I thought much about what my first post should be about. And I felt I should start from the beginning and explain, more to myself than to my future readers, the reason why I chose to write I what I write. Explain to people I don’t know, the reason why I need this hypocrite’s private space, more than I like to admit, and the reason why I named it the Willow Hoops.

the first

 

So, here I am again, making an honest attempt at finding myself through words. And this time, unlike every other time, I realized that to make this journey meaningful, fruitful and fulfilling, I need to let go of my fears of becoming a ‘failed writer’.

It is true that once upon a time, I did dream of becoming a successful writer (define successful as you may, but to me it was mainly recognition and fame for good work.) And then the passion of youth and the justice-seeking Libran in me convinced my heart that Journalism was the only noble profession I could be in.

Confusion prevailed for most part of my college days as I felt that I did not belong in this world, in this space or time. I often felt like I was meant to be from a much forward generation (yeah, everyone’s raising eyebrows, I know! We’ve all felt that.)

But somehow, I ended up being a journalist soon after college. Note, I said ‘ended up.’ To be honest, it was more a result of the “universe gives you something if you truly desire it” theory, than my perseverance. And God knows I loved it too.

But one year down that road, and I already found myself questioning the means and methods of the media world. No surprises there too, I know.

I should probably mention here that I was in the Middle East during that time, the worst place for young and passionate journalists. I found myself copying and editing ‘permeable’ news stories and reporting drab award functions and the like. Everyone told me, go to India, that’s where you learn to be journalist, a real one.

To India I did go, only to find humanity being turned heartlessly into tools to achieving subscription and TRP milestones. I felt sick to the stomach. Forget picturing a promising career there amidst all the chaos, I couldn’t even identify myself in the crazy crowds of news hungry people. Although I did not believe, even for a minute, that it was journalism, I did not know what was.

And while all this happened, I found love.

I found the only feeling that aroused passion in me and gave me the courage to risk everything in life to pursue it. I embraced it with all my life. Journalism was forgotten. Books piled more dust. And life, took away the liberty and luxury of time from me and replaced it with chores and responsibilities of taking care of a family.

But every now and then, I wake up from dreams… dreams that feel more real and alive than life itself. Dreams that make me want to believe in life beyond the space and time as we understand it today. Dreams that try to communicate with me, trying to remind me that passion does not have to die with youth. Dreams that confuse me, horrify me and sometimes just simply leave me wondering. Wondering if I was actually lost in a surreal world that my real life escapes into.

When I saw the movie ‘Inception,’ I realized that I might not be the only one feeling like the way I do. Mind you, I could watch that movie a hundred times over and still be amazed. And the reason most obviously being that it plays with the idea of living in a dream and not realizing that it is not real, until you wake up.

Sometimes, I wish I could just wake up.

And now, coming back to WillowHoops. They are the Dream Catchers. You’ve seen them. Many believe in them. Most of them just like to hang it around because they look pretty. I don’t really know much about them from experience. To be honest, I never owned one. Yes, sure I did do my Google research, but I don’t know if they are really meant to work or not.

But here, this right here, is my Willow hoop. I wish to capture my dreams in here, both the good ones and the bad. So I can visit them when I want and understand what they are trying to tell me, about who I really am.

Some dreams are silly, some mere flash backs of some important moments in our lives and yet others are just scenes from the lives of our favourite people. But there are those dreams too, the ones that leave my heart beating out of my body, that leaves me trembling in waves of shock, the ones that make me wonder, if I am really alive, or is this life, just a dream I snoozed off to?

I am going to see this till the end. I don’t really know why I have to do this. I never really liked the idea of sharing my personal space with many people. And hence was never a blogger by nature. But something is forcing me to come out of this closet, to bare my fears in front of the world, like I am hoping to be a messenger to someone, someday. Like I am hoping some direction (amidst all criticism) that will eventually take me down that road less traveled.

Like Coelho said, “Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream.”

Sweet Dreams!

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