Hello, this is my personal blog, you're invited to stay or leave but surely visit sometimes.
What can you expect: I am myself unaware. You can think of this as a journey, my creative journey or my writing journey or something along those lines and you're welcome to accompany me through it.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about AI and it's takeover on every platform and what it means for society. As a literature student and a (wannabe) creative person, seeing the (mostly positive) attitude people have towards it is scary. It's a lonely experience to believe that nothing good will come out of something that preys on our environment. Here is a confession: I am not an AI virgin myself. I started perfecting my prose and too scared to show my poems to another human, I started looking for feedback from a soulless machine. Later came the realisation, a poem realises itself when another human feels it through you and not through structure, rhythm or through 'analysis' feedbacks from a machine. A story exists when it's read and not because it has perfect grammar. Despite holding beliefs against it, I went ahead and did it anyway so it's safe to say that this blog is an act of rebellion towards that coward version of me. I am saying to myself: This is my imperfect writing and it is not pretty and it might be grammatically incorrect but it is all me. It is also a self-expression because all of us wants to be seen, heard and understood and I desire to it to be this way. In this world of Capitalist Dystopia, developing an unproductive hobby and not letting a machine snatch your words is all one has to regain their sense of being human.
I would tell you that I will write to you about my favourite films or my favourite books but truth be told I haven't watched a movie in so long or read a book just for the sake of it despite having the privilege. Is it unwillingness or ADHD or just the doomscrolling rotting my brain? Who knows. I feel like I am losing myself and this is me trying to hold on. “Pick up a journal, Sneha” - internet user, well I guess I don't want to be alone in my misery anymore. I feel too privileged and too okay to be complaining about such things while the world burns but is it not the burning of the world that I yearn to escape into another make-believe world so much. “You're allowed to complain in your own blog”- my friend, probably, she's always saying the right things I don't want to hear. I could confess that I struggle with existing as myself. I am paradoxical in the sense that I wish to hide but be seen at the same time.
I have had the wish to start a blog for so long but by now, as you can guess, was Too scared to do it. Wanted to be perfect, to be read-able. This is a rebel against that self too. This is me being un-edited imperfect because self-expression does not demand perfection. I have started a lot of things and left them to rot but Albert Camus said, “There is no tragedy in having to start again, as long as you start again.” in The Myth of Sisyphus and other essays and RM said, “You don't have to be/You don't have to be the anything you see” in his song Come Back To Me and My mentor, Nilanjana di said, “A completed story is better than a well-written abandoned story.” so even if I get too spooked to write again, I promise to myself that I will come here again. This is not a good-bye, this is a see you again!
Listen to No one noticed by The Marías.
~
Sneha
