I am termed as the most ‘philosophical’ in my peer group. They always keep on teasing me about living in my “own world.” This has been going on ever since I have gained consciousness and had these freaks in my life called ‘friends.’ I never took them to heart, more so because they weren’t complaining, just teasing me after they had already accepted the way I was.
The world however does not end with friends. There are thousands of people whom you have to deal with, in and out. And these multiple encounters, tell you much more about yourself than about the world. Hence many more times I was made aware of how impractical I was and still am as a person. All of this did not prove me wrong or bad in any way, it just proved me different. It was very difficult for me to accept this because every time I believed that I do not think in the way most people do, I was forced to believe that there would be complications and problems that I would have to go through to survive.
When this realization struck me, I was left with two options. The first one was to change, to start thinking like most people do and make life easy for myself. This option was even easier considering the fact that I can make peace with situations and people pretty well. The second option, the more challenging one, was to be the way I was, and bear with the consequences, however hard and brutal they were. And the worst part was that I had to make the choice alone. It was my call.
That is when I was introduced to my liking for writing. I started penning down all my insecurities, my fears, my strengths, my weakness, anything and everything that had to do with the way I thought and the way I was. The entire process made me feel much lighter and reduced my pressure to a much lesser an extent. This was pretty expected, this was in fact the intention of the practice.
But something unexpected also happened, something that permanently beautified my life and still continues to add beauty to it. Everything that I wrote and that I write even today is a glimpse into my world. And each glimpse reassures my faith in my convictions. It instils in me all the hope that keeps me going. And with that hope, comes the courage to stick by my way of thinking. The courage to be myself. The courage to believe that all the complexities are worth it, if I get to stay in my world.
Thus, if I call writing just a hobby, I’ll be insulting its value. It is much much more than that. It is a part of my life as much as I am. It is my passion, because it is only through this medium that I actually can realize how passionate I am about my own existence. No wonder, I love it.