The first time I ever got close to winning or acing at anything in my life was — an Intra School Essay Competition when I was studying at my high school,12th grade.
On the day of the contest, I also had to attend a serious cricket match between the two rivalry team (NrEST Cricket Club vs Passa Cricket Club) in our district.
I started as an opening batsman chasing for the score on the board, and gracefully, to my standard played a wonderful cricket there. I left the match as soon as I was taken out of the wicket and rushed to attend an impending essay competition. It’s still fresh in my mind how I ran off the field that day.
I had reached the venue a bit late. And, all I saw, were serious, … serious spectacle-guys and girls (meant no disrespect) individually seated on their respective tables — already writing!
As far as I can tell — in my head at that instant, I was relieved to see, for good one day that neither I was wearing my uniform, while few of them did but many none had their college uniforms on. I was like, this is cool! And, the only reason I can think of as to why I was attending that holy event after having depleted all my battery on the match was only and only because a friend had requested my participation. I had no fucking business there, no hopes of wining at all … at all.
So, I was given this blank piece of paper (as soon as I entered the hall), along with a pen and was quietly and quickly ushered towards my designated seat.
We were to write an 800 words essay on problems cum issues of our country on energy crisis.
[What the fat fuck do I know about our country, specially for a boy who’sspent most of his life, at barely a kilometer radius far from his home. ]
But anyways, I was determined to write about my fucking ‘load-shedding’ problem in our house.
Now, this is the funniest part: I was extremely thirsty, and sure, was sweating as pig, but without-a-shame and politely, requested for a glass of water. After few minutes, one of the good samaritan guy bought me one with his kind smile and confused eyes as he sneak-peeked into my neat, white papers. I haven’t written shits!
[haha]
This one alone; This epic scent of sweet reminiscence alone still brings me joy till the date. God!
And my holy, frecking god;- all I did .. all i did, in those entire 3 hours long period of the contest was drank that same served glass of water, pretending it’s a fucking whisky, and for real, and wrote the entire things which I didn’t even care to proof read for once.
Meaning, till this day, I still don’t know what i wrote!
[haha]
Now, I wasn’t the first one to submit my papers but most certainly I did.
That’s how.
That.is.how I got my first small, fancy trophy for my debut intellectual indulgence.
“We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing – an actor, a writer – I am a person who does things – I write, I act – and I never know what I’m going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.”
Stephen Fry
To an aspiring writer, there’s nothing more perplexing & paralyzing than an empty page and blinking cursor.
Dull. White. Asking for attention! Freezing. Powerful!
Brain vomit is inevitable.
Without-a-doubt, I’ve been in this avenue so many times. In the word of one of my mentor, the author of one of my most favorite book — The War of Art, Mr. Steven Pressfield; He calls it Resistance.
He also adds that the thing you ought to be doing when you have ‘resistance’ is just show up and do the work. Begin!
Charlie Munger best described it as ‘assiduity’. Read this interesting article.
This might surprise you to know that even as i write this, writing — scares the shit out of me. Well, scary, numbing, because I care.
It might surprise you even more as I now openly confront to the fact that the first time I ever used TheF – bomb was only on mid of twenty seventeen. Trust me it was fudging scary! Plus, let me tell you, I’m deeply aware when I drop one in any of my writing. Without resistance. Without hesitation.
Because.
I chose, organic to plastic. Authentic to conforming. Un-filtered to fabricated. Deliberate to careless. Imperfect to sugary. Substance to substitute.
Oh, writing is difficult.
Today, I wanted to write about infidelity. I wanted to pen on the must virtues of a true man in love. I also wanted to write about this. I wanted to write about my Work From Home experience.
Perhaps some other day.
Lastly, as my twitter handle @8ijayshrestha suggests — Verb.
An aspiring writer, it is.
Food for thought.
As a bonus, I want to give away one last thing which I’m sure, you won’t regret.
“The greatest obstacle to living is expectancy, which hangs upon tomorrow and loses today… The whole future lies in uncertainty: live immediately.”
Seneca
This is a COVID-19 map from Johns Hopkins, Univeristy of Medicine . And THIS my friend — tells a lot about us!
Sure, nobody saw it coming. And most certainly, we did not want any of this lockdown shit, at least not for causes as grave as this… at all.
But, there’s an important lesson for all of us to mull over. For all of the remaining un-deads; Un-affected-s … for those far fetched from the claws of malignancy and heartbreaks and despair and hell.
That not now but someday sooner-or-later, we will all die as some of us will turn to ashes and some, food for worms.
So.
Duly, contemplify.
Love. Grace. Appreciate.
Be happy that you and your loved ones are fucking breathing.
[ Don’t know about you but I’ve to remind myself of this so many times in any ordinary day! ]
It’s Day 3 since Nepal Government imposed a nation-wide lockdown to contain coronavirus spread in the country.
Commendable caution there.
It’s also Day 3 that I’ve been working from home.
Working more insane hours than ever.
Fuck!
And just yesterday, I’ve had a ridiculous meltdown towards the end of the work day.
Undisputed culprit: work burnout!
However, few good things happened too within this lockdown timeline from March 24th, 2020 to today.
My best friend,Manish Rajbhandari finally became a father of a very beautiful daughter. He’d describe his fatherhood experience (in his words)‘I don’t think I have cried that much in long long time. It was very very hard to see her go through that yaar‘. Such a pure, elemental form of love there, I reckon.
March 11, 2020 – Susan Mool Weds Ashmita Bajracharya.
As she entered the ceremonial hall, slowly, carefully, perhaps p.a.i.n.f.u.l.l.y too; Ashmita to me — already seem heartfully full, hurt, cold feet, U.P.S.E.T!
Why?
Because, on that beautiful morning of 11th March 2020, somebody had purposefully, wrongly, unjustly, succeedingly, fucked up her brain. It’s only later we’d know that — this some-fucking-body had deliberately fudged her & her own with ridiculous, misleading information.
What a Fish!
However, however.
Despite an inevitable circus drumming inside her heart; she had fabricated every inch of her wretched self with such a spellbinding, such a F.U.C.K.I.N.G cool calm balanced with a sufficient stroke of mandatory shyness.
[Oh, … my heart silently, cheerfully, warmly applauded her for thy COMPOSURE and thy COURAGE!]
Nonetheless, as time melted, she glew more. Undeterred, she rose from the dirt. She’d smile all to often. She laughed. She’d become. She was happy. She was beautiful!
It was her March of 11th.
The groom (or mooley) from the beginning of mess-osses, and throughout his wedding procession, was surprisingly relaxed. Or, for better lack of word, I’d say Concerned, inside but Chilled outside !!
Plus, more to my awe, he was doing all the right s.h.i.t.s expected of any groom in a conventional marriage scene.
Be it homogeneously blending-in with photographer(s) requests for weird wedding photograph poses. Be it following up with awkward Namastés and forced-upon selfies and redundant groupies. Or, be it by simply being gentle. Mildly, wildly happy! Oh, and utterly respectful and Holy Fucking Obedient too!
[He was A Man of The Hour. And sure as fuck, he was SO!]
Mum(clearing tears off of her weeping eyes): It was slow and utterly painful death for her. I wish nobody has to go through such ordeals in their life.
Grandma (staring at a lifeless body of her sister): Someday, it will be my turn. **Sobs uncontrollably **
[ Evidently naked. Magnified. All I see is an unfathomable love, the pain and the emptiness. I can also feel fear, as i sat beside her, holding her cold, wrinkled, soft hands. ]
Uncle: This is life. ~Breathes deeply~
Dad: Silent. Unmoving, mostly. Perhaps contemplating life & death in his own head.
[ Hard to tell ]
Sriraj (Baini maa’s grand child): Quiet. Present. Hurt. Loved. Unloved.
At Pashupati temple (A holy place for all the hindus in Nepal. Also, a well-renowned crematory site situated at Kathmandu). I watched. Listened. Existed, deliberately!
I see — honest tears! Torn hearts! Fucking pretentious despair too.
Tired. Despite, tried self-reflection; at accounts and inventories of my own life. Of people I consider my own.
Bahini maa (Grandma’s sister) passed away today around 3AM in the morning.
She died of cancer.
And, of all the many reasons, my heart wanted to blame it for her smoking habit.
[ I would never know ]
Two things.
First. Not that I smoke but I promised mum and dad infront of Baini maa’s burning self that no matter what, I’ll never, NEVER do cigarettes!
Second. I promised myself, … again, … that I’ll not take anything, anyday, anyone for granted, not even myself!
p.s. Lastly, I will forever have an enormous gratitude and respect for ‘Sirraj’s’ applaudable hard work, contribution and heart and companionship and patience to be with Baini maa foot-on-foot, in her final days. Not days actually, but years and years.
Whence, learned pure form of selflessness from him.
Thing is ‘You’ dream like I do. You set expectations before even you know it. You lose focus from yourself and drool over someone else’s life’s template.
You fucking sleepwalk like it’s how life’s supposed to be.
And, sure, you run towards your dream life, and that with everything you’ve got in your bones and that too, to the point of your own detriment. Exhausted! Corrupted! All this circus, at an expense of your cool. Your peace of mind. Your priceless present. Your graceful calm!
To add more, you’ll come to the point wherein you’ve bankrupted your whole self over that one wild, wild vision of yours, and all that’d be left of you is nothing but grey hairs, wrinkled skins and a painful vacuum.
[haha…]
I remember a quote from one of my dead pal, Seneca, he writes:
“Putting things off is the biggest waste of life: it snatches away each day as it comes, and denies us the present by promising the future. The greatest obstacle to living is expectancy, which hangs upon tomorrow, and loses today. You are arranging what lies in Fortune’s control, and abandoning what lies in yours. What are you looking at? To what goal are you straining? The whole future lies in uncertainty: live immediately.”