This is my personal story, mine and mine alone, any resemblance is purely coincidental and might also be the case for someone else. But here it goes.
Before I begin let’s get to the background details of how I came about this topic as my first choice to put up on this site of mine. I began writing on this blog in 2012 and dropped out of writing eventually. My husband, Vivin (then, Boyfriend) asked me to keep going. “keep writing, it’ll take time to get noticed as a writer”, he said. My dad kept iterating, “send in your work to the newspapers, they’ll see you’re writing, then mould you into becoming a writer that you want to be.” Some other folks in the community at close proximity to calling themselves our friends, families and relatives enquired, “What exactly have you done, in terms of education?” I’d always reply with a self deprecating tone, “BA in English, Journalism & Psychology and MA in English with a specialisation in Post Colonial & Cultural Studies.”
They’d turn away with not so much as a reply and ask my parents, what my brother is studying. When they’d reply saying, “He’s doing architecture (btw, he’s now done with it), they’d always enquire more. I always assumed maybe my degrees were of no use but then again, what should one expect from others especially when I myself always said it out loud in a despicable murmur.
When I started out my college education, I quite vividly remember, why I began studying English, Journalism and Psychology. These subjects were never an option for a career choice. So, many assumed that maybe I’d want to go into teaching. So many wished I’d go in Journalism and writing for the newspapers. A small part of me, wanted to even help out others so I chose psychology.
But in the bigger picture, these weren’t my options or choices. These were my instruments to understanding, expressing and emoting them into words, what I myself understood.
After spending about 5.5 years educating myself in these subjects, somewhere down the line I’d forgotten why I chose these subjects. I’d obliterated the sense of purpose I started out with and began falling into the traps of negativity of worldly expectations than go seeking after my purpose.
At the moment I work as a writer for a company and I’m so fortunate to have had an opportunity to write an entire book (which may or may not get published, based on my boss’ mood). Somehow each day I keep rediscovering my passion for people, emotions, words and expressions. Am I being paid according to my worth, you may ask? Nah, who’re you kidding? Do I sometimes wish I’d have studied another set of skill that is sought after? Sure, maybe it would pay for the list of desires in my bucket list. Do I believe I would have had a better life if I didn’t follow my purpose? Not at all. I sometimes have to conjure up extra courage to jog my memories into realising that “Money and pay isn’t everything”
I’d look to my right and see someone who works 2 hours of the 8 hours alongside me and gets paid way more than I do and look to my left and see someone who works 12 hours and gets paid lesser than I do. Is it fair? Nothing is, in relativity.
Yet I coax myself into believing that hard work will pay off, if not now, then someday else and until then, I’ll work that much more. I feel very grateful to be able to say, I earn a good enough amount; love the fact that I am able to choose my pace of work, have long work submission time frame and am happy, doing one of the basic skills sets that all human should be able to do. It’s like saying – I can eat, therefore I earn. I can breathe, therefore I earn, I can read, therefore I earn. Writing is such a basic skill set but I get paid because I write better, emote better, understand better as I read books, digital work and people. ( Dear God, I’m not bragging) I write because I believe, it’s the only way I can figure out life – mine and everyone else’s. That is a blessing not everyone is bestowed upon.
I remember even today, every time I had captured any photos with my camera, I sometimes had a little ‘scared’ anxious feeling. I always wondered why it was like that. I thought it’d somehow get over it with frequent use of the device. But it didn’t fade away. Today, I understand that, I only felt this way because when I looked through the viewfinder, it only focused on the object in front of me. Especially with my favourite lens, the 1.8. It manages to focus on the one major thing in front of me and blurs out the background. The scared feeling came from missing out on everything else. Unable to see the bigger picture can be scary. That’s why focusing on the bigger picture, makes all the sense in life. If we look through life with one perspective, we end up missing out on so many different beautiful views and it’s simply not worth it in life to live like that.
Today, Vivin doesn’t have to ask me to write. Dad doesn’t have to either. I write because it’s part of my very being. Therefore, I write and hopefully, you’ll continue to read.
My bird’s eye view of things.