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  • Rukmini Ravishankar

Trains of Thought


My first attempt at a blog was when I was 11, about a TamBrahm festival of lights. The topic was my father’s suggestion, and although I thoroughly had no interest in writing about what struck me as a very dreary subject, I went with it because something told me, going against my father wasn’t an option.

The second attempt was something similar, only much worse. I cannot bring to mind what my post was about, and I’m glad I’ve forgotten.

This is my third, and hopefully final attempt at a blog. When I sat down to write this post, I sat with the sole motive of getting back at my loathsome schoolmates from 2 years ago. Then, my motive extended to making myself a clearer person, because I have lost count of the number of times I have wondered what I really am against what I come off as. Even now, I simply cannot figure out one clear-cut topic that I will base the entire blog on.

As far as I’ve heard, people resort to blogs for one of the following reasons: (1) Writing is their true passion, (2) They have nobody to lean on when things trouble them, (3) Both.

I fall under the third category. I live to write. I am also a loner. My only company is my sister’s computer. I have struggled one too many times in my tumultuous journey, with opinions and emotions bottled up inside me with a couple of outlets which turned out to be inlets of emotions that made me feel further behind than I had started off. I have thought of blog-posts as a solution a number of times, but being me comes with its own set of cons. Being me makes you wonder what that girl you met in 5th grade and that guy you rubbed up the wrong side when you were 3 would think if they read what you wrote. Being me makes you take off tonnes of published blog-posts for reasons others would be unable (or unwilling) to comprehend.

Nonetheless, I made up my mind today that this was it. I will keep my hands away from that little trashcan icon and muster the courage to hit ‘post’. With a little bit of luck, my hopelessly wandering mind will finally find a station here, to clear itself out every weekend, only to be filled to the brim again before its next stop.

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