Theres no way I'm going to write today.
No way that I'm going to rack my brains and tire myself out, in trying to impress you with what I do best.
I do it best, because there is nothing other than this that I can do better.
It's just that I don't do anything else.
Writing to me is an escape, turned into pass time and later which became my profession, as there was somebody out there who thought I wrote well and could make money off it, so started paying me for doing nothing but to sit and write pages and pages of stuff which went on to be churned into Soap Opera, which in turn turned out to be a huge hit.
People started to like watching actors speak lines I had written and as it went on to turn an addiction for greater numbers, I started to be recognized as a writer. Here I was, running away from the world so I didn't have to face anybody, and out there was one man who turned into a host of others, who thought they could cash in on the endless reams of paper I began to produce everyday.
I had never heard of the word ratings before. Suddenly wherever I went, people began to smile at me and tell me that the program I used to write was the most popular in those times.
I started to feel a sense of power.
Suddenly, a good for nothing, useless person like me, who was constantly reprimanded for not doing anything but day dreaming and whiling away her time, was being praised to the skies and was being made to feel like she was the only one.
The creator of the new idiom.
As week after week and month after month went by, from a pauper, who could barely earn enough to pay a small rent and buy her own ciggerettes and stash, I turned into this genius who had all the answers. My family and friends began to talk of me proudly and not just that, the guys who were making the moolah off my random word play about a bunch of weird women gave me a car, a house and well, almost whatever I would ask for.
From writing two to three hours a day, I was, just about an year later writing 10 hours a day. My name would appear over and over again on television and television was becoming more and more popular.
I was in this hell hole with a bunch of 4 to 5 writers working with me in turns and taking my each word for a stroke of genius, for almost 16 hours a day in no time.
I had made it. They hadn't.
We were rocking!
I was bored to death and looking for an exit route.
One fine day, that happened.
Almost like every other wish of mine was coming true those days, this wish of mine came true too.
I was free.
All the schlock I was churning out, came to a ruthless end, with the advent of a new era and a neo culture which was about saas bahus and the rest of all that has gone out of style all over again with the setting in of a new sun on Television Today.
However, I was now a writer but one out of a job.
Still considered intellectually superior, I was expected to make sense with everything I spoke.
I had done it once. I could do it again.
They thought, not I.
As for me?
I was spent force.
I started to feel drained of all my resources but to keep the facade going, because it still managed to earn me my bread and butter, I would either repeat myself or borrow from others.
I had become a master of adapting from other, but leaving my signature on it. The final word on contemporary lives and the neo culture, I felt like I was crowned with a glory I didn't pocess.
Now, filled with emptiness, I began to lurk around corners of life, trying to discover my genius. I went from pillar to post, and town to city, making documentaries, trying to seek that brilliance which others thought I pocessed. I would return sounding intelligent from each trip and when I spoke, it seemed like I had a knowledge which others didn't.
I had to give up here, or else I would be one with the dillusion I had so far kept myself seperated from.
Broke, and hungry for the power to actually write, I started living a life I hadn't visited before. I denied myself my deciplines and reflexes and enforced upon myself a rule that compelled me to be who I wasn't.
I started enjoying looking at life objectively, as I was no longer the person I used to be.
Now I began to write.
Now I started to view things from afar and describe them.
Now it was, when I realized what writing was all about.
It was all about the painful process of wrenching yourself away from what came easy to you, and forcing yourself to enter the mind and heart which was really tough.
And as the sky started to illuminate around me with a warmer sunshine than there used to be, I truely became a writer.
One who was not going to ever write what was expected of me.
One who was only going to write what she wanted to, and what would surprise others.
The struggle, the race to survive, became painless.
I started sprinting with ease and basking in the comfort of having my head filled with thoughts which were getting formed slowly, to lay out a tale or a story which had been incubating in my mind, until it was ready to be given birth.
Years had gone by and I hadn't realized how.
Time had flown and taken me with itself into a new world along with the rest of all those whom I loved, and I hadn't noticed.
Everything had changed around me and so had I.
The 'I' was a mix of many people and many lives of happiness and sorrow which had been lived.
And together, 'WE' move into a new tomorrow.
Which is where 'I' am today.