Do I actually love writing?

Over the years I have always told myself, and even others, that I love writing and that I will one day write and publish my own book(s). But at the same time there were many instances where I had to ask myself if I really loved writing because I rarely write and sometimes even when I muster up the will to write something it is mostly complaints to myself for not having written for a long time. And as of late I have been asking this very question to myself more frequently and really trying to understand why I ever set out to become a "writer" in the first place.

Language has always amazed me since I was a child. I loved seeing how people could communicate in all these various languages and also how some people knew so many different languages. I loved how it could be used to communicate ideas and tell stories about anyone, anywhere, anything and everything. But being fascinated by language for me didn't make we want to learn all these languages. My thought was the ability to speak in all these tongues would eventually come with age and that I didn't need to bother myself to try and learn them right away. But one language I knew I couldn't take a chance on was English; everyone spoke it, not just in our country but also all over the world. I have always known that I won't settle anywhere else in the world, so therefore I felt that with the other local languages I had plenty of time to learn them and use them when needed. With English, however, I felt the need to be prepared for any opportunities that presented themselves to me. My eldest cousin got the opportunity to travel quite a lot back then, and I also believed that I would get at least half as much chances to go out to other countries. Of course, now when I look back at it he got all those opportunities because he was a very good student; active, intelligent, hardworking, outspoken, talented, disciplined, studious, and ambitious. And on the other hand there I was: lazy, shy, no talent as such, and no ambitions, but ready to go and explore other countries with my English. And honestly I don't think not getting to go out of the country never actually bothered me because even if I thought of this kind of stuff I was always satisfied with where I was and what I had. I also loved watching movies and since there weren't a lot of Dzongkha movies back then English and Hindi movies were my go to. And even in Hindi movies the actors would talk in English sometimes and most of the time the ones who talked in English were the leads and those shown as the well educated superior lot so it is easy to see why my impressionable self thought that English was an important language to learn.

My love for English as a subject grew as I grew older mainly because like I said I was lazy (I still am), and I would rather read stories than memorize some science facts or mathematical formulae. And English was exactly that for me in my earlier school days; an escape from studying at school in a way. Whenever I was told to study, unless there was a homework or a test coming up I would take out my English text book and read the stories and poetries in there. Dzongkha was also like that for a while but unfortunately I guess I started losing interest in reading more in Dzongkha. During winter breaks my dad, who was a teacher back then would bring home textbooks for the next grade and the first books I'd pick were the English textbooks and then the Dzongkha textbooks and then the other textbooks. 

And that is where I picked up my love for reading. And by reading I mean mainly stories in the textbooks and tinkle comics. Until the seventh grade I don't think I ever completed a whole book. Of course, I read the small story books for children but nothing over twenty pages. The first book I ever read was a Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys collaboration. I got it for hold the third position overall in sixth grade. And I got hooked to the teen mystery solving detective stories. And by hooked I mean if I took the time to read a full book it was either Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys. The only thing that got me reading other than English textbooks, tinkle comics and teen detective novels was history textbooks which was also a story book in a way with the stories being true events that actually happened (however covered they were now that I think about it).

And because of these reasons I never did poorly during my English tests and final exams. And I remember people actually telling me that my English was good. I never forget compliments. I remember most of the insults as well but that is not the point here. I remember this one teacher who was actually a Math teacher, but due to teacher shortage most probably taught English to her own class and she would use my English notebook as a guide. She would always send for my notebook saying that my English was good and that my notes were such good guides. Of course what I had in my notebook was what my English teacher taught me and nothing more and knowing my own handwriting it confused me sometimes why she chose my book. But nonetheless Mugambo was happy and proud. My English teacher did say at one point that she liked my way of writing (not my handwriting); she said I didn't write like others in the obvious ways like copying the sentence directly from the textbooks when answering questions. This she said about me and one other student (I don't forget compliments, really). And this also got into my head.

I guess that's where I started to think that I could write my own book one day. And even with such an ambition I never felt the need to rush. I remember this one time on BBS when they were doing a bit on the youngest author in the country when her book was published and for a moment I did feel let down because I couldn't become the youngest author but also realized that that was not what I wanted to accomplish anyways. I was going to be satisfied as long as I wrote my book(s) and plus I never put any effort into it back then so I had no right to be jealous at others for beating me to the punch or angry at myself for not doing it first. I forgot about it in a few days. All this time even though I knew that I wanted to write a book one day, I don't think I ever told anyone about my little dream and also never put in any effort to realize the dream. I never even developed a habit of writing anything outside school work. I just thought that one day inspiration will strike and I will start writing. 

When I started college, I met Monu Tamang (the author of 'Chronicle of a love Foretold and the Morning Sun) who was a year senior to me. Even back then he already had one book under his belt. That was probably the first time I met someone who actually had the habit of writing regularly. It was amazing to see him balance his class and his passion for writing. He not only performed well in his academics but also was able to write regularly on his blog. I remember seeing a timetable glued to a wall by his bed one day and I was honestly impressed at how disciplined he was with his timetable and how he put in the effort to make time for writing on a regular basis because a portion of his time everyday was set aside for writing. I slowly realized that I can't simply wait for my inspiration to start writing and that even if I did get the idea for a book, without the habit of writing regularly I will not be able to accomplish my dream. And so I started my own blog and tried writing as frequently as possible. Even though I shared far less on my blog I had developed a habit of writing at least what my idea was about and saving the drafts on my laptop and finishing them later on. 

Most of what I wrote and shared back then was personal and about things that I couldn't say and do and I wrote mostly when I felt down. Writing such things gave me an escape and I would feel better for the time being. It was a means for me to pour out my feelings which I couldn't do face to face with anyone. I started writing more in a diary than on my blog after sometime because they were more personal and I didn't think I was ready to share that with others meaning I stared writing more when I felt down, left out or insignificant. After sometimes I realized that even though I felt a bit better after writing about my feelings in my diary, I was only writing about all these negative feelings. Of course I tried writing about various subjects on my blog from time to time, however long the gap in duration between two posts were. I felt that I was just digging up such feelings if I kept writing about them whether I felt better or not after writing in my diary so I slowly started pulling away from writing anything at all on both mediums.

It's not that I don't like writing anymore. It's just that once I start writing I get pulled into writing about my feelings like before because they are my true feelings and I am able to write more and truthfully about them than I can write poetry, essays and stories. Even just now, things have started going a little darker than I intended. But like I said, whenever I do write about what I am feeling I feel a bit lighter and clearer on my goals so that is what I am going to take from this. Another reason I stopped writing was because I expected to get more reactions from others. I never wanted compliments for what I was writing but the least I was expecting was a sort of interaction with the few readers I had so that they could comment on my writing and even share their critics so that I could improve. I remember this one time when I posted on my blog and shared it to my Facebook page. As soon as I refreshed the page after posting it there, I got a like from a friend. Within a few seconds of me posting my piece on Facebook I got a like on my post which meant that they didn't even take the time to read it. It was just a sympathy like. That really disheartened me and I got more let down after sometime when there were no reactions to any of my blog posts, not even the sympathy likes. Later on when I tried writing again I was plagued by this feeling of no one reading my writings let alone commenting on it or giving criticism or compliments. And this cycle repeated quite a number of times and I do realize that since I kept dropping the writing challenges I gave myself, anyone who was reading my writings would also feel that I am not serious about it and that I would stop writing again so they stop bothering altogether.  

The reason I started writing this post was that I wanted to know if I really loved writing like I claimed. If I really love writing then why am I not able to write regularly? Why do I put it off even though I have things to talk about and ideas cooking inside my head? Why don't I feel like writing when others ask me to write something for them? Why don't my ideas make it out of the drafts folder?

This is for my future self: Never question your love for writing. 

Just because I don't write regularly or as often doesn't mean I don't love doing it. Even just now as I am writing this, I feel like I am in my element and it feels good to see that I have been able to sit and write for more than an hour. I know it's easy to say that it doesn't matter if people don't like what you write as long as I am doing what I love doing but it's even harder to find out that no one is actually reading what I am writing so this is not for others, it's for my future self to read who I know will come back and read this because that's what I do. And even if I don't get any kind of reactions to any of my writings I know that my family will always have my back even without the likes, comments, critics or compliments.