bakies

So.. Its January 29th, 2016.. The birthday of my not-so-perfect blog. I don’t really know how to express my immense joy, so yeah.. bear with my emotional sentences.
I never had my head in writing and reading, and in reading, it still isn’t – sadly. I used to write poems when I was ten, consisting of two to three couplets, in baby-Urdu, on pieces of pamphlets torn into rectangles and attached together with a string. I was creative, yes, since the start. I got to know this fact quite late. Anyway. So in that booklet of worn out pages stayed my weird words forming some really ridiculously hilarious stuff. I remember I designed the front page by myself, a doodle of me with the label “Shaa’ira Mahaah Azeem”. And because of that booklet, my cousins and family called me an Azaad Shaa’ira. But then one of my close cousins got married and I gifted that booklet to her cause she asked for it, saying ” See Mahaah, your Bajjo will need something to laugh about when she’d be tense. I want that booklet, would you give it to me?” and I agreed since it was the only valuable thing I had at that time and I was always made fun of due to that piece of crap. You wanna know why? The first couplet of my first poem in that booklet was ;
Mein ek bachcha hun,
Mein apnay baap ka bachcha hun.
Which crudely translates to ;
I am a kid,
I am my father’s kid.
And so you know what the whole thing was about. My cousin left, and so did my first poetic book(let) *flips hair like a pro*. I never asked her about it, thinking that it was a phase, and always thanked God that it passed and I got rid of my crappy creativity. I don’t even know if she still has it, I really hope that its not there anyway.
Then my fate brought me to study English Literature, out of nowhere. Six months after my admission, this one day I was missing my best friend and I wrote something. It stayed in my phone notes application, till one day I learned about this blogging thing. I read blogs written by three of my close friends and kept appreciating them. While having a Whatsapp conversation one day, I took a screenshot of that long forgotten poem and sent it to the person I was talking to. She said it was freakin good and that I should write more. I didn’t listen to her. I did write two or more things tho, but I kept them in. Tbh, it was the fear of criticism. I am a perfection-derived-person so yeah.
Then this notes on Facebook trend happened. I published four of my poems there, and that was when a friend of mine pushed me to make a blog. I spent 48 hours in googling if it was a good idea and in order to figure out how it works. I knew that nobody is going to read it anyway cause I write too bad to get appreciation. So I was comfortable in posting stuff, in a way. I made a page, a blog and a new identity for myself. Fear of criticism was something that I had to get rid of. Because it is not supposed to be there. But then its presence is justified cause it helps me to get stuff done properly. A bit of it is still there but duh who cares.
And look at this thing now! Its a freakin year old now. With more than seventy people reading my weird stuff, with so many people appreciating the hell out of my writings. Like, wow.
Thank you so much for building up my broken confidence. For reading my imperfect writings. For praising me like I’m this amazing blogger (which I’m not, tbh). A huge bunch of thanks to my close friends for believing in me. And thanks to my Bhai for admitting that I can do wonders with this whole blog thing. Because I can. Haha.
(No icing on the cake cause I don’t like that part of cakes and cakes in general. WordPress mabuhay.)

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