The title itself speaks too much than i could write about it. Hello dear readers, this is my final letter and it brings me no joy to say that it's time to bid farewell and depart from the shores, whose roots have been keeping me tied. Thank you for stopping by here, on this little escape place we built here slowly over the course of 2 years. For me, writing has always been my favorite thing to do. There is nothing i love more than writing and that is why i write on a daily basis, not for others but for myself. Before i was a poet, i was a songwriter, and before that i would write diary entry (well maybe that ain't this special since most of us spill our secrets in it) and before that i used to write opinion on political issues and astronomy stuff. This all started when i was just 14 years old and currently i'm 20 years old. So it all started at some point back in 2019, which is not that much relevant to the current story but i must say it was then, when this poet found his voice in writing. In other words, it is the most sacred practice to me that happens on its own. For example, if i'm passing by someone and suddenly reality strikes, bringing me out of my delusions which further makes me want to write about it all down.
This letter is not about me leaving the department of writing but about my resignation from acting as the publisher of my own work. I know nobody is forcing me to do that but at some point, after too much exposure of your work, It does starts to feel like that. Imagine being a writer in this big year of 25 and you just want to escape into some other timeline or let's just say in your own little world but the reality is that you cannot. In order to have loyal readers, you must not resign from your duty as a writer because there are people who are always eagerly waiting for your next piece to arrive but this is where i have decided to draw the line.
To me sharing my work has started to feel like a bit 'performative' and this is not a jab at the ones who are actually doing it because i know its importance. A writer does not just decide to share their work into the outer world just because they wrote something and should publish it but based on why i shared my work, i can tell you two reasons and they are: 1. You want your muse to read your work and 2. You want to get rid of the burden that has been keeping you down and publishing it feels like you have burnt down what was holding you back. Honestly there is nothing i hate more than when people start to use the word like "aesthetic" or "performative". There is no longer respect left in the world towards the ones chasing the art. They are just called those words, without actually knowing the meaning of those words. If i'm being honest right now, i have wrote so much and will continue to do so. Poetry is just one face that i show here and rest stays in the vault. Even if i tried to stop myself from writing, i fear it is no longer possible. When you are always alone, this is the only thing you could do before your thoughts starts to eat you alive. In conclusion, "writing cannot always be your escape".
I know what i just wrote sounds offensive, considering it is the most cathartic way to save your sanity when you are in too much pain and i feel that too but only to some extent because it would be a fools scenario if you were to completely agree on the idea that writing can save you. I think we have seen what happened to the great poets we know, in the end they all chose to cut the chord themselves and not wait for the arrival of any savior or death itself. With writing, there are so many consequences that i feel like everyone ignores about a writer when they start romanticizing it from the outside. A reader might think "oh writers are so cool. They can easily create good stories" but only the creator knows the hell they go through in building that world of characters that are a stranger to the general public but a familiar face to the author. When you are a writer, you just live in your own world, you hate the fuckin sight of any human who dare to interrupt you in your precious time because i do. We live in our own fantasies and whole day there is nothing that i think about more than the countless ideas that i wish i could bring to life. You get excited over little things and that is when it happens, the reality starts to become obscured. You try to think of ways you wish, you could put that exact moment into words, even if it was just a normal conversation with a stranger, that sparked a an idea and that just does not stops there. The more you write, the more your mind digs into memories because you love the idea of writing too much and capturing that exact moment into metaphors which appears fancy while carrying the weight of your pain. I just hope i'm not the only one who does this because then i might appear like a clown to you.
That is why, sharing my own work has started to feel offensive. It is an injustice to both readers and the people who inspired those. By allowing my words exist in the same dimension as everyone, the idea of it being based on my actual feelings make me uneasy, considering there is a person that i know who loves to snoop around on me. I fucking hate him so much but i can't do anything without any concrete evidence. I don't want that clown to act like he knows me because he certainly don't. I will never stop writing because either way i will go insane if not now but sooner. I'm just putting a period on this arc where i have to publish my work to make myself at ease. This is a goodbye from me until we meet again, maybe under a pen name where you will think of me as a stranger again and we would build this world again, re-write new stories but in my real voice and not under the voice that uses too much precautions and cares too much about what a random clown would think. I don't know why i wrote this and what i am saying at this point. so goodbye for now until we meet again because the curtain has already risen baby and a new chapter is in work.
Thank You
xoxo
Maanvinder
