Word-obssessed

Every year, I draw up a list of resolutions. Yeah. I'm one of those. Years ago, I would put them down, black and white. A nice piece of paper, my favorite pen, my best handwriting position, the room to myself. Ah, I relished those moments. Recently, though, I could only draw up the list inside my head, reasons being: I am very busy on extremely useful tasks, there are just no quality paper anymore these days, my writing hand has metamorphosed rendering it unfit for strenuous writing, my head needs to be utilized more, etc.

Anyway, one resolution that has appeared time and again in my head-drawn list, like that sneaky ghost that is obsessed with the kitchenware, is to be this:

If I read this word in passing, I would take it meant possession of the otherworldly kind. And so I always veered towards another word. I used this word a lot in my head, too, in various degrees of intensity, as the need applies. Easy. The word is called chill. 

"K, be chill."
"For God's sake, be chill!"
"You really can't afford to be chill, can you? You are hopeless."

And then this word came: SELF-POSSESSED. It's elegant, strong, earnest. A little bit archaic, perhaps, but it sounds very official. I like this word. I want this word. I want to be this word. I am not this word. And so there it is, in my imagined list, waiting to come into being. I imagine myself writing the word in my resume, in my biography, in my life. Look at the example Google gave, "I'm usually pretty self-possessed during an interview." Pfft. Well, good for you, sentence-samples-giver. I am not self-possessed during interviews!

Seriously, though, I turned 27 this year. And when I was 20, this age meant a lot of deadlines for me. Marriage-wise, career-wise, academic-wise, family-wise. So many wise-s. And I was dead serious about these deadlines, too. They mattered to me and I was anxious (bad anxious) for this day to come and I haven't beaten any of them.

Then I really did turn 27. Marriage-wise. Nope. Academic-wise. Not decided. Career-wise. Still working on it. And for someone who thinks being self-possessed is just another resolution on the way to the Recycle Bin, I think I've pretty much arrived to its beautiful, heavenly gates, at the very least. Sometimes I think that as we get older, we develop a better tolerance to disappointments. A higher threshold. It doesn't sound very nice. But that's what makes us adults, right? To rise above our re-routed deadlines with grace. Self-possessed much? I think so.

Absence

Assalamu'alaikum.

Hello! Is anyone here? *crickets crickets*

Well,  I guess... not.

I'm shamelessly writing this post because I thought, for a nanosecond there, it is worth it. All that time thinking that this whole blogging idea has gone out of the window for me and here I am. Embrace me, please. I've missed you. And... nanosecond ends.

I kept blaming the poor internet connection in this side of the earth. But really, that's superficial. That wasn't a reason, that was an excuse. Two very different things. I could survive a shipwreck, get stuck in an island alone, and I'd still find the means to write using tree barks and a stick with bees and squirrels as my readers. Because I really do like writing even it doesn't like me as much most times.

Perhaps it's the idea of constantly having to put myself out there for virtual strangers. I don't think this blog gets much traffic but I got a little paranoid. I felt like I was getting a little too sentimental. I post a lot about my feelings. Unlike most bloggers, you won't find a lot of activities in my life here because I thought that was too personal. So I wrote about feelings, my feelings. The intangible sides of my daily activities, the ones I can't put into snapshots but I can relive through worded descriptions. That was and is the content of this blog. Because more than anything else, inside this image-saturated world we live in, my loyalty still belongs with words.

And then it started getting strange. Because everyone who's everyone is sharing everything about their lives and that was scary... at least for me. An overwhelming display of the nooks and crannies of the most personal moments with their loved ones. And the things, man, actual things! I can sit for two hours scrolling my feed and see nothing but bags, lipsticks, and shoes. It was beautiful and terrifying.

I got scared for myself. It was weird enough for me to share the minutest details of my life. How much more if it was my most intimate feelings? And I had to constantly ask myself if I was using social media the correct way. What is the correct way of using it, anyway? The line is smudged, almost indistinguishable in fact. Everything is correct and incorrect at the same time. Why are people so confident about sharing things about their lives while I find it creepy?  Am I using social media as a tool? Or am I being used as a tool? I overthink everything.

I find it funny because I am not famous. This blog only exists because I find writing fun and therapeutic. And perhaps I was thinking someone may read this blog and relate to me. Or maybe not. It didn't matter. As long as I was writing something. But then this sphere got a little shallow that I felt suspended in the air somehow.

And maybe that's the hidden reason behind all the other reasons I try to tell myself for my absence. I tell myself I have to strike a balance. Easy? Not. Will try? Yes. And... nanosecond ends.