Life is boring. We have to find motivation everyday to get it going. In reality there are so many things that are affected by each other that you can’t say if they are directly proportional or inversely proportional to the other thing. Now this sounds vague. So let me put it in this way. For example, take my writing. I’m not an aspiring writer or anything like that. I’m not paid money for it. Though I like writing that doesn’t mean after finishing this blog I will start jumping in excitement or I will reach some other level of inner peace. But someway or the other, it doesn’t disappoint or depress me too. In this case, my happiness is not directly related to all the stupid stuffs I do on Internet. Happiness is supposed to be a direct motivator. That means there’s nothing in particular that is tickling me to continue my stupidity.
Now, coming to point! WordPress has this cool facility known as statistics. So basically I can see how many views my page or post has got. I am not at all curious about the views I get. Because I don’t know on what criteria the views are recorded. Maybe it’s just me, visiting my own page. Or maybe some people actually read the stuffs I write. I don’t know. Today was one of those rare days when I opened the statistics. It was pretty cool to see that I’ve got views more than zero for the last 2 days. For the last 2 days it’s showing null or no visitors.
As soon as I saw this, I could hear a mocking tone inside me, “Guess who’s gonna quit the game! Guess who’s gonna cry in the corner tonight! ” Then I heard another voice, it was calm and composed, blended with patience and love. That voice continued speaking unless the devilish voice faded away. So this is in nutshell what the voice reminded me.
One; My mom’s sister lived with us during her college days as her college was nearby from our house. I was barely 1 year old then. She(Mamoni) used to pamper me a lot and we had a great bonding. She married soon after her graduation. My uncle lived in a different city far away from our place. As being a 90’s kid I have seen life without telephone and mobile phone. Although at that time we might have one landline connection but my uncle didn’t. After Mamoni left, I was totally heart-broken, I didn’t understand what exactly happened and missed her a lot. That was also the time, when letters were still popular. My mom used to write letters to Mamoni and from there I got the notion of writing “letters “. What a brilliant idea it was for a kid who knows alphabets only! I finished a complete diary writing my emotions to her. I made circles and all possible figures and fine arts on the pages to tell Mamoni that how much I missed her. Later when she came to visit us, mom handed over my “letter” to Mamoni. So that’s how I started writing.
Two; After few years I became literate! Then I could write proper letters. My mom used to write to her parents too. So I accompanied her. The deal was, my mom used to write letters once in every 3-4 months or a little less than that. But I wrote letters for them every week or sometimes every month. None of those letters was sent because eventually many of them were lost and I would definitely write a fresh letter when it was time for my parents to send letters. So during 1st or 2nd standard if you would have searched into my desk you could find piles of letters written to my loved ones. Even though I knew it was not feasible to send letters every week, it could not stop me from writing those letters. I was this much crazy!
Three; When I was in middle school, telephones and mobile phones have successfully replaced letter writing. So my letter writing kind of stopped there. Then I started writing diaries. I wrote every hot mess I came across during that course of time. I was such a snob! I can’t even imagine how much melodramas are kept inside those diaries.
Four; My diary writing continued till high school as I could not take the risk to write the things I did in college. The content evolved with time. As a kid, I used to write stories,poems. As a teenager my crushes occupied more pages than imagination. And as a would be adult there were lots of opinions that differed with my family and I had to obey them. So my diary became the memoir of everything. During college days too, I wrote few things but they no more hold much value to me.
So there is one thing common in this all. Even when I didn’t know how to spell words, even when I had a busy life, even when my letter had no recipient, I wrote. Now I’ve become an adult, I have bills to pay, responsibilities to take but there must be something that has always kept me interested in writing. I am bothered that unnamed driving force inside me. As long as it’s alive, scrapbook will continue to grow. ☺