CHANGING THE CHOICE #001

There was a time when making choices felt important and hard. But we did it anyway. We chose what we thought was right, right in the moment, and we lived with it. Then time changed, situations changed, and so did the choices. This time, though, it feels harder than before, because now we have to choose at the cost of our identity. That’s a big deal, but it matters.

I was in the second year of my graduation when I started writing these #s. Yes, this isn’t the first time I’m writing #001. Back then, I used to jot down the day’s experiences in a tiny diary; an experience that taught me something that day. You could call it an experience, a realization, or simply a perspective on an incident. I felt like sharing it, so I would write it, click a picture, and post it on WhatsApp status. I managed only three #s before I decided to stop.

Why? Because one of my closed ones told me to.

I was already nervous about posting, especially since I got almost no responses. I began to doubt whether I was doing the right thing. Apparently, I was not posting because I loved to do so, but to get recognised and validated as an awesome writer. Wanting at least one person’s opinion, I asked him (not my boyfriend). He said, “Don’t do it.” That disappointed me, though it didn’t surprise me. I was half expecting it. I was annoyed. Why didn’t he tell me earlier? To which he answered: “I wanted you to realize on your own that you should stop writing.” 

As if that was not enough to shake my confidence he said, “You know nothing about life. The things you write are immature. You don’t know anything, so it just seems foolish.”

Right there, he struck my deepest insecurity. I used to read blogs and Instagram posts that made me feel inadequate. Their words seemed so much better than mine, so much more relatable. His words cut me deeper. He was right, I thought. I couldn’t write anything mesmerizing. So, I quit.

A year later, one of my classmates mentioned my #s. To my surprise, she had enjoyed them and even remembered them, when I barely did. What stayed with me was her last sentence, “Why did you stop writing? I used to read them daily. I was waiting for the next one.”

Strange, isn’t it? One person wanted me to stop; another wanted me to continue. And yet, I chose to give up. Today, after seven years, I still remember her words more than his.

I asked myself, “Would you like to write again? Do you want to change your choice?”

I said, “Why not?”

It wasn’t easy. I had to face a long list of questions:

• What if no one reads it? – That’s okay.

• What if nobody likes it? – That’s okay too.

• What if someone tells you to stop? – I’m writing for me. 

• Your identity will change. – That’s okay. I’d rather be an immature writer than a regretful one.

Looking back, I see two mistakes I made seven years ago:

• Basing my decision on just one person’s opinion.

• Quitting writing altogether.

The problem wasn’t my writing. If I felt insecure, I could have simply stopped posting instead of stopping writing. Yes, my thoughts were immature. So what? Who cares? I would have learned along the way, in my own voice, at my own pace.

That’s why, without any further delay, I told myself, 

“If I’m going to listen to just one person, let it be the one who is waiting for me to write.”