its weeks now since you’ve written something. There’s no new idea. You search for words. You read books. You watch movies. You look around and observe. But there’s nothing at all. Your brain seems to have lost its focus. And you start wondering if everything you did was a fluke. Or if you were a fluke. You start believing this idea now and unlike the last one, this one just doesn’t get out of your head. It stays there making you doubt everything you’ve done. You begin to give up. You read the messages, the stories that you have written, you read the compliments that your readers sent you, and you try to analyze whether you can trust the compliments or the readers themselves, ‘oh, she was just being sweet!’, ‘but he’s too stupid, if he thinks its good, then its actually bad!’

It gets to a point, where thinking about it disturbs you. The number of ideas you know you had and you didn’t record, you procrastinated, you ignored. It haunts you. It doesn’t let you sleep. You wake up again. With new ideas. And your brain still wins over your heart.

That’s when it all comes back. You remember the lines you’ve forgotten, all of them, your dreams that have been tucked away relentlessly come back to you one evening. A sudden gush of thoughts, like someone has injected drugs in your body and all the blood has flown to your brain. It is hyperactive. You cannot sit straight. Your body shivers. Your head is filled with them. You hear nothing else, you see no one. You sit in front of your computer and you type. You can’t type fast enough to record all of them. You make spelling mistakes, typing errors. You search for new words in your brain. You try making it verbose. You fail. Your hands type like machines. The first thing that comes to your mind is typed on this Microsoft Word document; most of the words have a red, blue, green line under them, but you do not care. You just pour it all out. You write about your college and the people there. You write about your friends who think you’re good. You write about the times you spent doing what you love. You type about the time when you sneaked out, with your car’s keys but not the license. You type about the first kiss and the second and the third. You miss them. You miss the ones who are gone, dead. You miss the ones who are living. You miss the person you were, a year ago and two and three. With them. You write about them. You wonder if you should stop to reread or maybe calm down. You keep on typing all ideas that you’ve ever head, because you know you need to keep a record of that. So someday when you’re down and without any idea you can read this and realize it is just a phase and it goes away and the comeback is always amazing.

You wonder if the reader would understand the problem. If they would understand how difficult it is to sometimes get out of this phase, if they’d understand that sometimes things get too much. You write about your reader. You wonder if your reader goes through these phases as well. Maybe, it happens, sitting all alone, even they might feel low and they might feel whatever they’ve accomplished has been a result of some coincidences that just happened to mix up together, coincidentally. And that they will never happen again.

Or, maybe they will never be able connect this odd piece to their life; maybe they will think it’s silly before discarding it as another silly article on the internet. But it was never for those readers who read quality content, who are successful, who are living the life people dream, it’s for me and the rare people like me, who have tasted success once or twice, and who have started thinking it was all a fluke.

A lot of stuff will happen; things will change quite dramatically like the people around you. They will accomplish more dreams, they will go to more places, they will do more things they love. While, you will be stuck. But it is very important to understand that in the grand scheme of things there are no flukes. What you’ve done in the past has been done by you. Luck has had very little to do with it, not immaterial but not the main factor as well. Right place, right time. You might not be able to repeat it ever, but rejoice in the fact that you’ve done it.

I, with this post, have been able to create something that’s never been created in the whole existence of our world, never ever has a person living or long dead has used these exact words in this combination and meant what I have meant here. It’s a part of me that will live and so will I. Is it not sort of wonderful?

I am leaving with this wonderful song. A song that reminds me of the futility of all. A harsh reality. Some timeless lyrics. Your new favorite.

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