Myself, Writing

Fraud

I have this need to be read It’s why I have been writing since I was 16, and I often wonder what makes me want to share with others.  What makes me desire to hear the sentence “I read what you wrote” followed by “I liked/loved/laughed/cried/thought about what you wrote.”  I am open to criticism but I am scared of it as well. My biggest fear is not being liked but being ignored. As if I don’t exist. I write because it makes me feel as I exist. It is the only time that I am the uninterrupted. unadulterated me.

All my life. I have fought this nagging feeling of being a fraud, of feeling that I was meant for something different. The reality is that we are all a bunch of choices.  We are where we are either because of our own choices or others in our lives.  The others count only if your under 18 or just not willing or able to make your own choices. As a Punjabi, its easy to point the finger at my parents, but they didn’t force me to write, or go to UCLA or law school. Those were all my decisions so in a way I need to write to think out loud on paper. I have this need to inflict my opinion others. It’s perhaps the only time I feel as if intellectually I matter.

Yet even my writing is haphazard just like my feelings and thoughts. I have been unable to write something original in a long time. It’s as if I am afraid to really put myself out there or maybe just maybe I don’t have it in me. It is that last thought that drives me crazy. If I am not a writer, then what am I?  It’s the only label I have ever really wanted, and its the only that has eluded me now for over 2 decades.  I often the wonder if the feeling I am a fraud is actually who I am.  That perhaps in some way. my desire to be something other than what others think of me is what drives me?

I don’t know, and so I write even though I feel like a fraud.  IMG_1964

 

Brownness

Goals (on Turning 40)

University of California, Los Angeles; UCLA
University of California, Los Angeles; UCLA (Photo credit: COG LOG LAB.)

NWA’s ” Straight Out of Compton” turned on, taking me right back to my freshman year at UCLA.  I am at the gym, leg pressing 300 pounds, arm curling 50 pounds feeling like a beast.  I was 18, a wanna be mustache dancing on my lip, Gangsta rap in my blood. I felt bad ass as I pushed out 10 reps.  2 more circuits to go.  That was then, this is now.  I push out 540, and curl 100 but the gut sticks out, and my 40 years feels like 400 on me.  I am not UCLA Sanjay anymore, more like Useless Sanjay but that’s just my self-pity talking.

A few years ago, I had the same goals as I did today, but the only difference was passion.  Whereas, before I just wished to be in better shape, I now WANT to be better.  I know I can get to a six pack, the only regret being that it would be 22 years AFTER the fact, but you know what, it’s how it makes me feel NOW that matters.  Everything else is just mere whining.  Turning 40 can work miracles for someone like me who quite honestly has been quite comfortable for quite a while.

I start each day knowing that one day closer to my goal of being in the best shape of my life.  The real reason: I don’t want to die needlessly. I don’t want to die because of something I could have prevented, but most of all I don’t want to die before I really do accomplish all that I want from my life.  It really is that simple. I want to live my life not live day-to-day.

Why do you wake up each morning?

Myself

Alone

Cover of "Conversational Spanish (Living ...
Cover via Amazon

Today, I hit 204 pounds, only 14 pounds away from my idea goal.  I am also on Lesson 4 of Pimsleur’s guide to Spanish. almost halfway through beginning conversational Spanish.  Today was also the last day for my online UCLA class of Bringing Characters to Life. To top of all this, we have finally begun discussion on wedding dates. I should feel satisfied but I am not as it hit me that a lot of what I am doing is being done alone.  I have failed to share my passions and victories with the ones I love but worst of all, it does not appear that it matters to them.  I am lonely but motivated.  Sad but looking forward to life ahead.  Angry because I am suffocating with frustrations and old hurts

I know I probably exaggerating but I can’t seem to let go of that feeling, and thus I am still blowing up over absolutely trivial things. I also know that there are some I should avoid, some I should handle gingerly, some with love but most of all some with caution as whatever comes out of my mind, seems to end up on their plate.  I have no privacy or at least it feels like it but more than anything else I just cannot believe how I have treated some who are dear to me especially her.  I owe her more than an apology, I owe her my life.

Myself

dream

The UCLA Store
Image by maveric2003 via Flickr

Purposely woke up later even though my body claimed it was far past 8am, yet when I opened my eyes, it was 8:06. Had a bit of rev old from body. Feeling exhausted after writing, feems passion took over the hek]lms for a few days but exhausted me from doing anything else. Not good so I listened to the voices and slept another hour, a restless 60 minutes but still longer than normal. Feeling slightly guilty and devoid of any words. Time passes. Got more sleep but have less words.

Started going through my twitter account, and saw a name from UCLA and suddenly I remembered I had a dream about this person last nigh. He was a heavier than I remembered, outlandish glasses (think from the old movie NERDS) and he was soaking to a classroom while I sat in the corner near the door facing the class. He asked a question, and I raised my hand and everything laughed while an unlit cigarette tried to cover my reddening face.

Hear a bird outsude and watch my dog perk up its ears as hearing a conversation but quiet surrounds us, and no words are formed here or in my life. Oh yea, I forgot to mention, today is my first day back at my house after staying with my parents for 2 weeks and it strikes me that I am much more comfortable there, and more like myself that is why the words come. But I am 38 years old now and really do need to grow up.

Hear an airplane and think to myself, I really do need to clean up around here, and as promised to my girlfriend I would put the hookah away (no more smoking!) and I am well aware that I am digressing, letting the problems of the world take over rather than focusing on the page ahead of me,

Finally, got up and picked up some of the trash as it was bothering me and I realized that the house needs to be in some semblance of lam before I can write. Today, unfortunately was a bust so lets see what tomorrow brings…