Going Forward
For a past a few years, there exists a chaos in my mind to share my thoughts online. I have never been comfortable with voicing out my thoughts online. That’s also one of the reasons why I stopped using Social Media. Kafkaa belongs to me, I built it from scrach yet I never found solace in it as well.
Whenever an idea strikes me regarding a blog or something, I kinda feel insecure and devle into the rabbit hole of overthinking. I always end up questioning myself with the following. Am I knowledgeable enough as the people I look up to in the same space to create something? Am I being true to myself or just doing it for the content? Am I being passionate enough? and the list goes on and on. The mere fact that I didn’t produce anything substantial with my skills is the key reason for all these thoughts.
But, it changes now. From here on, Kafkaa will emerge as a space I always envisioned. I don’t care if the blogs I write are mediocre and the projects I make seem to be middling. Its the process, and has always been the process which I loved being in.
One of these days, I will be as good as the people I look upto. Even if I don’t quite make it, I won’t feel any remose. I will cherish the process.
This is not some random motivation rants. I have been working on myself for quite a while now. And I felt that this is the right moment to do this.
From here on, Kafkaa will emerge as a space I always envisioned.
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over.
But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.– Haruki Murakami