Happy Birthday Blog.

It’s been two years (and nine days to be exact) since I started blogging, and now, it has become such a central part of my life. It is, as Ajju says, my letter to the world. I’ve thought a lot about the write-ups I should send to college- all or none, or selected ones? The none part, I can’t even think of. For someone who thinks in words WHILE things happen to her, I just can’t imagine painting a picture of myself without sending the imperfect, but still heartfelt stuff I write. A few friedns suggested the “selected”, but that had a problem too. Which ones? The ones about politics, or the ones about everything else? The short ones with perfect grammar, or just anything. And how? I simply could not think of deleting certain posts from my blog to make it look “perfect”, becasue all the posts, and all the comments that people write on them, are precious. And they’re not going to be the same when pasted on a word document. So “all” is what I decided. I don’t think anything paints a truer picture of me than this blog will; the ups and downs, the misery and the “perfect state of happiness”, the issues that I can talk so sensibly and rationally about, and the irrational feelings and mood swings; the blog tells all the stories.

Of course it is up to the colleges and the admissions people to believe that this is MY blog, or to not believe it. Sometimes, becasue I feel that the blog is important in telling colleges who I really am, I wish I had never been anonymous. Actually, since I don’t write about controversial issues much, there is hardly any point in me being anonymous. Still, there is some kind of comfort in the anonymity. Especially because of my parents’ contacts, a considerable part of the community, especially those involved with media and publicity, would know me by name. So, while a large part of my readers (at least those who bother to comment) are friends who know that I am Maichyang, the anonymity shields me from other watchful eyes. Not that people are waiting to make news of what I write like they do with Shahrukh Khan or Amitabh Bachhan, but still… I’m more comfortable writing when the things I write will not be seen in a context (for example: so and so’s daughter who studies at so and so place wrote this).

I’m navigating (see, sometimes I can’t think of the right words for things) from my topic. Point is: Happy Birthday, Bloggie. Happy Birthday to me as a blogger. Happy Birthday Maichyang.

On hiatus

I don’t understand why, after every faboulous trip that I really really want to write about, something goes wrong.

I’ll be on a break till the begginning of November, one becasue I have my exams, and two, beacsue there’s nothing I want to write about. After that, I swear I’ll shower my readers with new posts. Actually, I’m also considering password-protecting my blog for sometime, for reasons that are personal. Will see what happens.

A letter to a friend

This is a letter to a friend that has been posted only because our communication by other means is not possible. If not in the next few days, I am sure she will read this letter one day.

Dear Kingg,

It’s very difficult for me to begin to write this letter, mostly because I don’t know what to say; in times like this it’s difficult to know what to say to someone as close as you. I’m just glad that this option was open: a way of communication that certain people can’t have access to. Where there’s a will there’s a way hai?

To state the obvious: you mean a lot to me, and I’ll be there for you forever, no matter what. But then again, I don’t know how much that statement means, after I was helpless when you really needed me. I know that right now, you won’t understand. Perhaps as you stay in your room and cry, you were cursing me (or fate or whatever) for my being away, and my parents’ absence as well. But when you think about it later, you will. I dreamt about you so many times after the whole incident, sweety. Spending one day in oblivion was like a punishment, and it was worse after I figured out everything the next day. Images of you sitting on your materess with your head on your knees haunted me. I talked to so many people for help, and I imagined a hundred scenarios by which you’d escape this problem. Just last night, I dreamt that you called me from your cell phone.

I miss you like hell. But more than that, I’m scared for you. I’m scared you’ll get married to this pathetic idiot who will not let you study or work. I’m afraid you will have to live life like your mother is right now. I’m scared you’ll be expected to have kids in a few years from now, and that you will live the life that we always thought was unacceptable. I know that teenage love stories very often don’t last. Perhaps you and Froggie (how’s the nickname?) wouldn’t have either. But I can only imagine what it is like being torn from one guy and forced into marraige with another. I hope, with all my heart, that you will never have to understand the pains of that, if (cross-your-fingers) the marraige doesn’t happen. I’m hoping that your parents will put you in a strict girl’s college instead, or do whatever else.