I had always figured it was a pretty obvious fact that this blog – no matter how personal and open I am in it – never paints a complete picture of anything I write about, of the situation at hand. I mean, that’s simply impossible. And with that, I’ve assumed that no one would ever read anything here and walk away feeling like they have all the information/details about what I’ve written about, or like they know exactly what my feelings are.
All along, I’ve treated this like such an obvious given, that it never occurred to me to even address it. But recent conversations I’ve had about my blog, and the subsequent thinking I’ve been doing about it, compels me to state this, no matter how obvious it might in fact be: everything I’ve shared here is utterly incomplete. There is absolutely no way to read anything here and draw an absolute conclusion. And if you have, chances are high that your conclusions are not correct. This, I’m afraid, is the unintentional trap of every personal blog, the conundrum every autobiographical blogger finds him/herself in: we share as honestly and openly as we can, and readers feel a connection, like they *really* know us and our lives… and yet, it’s not true. This is ultimately such a limiting space, and our immediate moods many times affect what we say and how we say it. And I personally feel such relief most times after writing about something that I pretty quickly don’t feel what I wrote as intensely as it came out. Even with the best of intentions to share and share honestly and all that good stuff… in the end it’s always felt like a futile endeavor on my part.

Snapshots. These posts are merely snapshots. And snapshots never offer a complete picture. And once the snapshot is up and it’s been viewed and digested, everyone moves on. Even the writer. Not that what I share is not real or that my feelings just leave me – just that the act of writing itself loosens the grip the tough feelings have on me, and the thought process behind the writing offers a better perspective. While some feelings are so deep that they don’t really change, a lot of the intensity with which I write does. It ebbs and flows, and sometimes it settles somewhere more manageable.

And in moving on from certain themes, the question becomes, how do you go back? How do you (should you) revisit things and try to offer some more insight because finally, finally you’re able to?

I’m thinking specifically of the difficult posts I wrote after some amateur ones. I felt even as I wrote and wrote all those (seemingly endless) months about my feelings that I was doing nothing more than searching for healing.

The few fresh days of business and your client drags you to the court of law and there you wait in the police station and those Illiterate policemen grab you and drag you to a dark cell where you see a mud cooler and a small window and then you come to know your sources are asleep and you have to spend the entire night in the cell with other strange and violent prisoners. A CEO in jail for a sleepover.
That’s it, really. I was blown apart, utterly blown apart. It was such a giant, immense thing. And it seemed like everyone could see it, like there was nothing I could do – no words I could say, no smile or expression I could plaster on my face, no place I could go – to deny this or hide from it. It felt like I oozed my blown apart-ness. And so, feeling so terribly exposed, it was like a subconscious part of me – apart from needing to write to heal – said, “F this, if I’m out, I may as well be all out.” When you hang your broken self out for all to see, there’s a strange comfort, a power, even, in that. You can’t break someone like that anymore than she already is.

I was so angry and hurt, but I wasn’t thinking then, and never thought at any point, about vengeance or lashing out. And I can’t think now about going back and rehashing any of that. But I think about this, and I wonder if there could have been any way to go through the process without hurting them. The truth is, I don’t know.

I was simply blown apart

  1. Sabika Khan says:

    This post is so much ‘Miq specific’ – honest, intelligent, fair. And true. I suspect there’s a disconnect between men and women about how to manage emotional pain. Women have to talk through it; men cover it with silence and, sometimes, anger.

  2. Martha Singh says:

    I read your blog all through that period and could clearly see that it was not about the thingys at all, but about your pain and your journey to healing. In fact, I believe I saw you being fair and even generous through your pain.
    And you can tell him an old lady who read all of it says so. :-p

  3. Sameen Shah says:

    I love this blog…thanks for sharing with us.

  4. Mel Carter says:

    i thought this blog was suspended. nice to see you back 🙂

  5. Anum Faheem says:

    yes its a snap shot bachey. but there are few shots that you remember for quite sometime.It’s either you can relate to it or you are so touch by the writer’s observation.you know; putting words to your thoughts which most of us can’t.and yes i totally agree there are times when you tell someone to do this or that but we ourselves fail to do so.It’s not that you are preaching something but lots of people do take it that way.
    It’s exactly as if people come to you for few minutes so as to feel better for some time.or they can say at least “yes this is exactly what i am going through these days”. They might not adopt what you say but they certainly will feel a little light hearted 🙂 which in a similar fashion exactly applies to you too 🙂

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