Friends are sharing more writing online these days. This brings me joy - I fully support them putting their words into the world. Reading about their lives feels like keeping them close, since I rarely see a lot of them anymore. This has me reflecting on my own internet writing habits.
At seventeen, I launched my first blog called "Keeping Pace." I gave it the ambitious tagline: "Helping your life become 1% better." How ambitious of me! My anxious teenage mind found comfort in self-help books. I started echoing those ideas to other seventeen-year-olds.
Here's something from my 2020 archives:
The IPL brings all Indians together. Any TV showing IPL draws a crowd, whether in restaurants or barbershops. People stop everything to watch. This year's IPL feels strange, like everything else, but still captivates us at home. For cricket newcomers, let me share this one moment of magic. When a no-ball is called, you see this ease wash over the batsman. He's free to swing without consequences. The field placement doesn't matter. Getting out isn't possible. We all expect the ball to soar past the stands. Life rarely gives us these "free-hit" moments. We're usually like cautious batsmen, calculating each move. But when we say "What the hell, why not?" - that's when magic happens.
Looking back, maybe it's less profound than I thought. Still, I treasure this window into my younger self.
I no longer write on the internet to share grand life philosophies (though sometimes I can't resist). I write to preserve memories and capture fleeting thoughts. Most live in my written journal. Some find their way online for friends to read.
These words are my rebellion against reality's march forward. Time will pass, my mind will slow, and memories will fade - precious experiences, wonderful people, majestic places. My logs hold it all: joy, failed relationships, once-catastrophic mistakes, anxiety spells, friendships lost to misunderstandings and time.
During lockdown, my anxiety spilled onto these pages: 'How can a tiny virus reshape entire lives?' I wake up five minutes before class now. My friends are just faces on screens. What a strange world this has become.
Time has softened even the worst memories. I'll keep writing, preserving moments while my fingers still can.
