Meeting you word to eye

Nook of peace amidst household clutter

Hello to all my bonny readers.

I am indeed a beacon of optimism for saying readers, plural, so early on. Bold of me, ay? I know I know. It’s just that I have recently returned from the mountains and call it bohemian bravery if you will, being so close to heaven does get me hopelessly fired up with hope. Luckily for everyone involved, this phenomenon expires. Give me a week or two in this ‘plain’ old life. Anyway, whoever did tune in to my ‘droppings’, I welcome you wholeheartedly with this introductory post where we can meet word to eye and break the ice formally.

For those who don’t know, I am Suzanne, and you are at my shit talk, obviously as you might have guessed from the domain. I named it so, bonny readers for I am merely a 23-year-old nobody in this vast world of greats, some genuine, others we humour because their insistence is pitiful. I am bound to speak some amount of crap, due to my aforementioned novelty in life and also because sometimes I simply want to discuss absolutely unserious things that make me feel like I am truly spending my days charmed by how life might have panned out if we all just took a minute to calm our cacks down: easy.

I come from a small, small, almost microscopic town squished into the lower border of Assam called Dhubri. Don’t worry I have strong reasons to believe that this name is familiar to the inhabitants of this town only. The time it took for me to realise that I don’t have to be at the least embarrassed by where I come from, if I cannot be proud of it has been a long journey. One that I consider quite a satisfying milestone in my growth curve. I have come to understand that I am not defined by what I was born into- address, colour, race, circumstance. Of course, they are a huge part of what makes me well me, I am not a fanatic idealist, but it simply dawned on me that a miraculous mutation can occur if I collect the remnants of this crumbling, indecorous statue of my life and sculpt it in a manner that suits me.

I can forge my identity.

Now, do not get me wrong. Forging an identity isn’t the same as hustling to forge a ‘lifestyle’. Far from it. While it works for many (except Orry), I don't entirely agree with today's hustle culture to gain a so called ‘name’ for myself, mainly because it is confined to fit a singular goal. I talk of a more dynamic approach to living where one spends a good portion of their time absorbing into who they are and their inner requirements to give themselves the life they authentically resonate with, while making sure they don’t ‘kill’ themselves in its pursuit. Michelangelo had said, ‘I saw an angel in the marble, and I carved till I set it free.’ An absolutely pristine form of living where one devotes their mind to decoding the enigma of self and uncaging the truest version of themselves. If not to the world, at least to themselves.

When I went on this journey, I discovered I am an artist. A title I was never brave enough to don with confidence. Why? I was terrified of failing. So, I never ventured into this aspect of myself with enough seriousness. Remember that story of the fox who declares he doesn't want the grapes growing out of a high vine because he cannot reach it? Yeah, I was that fox. I was afraid of growing frustrated if I don’t end up ‘making it’ in the field, you know the average household story. However, I heard somewhere that you might think you have the freedom to choose your art, but it is really the art that chooses its maker. You’re thinking I am contradicting myself.

I just spoke big to you about how I wanted to denounce what I was born into to forge my own identity. Let me shine light on this illusion. The self as I discovered, is mostly a set of lego pieces jumbled into various circumstances. A lot of what you want to find resides within you, only veiled under obvious contraptions of expectations, confusions, dreams and desires. Once you begin forging your identity, you’ll realise there’s nothing new about it. It was never an invention really, rather a discovery. You were perhaps too blind or too unfamiliar with yourself to see it. With raw authenticity, you’re simply accepting the most unalloyed version of who you are. Being an artist is my organic identity, no matter how far I run from it.

I consider myself lucky to have ended up in such a metamorphic incident so early on in my life. I chose the wrong career path that left me utterly tormented for a chunk of time. I began to feel as though along with the five years I lost in this bootless attempt to become someone that I didn’t want to be, I also lost whatever little a naïve young girl could gather about her being. Suddenly, five years began to feel like a lifetime. Imagine, for a hamster that is nearly true. I was beginning to feel floundered, conflicted and trapped in the only thing we were born to do-live. Alas, I wasn’t nearly diagnosable enough to warrant outside help, so I decided to stop ‘going with the flow’ like a dead fish and take a long, warm shower.

Believe me when I tell you, many a life has been ‘eurekad’ in the shower. Washed and moisturised, I had a conversation with myself that fateful evening. Not out loud, I had an atrocious roommate at that time. In my mind, I spoke to myself. Just these words- ‘Please be silent for only a moment.’ Strangely enough, my mind cooperated, be it out of pity or determination I don’t know. For the very first time in two decades of my life, I convinced my mind to cut down the persistent noise and give me a second of untouched silence. Only a second, a breath. So minute, it can barely be quantified. Then my roommate opened her wide hole and wrecked my peace but nonetheless, I experienced what I can only describe as an interlude. A break from relentless low-quality living. For that inch of time, I felt unattached with every minute detail that was consuming me whole and I discovered the power of ‘Inchmeal’.

The art that resides in living one inch at a time.

Neither did I solve anything then with this magical discovery nor did I solve everything now. We are just not large enough to reform life entirely and all at once. There’s no trick, no formula, no practice. It isn’t like erasing a distasteful piece of art from a chalk board. However, we can attempt to edit bits and bobs very slowly. Enough betterment can be made to the piece so that it begins to look worthy enough to mount atop one’s bed to look at appreciatively every morning. After a while it’ll become like breathing, nearly reflexive. A continuous process of living well. With this thought, I developed a comfort in going through life in a pace that works for me with a yearning to explore my mind and a welcoming realisation that any detours in the corporeal wagon can be rerouted.

From this moment of respite branched out tons of concepts, fundamentals, opinions and impressions that make me who I am today. Willing to evolve. A person I am mostly content with, if not happy for I have enough faith in myself that I can sculpt the largely remaining portions of my identity that aren’t quite there yet, to resonate with who I am. And that is why, bonny readers I chose to start this blog. To take you along with me in this journey to connect with the one life we have been given. After all, it is the longest thing we do even though it feels eerily short.