Saanchi's Journal Entry [1]
Is this born out of fear of no one knowing who I am and what I think of, once I am departed?
“You are a deep and meaningfully beautiful book to read, and metaphorically I want you to keep writing for yourself. You are undoubtedly worth writing for”
I’m not sure how everything Inertia says has a power to make you feel that you are fine the way you are.
“Its good, its just not my taste.”
People have not been receiving my artwork well lately — about it not matching their taste. And it often begs the question, am I right in being true to what suits my taste and what feels good to me or am I not entertaining honest criticism. When someone says what they wish it was, I am almost always repelled by the idea because I don’t want to make anything to fit what they think it should be. I want to disappoint this expectation — and that invites the very thing that has been bothering me, lack of acceptance.
I feel quite lonely with the lack of an audience that could appreciate what resonates with me. Where is that tiny group of people that could interact with it, keep it alive. Does it not exist? Maybe in my dimension, my perpendicular universe, it’s just me.
I will keep creating nevertheless. I don’t know how to block the river that flows freely through me, I don’t know how else to be. It has to be made.
If am not able to find the right soil to bloom in, I will build my own garden. I will.
"I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Sylvia Plath
I am often plagued by paralyzing aporia, and a delusional stubbornness for fulfillment of everything I want. The world around me, the rules that govern it just disappear.
Maybe they contradict, maybe they feed each other.
I never got a lot of male attention growing up, and that with my crippling sense of self makes a convincing case in my head for why I don’t have to worry about navigating the mental gymnastics of the man-kind. So every time I go out and interact with new humans, I approach it with an ease, an inquiry towards a friendship without the stress of an underlying intentions or a creepy motive coming my way. But, I am proved wrong. On one hand I should be so relieved and validated that I am attractive, and wanted. But that feeling drowns its death instantaneously by the looming annoyance at the man trying to find his way, a fulfillment of his fleeting desire and attraction, masked under the in-genuine attempt at offering friendship. He likes the vessel, not its juice. Okay wrong choice of words.
The moon looks so perfect some days it’s fake.
The front metal of my bike came loose this morning. As i was riding to the badminton court, my brain transported me to transporting on my bicycle in Germany. I felt my eyes well up and a wave of emotions that felt too strong for 7am on a random Saturday morning. That bicycle meant so much to me— when it broke, I felt like my life was quite incomplete. And now this one, where I didn’t really feel bothered by a part that broke. I don’t clean it, I don’t maintain it, I don’t really… respect it.
I started riding through all the memories on my bicycle in Hamburg.
Was it that I had picked that one out myself with my own money as a step towards my ability to live an independent life there? This bike was just handed to me by my parents. But I didn’t own the bicycle. I had rented it out, so it technically wasn’t mine either. But I felt this sense of belonging towards it—it felt like a part of my body without which I’d be paralyzed, quite literally. That bike was a carrier of all my journeys: my ride to work everyday, to the supermarket, to solo explorations around Hamburg, to spontaneous dates, to dinners, to meetings with Wladi, Saturday flea markets with Johanna, mid-night introspection, mail pick ups, evening dates with Frederick, drunk commutes home… my ride to freedom.
It took me everywhere, I took it everywhere with me. I remember hunting for weeks to find the perfecr basket, then I spray painted the right grey basket of the perfect size and perfect shape to a perfect neat black to match my bike just right. It made me feel belonged there—that the roads were built for me. I was no longer just a foreigner, I had my own means, and no destination was out of reach.
My eyes well up again as I write this. I’m not sure if it’s because of a longing for the life I had there, or the bike that gave me an opportunity to build it?
I miss you my dear.
Yes it broke down and I had to get it replaced, but I loved it equally, and more.
A lot of times, you don’t really need to talk to people to know them and understand them. Just sit back, and observe the dance. Watch it all play out. Sprinkle a phrase here and there to nudge them, and watch it all unfold. Contradict each belief they uphold and watch them question each side of it till they have nothing concrete to believe in.
“You’re taking notes”
I was working on a small project in office the other day and a colleague got curious because he say a bunch of lines of code. I got excited, as one would when people show interest in their art. I showed him some of my projects and he glanced at them for a second or two, and wondered “Iska use kya hai?” I said its art, I like to make it. He wondered why one would even bother.
Some interesting pages I came across this week:
Designers making intentionally bad UI which is surprisingly funny and not frustrating
From a conversation with Daksh about how amphitheaters were historically designed for good acoustics.
100 data visualisations from 1 dataset.
I wanted to share some art I made the last few days but my laziness is talking me out of exporting it. Next time!
Resonances
Love the production loop at 0:20 gosh
That snare, and that voice.
Someone gift me production hardware please :(
This entire album is so warm
Thank you for sharing ♥️