“Why don’t you write?” is one question people ask me too often.
However, it is not the most-frequent question that I am asked. That one would be “Why is your nose broken?”
Honestly, I would love answering the latter than the former, because my nose broke in a definite accident and since it is a true story, I don’t have to alter the facts while narrating the incident. The question about writing can, however, be a bit tricky because there are numerous reasons why I am not able to write and so, if I tell two different reasons to the same person on two different occasions, which by the way also underlines what nosy pricks I deal with who keep asking me the same question more than once, they’re like, “No! Last time you said you’re not writing because the job takes too much of your energy. How can you now possibly say that it’s your girlfriend?”
Talking about my girlfriend, if I was in the Marvel universe and also half-witted, I would have been Captain America and my girlfriend would have been my shield, because that’s how it works in this universe too. I hide behind her every time I see that I am in an awkward situation. Like giving her the phone after saying “Happy birthday” to someone because I don’t like the awkward pause that follows. This is just an example. My girlfriend helps me in grave situations too, like helping me open the ketchup sachets when we go to KFC, thereby preventing my possible projection as a pussy in the view of other KFC customers and employees. If you’re a Marvel fan, you’re probably still wondering why I used the word half-witted to mention my existence in the Marvel universe. The reason, dear Avenger, is that if I had brains, I would rather blow them out than living with them in the Marvel universe, which also goes on to say, I hate Marvel (except Deadpool because I have a cool Deadpool t-shirt) and if you’re a Marvel fan, you’re not welcome on this blog, unless you’re a super hot woman. Then that’s okay.
Now that all the non-attractive Marvel fans are gone, let me tell you more about how it annoys me when people ask me why don’t I write? I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to. All of my time back at my apartment is equally divided between trying to write and lying naked on the bed looking at the ceiling while potentially avoiding going on my room-mates side of the bed because he also sleeps half-naked and I don’t want that indirect contact between our bodies, because that would be gay. And while lying like that too, I keep thinking about writing. So when, someone says that I am not taking enough efforts, I wonder if somewhere, I am going wrong.
The other day, my office colleague Priyanka said, “If you don’t know what to write about, why don’t you write about how you don’t know what to write about?” (in all honesty, this isn’t verbatim because I don’t see her as someone who would be able to construct a sentence as complex as that, unless she is high on LSD and her mind has expanded, which is again, something I don’t see happening). Writing about how I cannot write is the bitchiest thing I could do, but I didn’t say that in her face because it would have been rude, plus the conversation happened in the office pantry where she was making me tea. Wouldn’t want to lose that. Another time, a girl I met in a wedding and whom I barely knew, asked me why wasn’t I writing these days, after I had just told a friend about how I was not writing these days and she just sort of happened to be standing in a circle with us, holding her drink because she had no one else to talk to. If the lonely bitch wanted to get in my pants, that was the stupidest line she could use because that night, she did not get in my pants. Actually no one has ever, which makes me wonder if I am ungettable or unfuckable?
Back to the writing problem though, it’s not like I am not trying. I probably only need to keep my eyes open and use everything that happens to me as a resource. Because there will be plenty of subjects to write about. There’s literally a million things that happen to me every day. I probably just need to figure out what is writable, and then have the guts to put it up here. I began writing this just to vent, but it kind of makes me feel good now.
I also realize that if writing about people asking me why I don’t write has made me write so much, I can write about other stuff too, right? So stay tuned. Or don’t. That’s just a shitty radio-line I felt like using. Ignore it.