Showing up on the page


Have I become someone who is now focussed on quantity over quality? Yes.

Because this creativity slump was affecting my mental health. I was thinking about how I should be writing, but sitting in front of the laptop and coming up blank. Just distracting myself with some shit or the other. There are too many blocks and naysayers in my head and around me too. I didn’t realise that. But since I have been working on this white woman workbook, it is really helping me. Of course, my “rationality” won’t let me disclose what book I am solving.. but my heart is really enjoying this DIY therapy. All this while, I have Gabor Mate leading me by the hand and helping me be kind to myself and my addiction. I have found some inner-spring and I want to protect it.

I have also discovered that I will always be teenage-ish chirpy or angsty.  Can I escape that voice? I am 27 now. I may be 35 and still like this. So, might as well embarrass myself if I must, if it is an inescapable part of my existence… Also, a lot of my writing is for me. So maybe, I will write a lot of stream of consciousness writing. Many embarrassing confessions to purge from my system. Maybe I will appear more thoughtful and poised than before. I am okay with that. This is not some pristine page of a book. That is clearly so much hard work, as I have discovered.

So since the lockdown, I have delved within without the guilt of “have to”. Deleting all the “should be doing this and that right now”. I am privileged enough to create my island and indulge my underemployed self into creativity and resolving my binge eating disorder with focus.  Week 1 of food sobriety, and I think I am on a high. Or maybe I am on to something and I am going to motivate myself to be in that process.

I have been writing. But just not here. I have three blogs in total now. This one is my projected self. A face for the faces I meet. I have another private blog to rant my heart out in fiction. A mirror to stare back at me. The third blog is public but I usually use it to think and do my writing projects there. More academic. More practice. The function is to be more helpful to others on that journey. So, that’s the persona, heart, brain categorized neatly. I am sure I can split myself further.. but now my task that I have set before me is to help me merge these. Become a bit whole.

Creativity is really indulgent. I am still doubting the capacity of the inner-spring. I am worried about the relapse in the future.  But there is also a thought in my head that wonderfully counters this. Just do. We’ll face what we must when it comes to it.  So yeah, if I am sounding high, maybe I am. I am okay with seeming delusional.

The best part is that blogs are finally out of fashion. Nobody is searching for blogs and the SEO tags, unless it has really contributed and curated knowledge. This is safely my island again. No dream and aspiration attached to this website.  Just exploration. Just showing up on the page to rest, to try, to daydream, to express, to be silly. 

Onwards!
tame shewolf.

PS: See you tomorrow for another 500 words.

Fight your genes


I‌ have always had the fear of becoming my parents.

I‌ hate to think it is unavoidable. I find myself imitating my dad’s body language when I rage. I find myself being awkward like my mom when I am confused. I‌ wish we did not live in a nuclear family where your prototype of human beings are your immediate caretakers. Why can’t we live in a commune where I‌ could choose who I want to be like, or influenced by?

I‌ have been thinking about how maybe I‌ also inherit my family’s tragedies and trauma. I find myself fighting between wanting to set it all right aggressively and running away from it. Both tire me. Family life is such a shit-show; is anyone unscathed?

Don’t make me count the good parts. I mean, I want to flesh out how much I hate them better. This dysfunction is a tragedy. I must have heard it in a podcast, where she said– “Hate your parents better”. For me, that means, hate them for the right reasons. Not a blanket hate, but a nuanced hate. A hate that makes space for their human-ness but also holds them accountable, and respects them as people who can grow.

I continue to argue with my parents to be better to themselves (cue: my mom) and be better people (cue: my dad), but then the non-response or cowardice just agitates me to no end. I wish I could walk out. I mean, why do I have to revisit this bullshit over and over again?

All I ever do is keep walking with blinders on. Not my pain to untangle. Not my pain to grieve.

“ ‘Fight your genes.’ The Big Hoom said to us once, to Susan and me. He did not explain. He did not know how to. But we knew what it meant. It meant that we were to march into the hall and take out our school books and reproduce the slipper-shaped animalcule whose psuedopodia power it through a world without feeling; to learn how to inscribe a hexagon into a circle without tearing the paper; to assimilate the causes and consequences of the battle of Panipat without ever identifying your own enemy because that would be mean identifying yourself.

‘Fight your genes’. Focus. Be diligent. Concentrate. Do”
― Jerry Pinto, Em and The Big Hoom

High-functioning depressives-  r e p r e s e n t  ✌️,
TSW

Imposter Syndrome and me


Impostor syndrome is a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a “fraud”.

I don’t know why I feel so under-confident sometimes. As if, my experiences are not my own. Like, I am not supposed to be where I am. When I am actually somewhere non-stimulating, I keep trying to get out of that space. I‌ have been thinking about why I feel so disconnected and like a fraud all the time. What could be the psychological root for this?

As a teacher

Currently, I am working in an ideal job. It is all that I‌ have been wishing for– Teaching late teens, about politics and sociology, well-paying and yet not working 5 days a week. It is literally what I‌ have been screaming into the void, “why can’t you give me all this?”. (you= void) The void said, “here, everything you wish for, but only for six months.” Kill me. I‌ cherish every moment of being well-paid.

When I am at this job, or prepping for the lectures, I feel that ‌I am faking it. I am the best person to be teaching Marxism. I am the best person to be teaching to be the go-to person for politics and sociology.‌ I‌ have not put in my time. I have not put in the readings. Someone else must have read thousand more things, or could point out more nuances that I could. Someone else doesn’t have to prep this much maybe.

I‌ know. I know. Rationally, I know that this job is me putting in the time. I know that I do already have a good base for this, and I am passionate about it. But, still, the people ‌I‌ look upto were better off when they were 27. They were more ambitious about growing in academia, that I‌ seem to be. Am I copping out when I reject the academia machine, or am I really rebelling on my own terms? What a loser.

As a writer

Since the pace of my blogging has reduced, I‌ keep thinking about how I have lost my voice. I‌ no longer create intentional art. It is always this stream of consciousness vomit. I am tired of my angst, my self-righteousness, and my pain. Haven’t I looked at all these facets in all its depth already? Am I‌ not bored of myself and my patterns? What do I want to say?‌‌‌ Why do I‌ write, other than just using it as a healing tool? Why can’t I‌ write for fun, when people can doodle for fun? When I show up at the keyboard, why can’t I play? Writing for me is treating myself. Definitely. I like the dim light and music that I put on in the evenings to get myself in the zone to right. I forget what the point was other than fossilize traces of me. What do I want to remember? I‌ am not ambitious, wrt external measures of success, but I‌ do have many creative ambitions that I‌ don’t really show up for.

I know. I‌ know. I remember that what got me interested with blogging was a really cool confessional blogger. But then, she went on to write fiction. And‌ I‌ am here, with ideas rotting in my notes section. I cannot summon the energy and discipline it needs to show up for oneself. Oh, you want me to write some piece for your brand, I will do that. I have to do it for myself?‌‌ Maybe next time. I‌ rest on the laurel of having great ideas with a writer’s block. What a loser.

As a political person

I have a debilitating imposter syndrome when I participate in political protests, or even try to write about political stuff. Who do I talk to and how?‌ I‌ must read more to be ready because I am always not ready. I‌ think of all the things I will have to lose if I am on this path– being stupid happy with my apolitical friends;, and being stupid, period. I think of all the things I will have to have already– clarity and tenacity. But here I am, standing as an audience to the suffering of the world.

I know. I‌ know. I am in the world that is burning and I can speak from my own social location. However, there remains a feeling of taking up space where someone else could have been and said it and done it better. I don’t end up saying anything at all. Sigh, what a loser.

As a lover

Oh ho, this imposter syndrome, you guys… it is an unreal, out of body experience. (Welcome to my over-confessional stupid blog.) When I‌ am in love in commitment, I feel like– it is just a phase that I am going through. This cannot be it.‌‌ Is this it? And all such self-doubt.‌‌ I worry about whether I am all present in the love. Could someone else love my partner the way they wanted to be cared for and loved? But when I am out of love, I am pining about hazy details. Did I ever love them truly? Did they even love me?‌‌ And all such pain. Isn’t pain more real than love after all?

I‌ know. I know. This is life. These are all our psychological patterns and I am untangling them one by one.‌ If only I could build a monument to all the people I‌ have ever loved. I‌ have actually; maybe not as grandiose as a monument, but then a small tiny shrine, definitely. And when I did try to speak of my madness to my friends, well one of them did say– What a loser.

Maybe it is all about that. Me watching myself from the outside, and being a harsh to myself. How do I‌ get back in my body?

I‌ am grateful, don’t get me wrong, but I am such a drifter. My soul is barely tied to my body, and it feels miserable.

Edit: Midnight Aha moment- I have to confront the inner glorified self that is being a critical bitch.

Women, I love you forever


I am a panromantic, but I am damned to be a heterosexual.

I know that my love for women is romantic! Because I suffer heartbreaks even in female friendships. I also spend a lot of time maintaining female friendships. I love women.

I love women even if I am in the wrong side of the argument. I want to love and support women to the point of being irrational. To the point where men will say “K, bUt ThAT’s ReVeRsE sExIsM!”. I’ll shrug because this stand is completely emotional.

I love women because I feel gratitude. I have been a judgmental misogynist, trying to not be “girly”. I have been harsh in my judgments of housewives, and career women, of girlfriends and my mother! 😛 But all I have ever received is love and nourishment from women. I have learned to live in this body, thanks to women. I have become a better feminist, because of women. I have grown intellectually and emotionally because of women. I have been mentored by some super-cool women. I have been helped, nursed, guided, understood by women. I have worked, laughed, played, cried with women. If I am a little less uptight, and so much more kinder than I used to be because I was groomed by women. I am just forever indebted to womankind for being happy, colourful and powerful despite the banal, brutal patriarchal structures.

Hence, I have decided to be a benevolent sexist— I am always going to be on the side of the woman, no matter what. Even if there is a chance, that I am supporting someone trying to misuse my trust, I will take that bet. I will be disappointed far less compared to the statistically high trash behaviour that men display and are excused for. Entertain this hypothetical for a minute– suppose, if a man is called out for being a sexual harasser by a woman, when the matter is yet to be decided on, I would take the side of the woman because I really feel that women don’t get support and are not believed easily because there is a level of harm that you will trust, otherwise it is all hysterical imagination. And again, if she was simply trying to falsely frame the guy, I would be disappointed, accept my mistake and let that be. It is not going to hurt me as much as the inverse of this scenario would do.

The inverse being where the woman has been proven to be true, and I took the side of the guy—I have been in these situations— I would hate myself for not being on the woman’s side all along. I hate to imagine that I might still have some remnants of internal misogyny.

But I think men should not be benevolent sexists like I am because when men are benevolent sexists, women don’t exist in any other frame other than fairy-goddess-princess-mother.. So if a man is a sexist, even a benevolent one at that, it is more harmful. For such sexists, if they find a woman who has done something wrong, then that women is the witch-whore-bitch-vamp that deserves whatever ill happens to her! That’s not true, of course! Since men have the structural power where their dissing of a woman hurts woman more, they should just shut up and constantly reflect. I have seen benevolent sexists who are painful to talk to, their love is so conditional to a woman’s virtue, that it really is suffocating to just imagine those standards.

So maybe I am not a benevolent sexist, after all. But it is just easier to wrap up the argument, because it never happens that I can delve into nuance. So it is easier to say that my support for women is irrational, emotional and what about it? 😛 I am aware of the risks when I am taking this stand.

I want women also to make mistakes and then I want to be their left-hand woman. I want women to feel powerful and fight the system, and I want to be their comrade. I want women to punch a guy, and I will be video-shooting that mess! But I want more possibilities for women! And that needs a bit of unconditional support that men have gotten for no good reason for generations.

Womxn, I love you forever!

Not a teen!


I am so thankful I am not a teenager anymore.

I am always suspicious that I am still stuck in my teens. I was worried I can’t point out if adulthood has arrived or not. I have the same rage as a teenager. I carry the sadness that begun then even now.

But I am relieved to realize I am not a teen anymore thanks to the opportunity to teach teenagers.

And I realize I don’t relate to the shit they put themselves through.

In my imagination, teenage years are so wise, so rebellious, revolving around the community of your friends. But then, when I see my students go through the horrible torture that is puberty, I pay my gratitude to the universe. Thank you universe that I am not pandering to the male gaze like that anymore. Thank you universe that I don’t beckon for drama “that much“ anymore. Thank you universe that I don’t get wildly upset about things anymore. Thank you universe that I am not as conscious of my body anymore. Thank you, time.

Thank you, Me. We made it through!

Damn.

I tend to fight with my students as if they are my equals. To my disappointment, I’ve come to realize that they are developing their egos and self-worth and I have the power in the situation. So, I have no option but to calm down and remember that they’re in that weird space between childhood and adulthood, but basically still children. Bah! So, in no way, we are equals. It’s so annoying, because like I said, I fondly remembered my teenage-self as intelligent, rebellious and argumentative that arguing with an adult would’ve been the thrill of my life. Now, I watch my students feel anger or humiliation in an argument, and I have to back off. Maybe the relationship is not there yet, or maybe I am misremembering those times.

I try to relate to where they’re coming from, and sometimes when I witness their group dynamics with all the sexual tension and self-consciousness, I am like- I don’t relate to this shit, thank god! I do remember being all kinds of everything they are. So now, I am just a frank friend who communicates and clarifies all the time. So much of teaching is parenting. It’s emotional labour I didn’t think I was capable of or wanted to do, but I must do. There is no option.

Watching this hilarious show Big Mouth is cathartic. For every viciousness that teenagers tend to throw, in my mind, I imagine all the pathetic that is in store for them in the coming years (all the firsts accompanied with all the traumas), that I have no need for a comeback. Bas, I am not the teen in this situation. Thank you, time! 😛

~

I watched another cool show called “Patrick Melrose” recently with Benedict Cumberbatch playing an addict with ironic humour (again). I don’t like watching sad shows but I decided I need his accent in my life. It was a well-written, well-made show. What stood out for me was how much the character Patrick was stuck in his childhood because of trauma. Even as an adult, his inner child would lay bare in situations that triggered those same emotions.

I reflected about how I am not stuck in my childhood, but haunted by my teenage years. I was discussing one of my students with the school counselor, and she was sharing the background of the kid, and I told her how there are many students who can split their sad home life and school life, and use the happy space of school to succeed and find their self-worth. The counselor agreed but added that in the long run, it’s not a good strategy. I have been thinking about how this was my own strategy as a child, and it worked perfectly fine for me, till when I became a teen and as a growing adult, I had to confront this split because decisions awaited. So, like Patrick Melrose, if there is a time that I remember that left me really vulnerable was my teenage years, and luckily not my childhood. (Lucky because ghanta, your parents will ever give you closure!)

But despite the trauma points in my teenage life, that I have to now and then untangle, I miss it. I miss not having this inner police inside my head. I miss the intensity of every opinion and emotion. Truly, it was the best of times, and the worst of times. I learned so much. I grew so much. I also started writing as a teen, which is now messily part of my ego. I also had a lot of time in my hands to reflect and heal, fortunately.

I miss it sometimes. A little bit. Then I look at my students, and I am like- No, #kthanksbye! 🙂

PS: throwback to my embarassing teenage writing style.

Shaking off inertia


What a long time it has been!

I still can’t write though. It is taking a herculean effort to continue typing through this crappy attempt. My emotional energy has sapped before it is even noon. I have to muster a self-discipline I don’t have when I have to do something just for myself.

I have been thinking about why I have had such a stubborn writer’s block. I can’t make good paragraphs, so here is the stream of consciousness style of saying nothing while still overthinking:

I feel like — (this is how we’re starting sentences today)— in my head, there is a word limit or a length that is “publishable” content. I generally don’t post just one paragraph of good writing here. I would like to do that more often. Write even if it is just one paragraph. But then again, I want to set up context, and that leads to a longer essay  which is then feel like unnecessary and loud and not crisp. So I delete.

Plus, I am bored of the quote – text – quote format. I am distrustful of picking the perfect quote for my piece from the internet because quotes are removed from the context. There is a high chance that the man saying it was a douchebag and I don’t want to relate to a trash men known for quotable quotes like the genocidal maniac Churchill or the racist, casteist Gandhi.

I have also been thinking about my voice. My writing voice is angry, preachy and egoistic enough. I don’t know how to write in any other way. I am bored of myself.

If I do have “this” microphone in my hand, then what am I really saying here? What do I want people to know about me? Why?

I don’t intend this blog to have only good content. I want to allow myself to write about mundane things too. But I find it egoistic to be so loudly pointless.

I still talk to myself a lot. I try out my “humourous” anecdotes on friends. (Aside: The apostrophe only because my humour falls flat with people who don’t adore me, which only means I have to work on my set-up more, and not get too excited about the punchline).  I end up venting or discussing issues or even sometimes write it in my diary. So the urge to write it all for the blog dies out.

I like this blog. I don’t want to let go. So much of my clarity I built here. It is so embarrassingly emotional but I love it. It’s nostalgia with mixed emotions. I love that complicated realm. I am now a bit embarrassed of being vulnerable like that.

I also won’t delete this blog because I don’t want to curate my online life to make it seem perfect or presentable. If I opened that door, I would be constantly deleting because I get embarrassed easily. It is a good reminder of what kind of an idiot I have been, or how chirpy oblivious I was.. And it grounds me. When I see other people grow, it’s good to have proof to remember that I have been that kind of wrong, that kind of pathetic, that kind of loud.

At a certain point, I became really invested in being theoretically sound, and make arguments only rationally “with facts and evidences”, not getting emotional about it. But I’ve realised that’s not my writing style. I can’t talk as if this doesn’t matter to me or that the stakes are not high for me when I am writing it. It’s sexist, this demand to not be “irrational”, or equating lack of emotion to rationality.

A bit embarrassed to be emotional. Not really perfectly rational. So what to be?

This blog was also based so much on the identity of a “teenager”. It’s almost become like a character I play when I am writing for this blog. I am wondering what I am at this age. What does this new voice sound like? Have I developed a new voice? I don’t want to sound like a teenager, and the fear is, I still do. That is also what makes me delete my drafts now.

But I have to write if I have to develop a new voice.

Anyway, I have to treat this blog as a status update and not see it as a creative outlet anymore. I am too cautious to be creative at this point of time. Fingers crossed, a regular writing schedule will rekindle… something.

I can’t bring myself to proof-read this for typos, okay?

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Is signing off as Tame SheWolf also necessary? I have always been so pleased with myself about that.. Uff!

Suspicious of Likes


I don’t like it when people “like” anything I post online when I don’t know the intentions of the person, or I suspect that the person has no filter and “likes” everything. It annoys me no end.

Last year, my blog was as inactive as it is possible to be but I still got around 50 likes or more on my Facebook page. It confounds me! I get so furious to even receive that ‘you’ve got 3 new likes this week’ statistic. I get paranoid about it: Are people with fake profiles using my page to seem authentic? Am I being used in some bigger troll propaganda? Why will a guy who clearly isn’t a reader even be interested in this page? Does Tame SheWolf seem like a pornstar name? Why do they simply ‘like’ and interact with no other posts on the page? What is their agenda?

You see!

I hate even random Twitter followers. Any activity that I don’t approve of triggers a string of questions-  Why would this teenage girl follow me? Does my content (retweets and complaints) appeal to teenagers? Why does this marketing brand think I will follow back out of politeness? Why would anyone follow me when they have nothing in common with me (not even one tweet) and they don’t even read my blog?

This is not limited to my blog-related social media profiles. I totally get uncomfortable with unnecessary likes on my status updates on my personal Facebook profile. If I’ve posted a feminist rant or just an observational rant, I hate it if someone I know… like, I KNOW… is sexist or does the exact same thing I am ranting against likes my post. I just lose my calm! And it takes everything in me to withhold myself from calling them out. I am not ranting against that person in particular, but I still am so irritated at the cognitive dissonance and the complete lack of reflection. I am screaming in my head:  What are you liking this for? Supporting this statement and then going on about your life, as if I didn’t just virtually slap your behaviour?

Then, there’s the other type of people, who disagree with what I say but would not comment just ‘react’ with a laughter emoticon (in response to a solemn post) or an anger emoticon (in response to a funny post). Comment, no? Why should I drag be that person who has to drag them into a disagreement? They want to be heard and not heard at the same time? Like, my god, why don’t they just unfollow me than simmering inside! [What I learnt from these dissonant ‘likes’ was that the reactions to my post are not a reflection on me, but on the post. Basically, it has taught me to disconnect from what happens to a content after I have posted it. But have I really, truly learnt this lesson thoroughly? Nah.]

The other thing that has my metaphorical soul twist and turn inside my very real body is- loyalty. I can’t bear a ‘like’ out of loyalty. It is okay if you agree with me, and you generally agree with me and therefore, you like my status updates. BUT, when I know that that’s not what you really think, and you liked it out of loyalty and kindness, it makes me seethe inside. If someone likes every single one of my post, I chafe against it. Why. Why. WHY. I don’t need this loyalty and unfiltered fanship.

I get uncomfortable because that write-up did not deserve that awesome, kind person’s thumbs up. I don’t know how people accept adoration gracefully, and I, therefore, become suspicious of people who encourage that blind enthusiasm to stroke their egos. Because I know I am a mess. If you adore me, you should know that I am absolutely terribly human. If you ‘like’ something with the awareness that I have been stupid more times than I have been smart, I can accept it. You have to acknowledge that some of my posts are stupid and therefore, not ‘like’ it. I will accept your comment even if it breaks my heart a little, but I can’t accept a mindlessly kind ‘like’. I think, I get so upset because the person’s opinion matters to me, and when I know they don’t really agree and still like it,  I feel as if I have forced that ‘like’; as if they can’t disagree with me anymore or express how they truly feel; as if I will be betrayed if not for the show of solidarity; as if I have given rise to this dishonest space between us.

I know I have over-thought this but really, how can anyone just like for the sake of like?

Signing off,

Tame SheWolf

PS: My boyfriend has been banned from interacting with any of my tweets because I am embarrassed by his incessant ‘likes’. It’s as if the only person who talks to me in this void called Twitter is him. That’s even more pathetic than silence. It’s a matter of self-respect.

P.PS: How does social media marketing even sustain itself with these bullshit statistics to measure engagement? Anything else is more efficient than ‘likes’ as a measure.

One step at a time


Even though last year I made a declaration that I would not overthink and not be afraid of making mistakes, I did and was exactly that. I ended up writing only three posts, and all of them were in February last year. I was so afraid.

I had also decided that I was tired of ranting emotionally and had to find an intelligent, argumentative voice. I felt small compared to the writings I had been reading, written by people around my age. I still don’t believe I can achieve that kind of calibre. I still feel the task that I have set for myself will be met with failure and embarrassment, maybe. It makes me hesitant. It also makes me regret very deeply how much time I took to just understand some truly basic stuff, like the reality and ramifications of inequalities. I regret the circumstances that I’ve been born in that have perpetuated ignorance and valued obedience.

I don’t know what to write. This post is equivalent to putting one foot in front of the other. Let’s see where I end up in January 2018.

Signing off,

Tame SheWolf

PS: WordPress’ interface has become so much cooler since the last time I checked. Another motivation!

Not without a review


I don’t know how to say this without sounding an idiot- I can’t read a book without a review. I can’t watch a film unless I have read that it is good.

I can’t watch something just because it is new!

I think the only exception to this is listening to recent podcasts or watching new vlogs. So, I rationalize that by saying: this is just a ten minute video, or I am listening to this podcast while doing a mechanical chore/activity. The vlog-watching is really unproductive, because you can be carried away into a content consumption spree after excusing yourself from work for some ‘break-time’. On the other hand, podcast-listening makes me feel that I am being super-productive as I am getting things (that don’t require as much of my attention) done, and still listening and learning good things.

Anyway, I won’t watch a TV series if people don’t recommend it. I think, TV is commitment! Commitment to download so many files, commitment to invest time on the characters. So, I definitely have to know if it is good. Sometimes, I do end up watching crappy shows because of friends who ‘highly-recommend’ crap. I hate-watch such shows. Hate-watching is venting frustration about the characters, making fun of the dialogues/plot and sending angry messages to the ‘friend’ who recommended it. I have not been able to successfully filter good shows from bad shows.

With respect to movies, I feel I can’t pay for a bad movie. I am not the person who will walk out of a movie because it is bad. I will watch a bad movie till the end. So, I would rather just be assured that it is a good movie and it is worth my time. Again, I was reflecting if there was any movie that I watched the first day-first show. If there was some movie like that, it must have been a “franchise” movie, but I don’t think I indulged in even that unless I have read online reviews by American audiences.

You’re feeling sad for me by now, right?

I have not been able to read a new book, just because it is new. I can’t allow myself that because I feel guilty about not having read the good, old classics or contemporary hits, to indulge in reading the new, unestablished authors. I also feel bad that this kind of thinking, does nothing to encourage new authors and writers. It will also come to bite me when I finally publish something someday. I don’t remember when I read a new author last. Maybe, it was The Hunger Games. But even that I read because it became popular.

Horrible, right?

Signing off,

Tame SheWolf

PS: Tell me you do it too, and our sins will become commonplace and petty.

A declaration


Guess who has lost total faith in capitalism and Ayn Rand’s idealism?

(Awkward silence)

I feel like a total idiot while writing this today, but I think I need to write all this and more since I have changed so much in the past two years. It feels like my insides have flipped and I don’t even recognize myself. The bad part of this change is that I have no record of it whatsoever. So, this year, my goal is to track this philosophy shift by reflecting on the things I have seen, read and learnt.

Obviously, I am afraid of making the same intellectual errors as before. But, I have realized that I am more articulate when I write, and the discussion that ensues helps me see the holes in my argument, which helps me either revise it or discard it.

This declaration also does not mean that I will stop whining like an entitled, little baby. You should know by now, that the rants are a part of me.

I aim to write at least once every week and not let fears and over-thinking get the better of me.

I am going to make mistakes, left, right and centre!

Woohoo!

Tame SheWolf