I say a very deep and heartfelt thank you tofor recognizing and nominating my blog on the Liebster Award (http://stateofgrateful.wordpress.com/category/liebster-award/). And here, I’m overwhelmingly excited to answer thoughtful 11 questions that you posed for me. However, today, I’m going to answer only one of them. My answer is:
1. Why were you inspired to begin blogging?
My parents were illiterate. So to speak. My siblings were not widely read, not book smart. In short, I was brought up in a family (locality too) where the importance of literature was not known. It’s never encouraged though. But this passion of writing has been there in me, from then, since very young.
Who or what inspired me writing? How? I don’t know. More aptly, I don’t remember. Perhaps - my friends or my teachers or those books I read, or my resilient imagination. Maybe the locality – its simplicity, beauty and vigour - where I grew up. Or, it could be all.
To add one more thing - I’d scribble on everything. Always. Either on a piece of torn paper. On tree leaves. On walls. On floors. On tables. In my note books. Everything. Everywhere. I’d write down anything that comes out of my mind. The truth is that I was a shy young boy, an introvert. And this is how I talked, expressed myself and interacted with the world around me. Scribbling. Writing down.
Unlike other kids, I always used to pay a huge respect to all kinds of literary materials. I kept letters, school magazines, newspapers, books, autograph books, cards, diaries – all in my tiny wooden box. And I could do anything to protect them. I had never let them be used for wrapping doma. Even not let them plastered on the walls. It’s quite strange for my parents and siblings.
In school days, besides writing love letters for my friends, I’d contribute articles for the school magazines. And how thrilled was I to see my own articles published there. My parents couldn’t read, yet I’d run with the magazine to them, all happy, and unfold it to show my articles.
My mother would give a glance at it and smile back at me, proud. But my father would take the magazine from me and try reading it. Curious. He’d mumble a few first sentences, give up reading it and return the magazine to me. One day, he told me (I still remember his words), “Congratulations son! Keep writing…you can become lyonpo in future.”
Back in my village, those days, our parents couldn’t wish more than their children becoming a civil servant, a minister too. Typical of my village though. My father’s wish was no exception. But deep inside me, I wanted to become a different person in life. I always wanted to live a humble life - reading lots of books and honing the skills of writing. Nothing more.
However, the year 2008 was the biggest crossroad of my life. My passion for writing even impeded in the job that I wanted to take up. In one hand, I wanted to join a good and secure job (civil service). On the other hand, I’ve this passion to protect and hone. I was – in a word – confused.
It’s absolutely for this passion that I joined a newspaper as a journalist. It did serve my passion, I was happy. Coz I was writing. And more importantly, writing for my living. But after a little over a year later, I quit the newspaper and decided to join the civil service. I don’t know why I did that. Sometimes, everything is just not fair. Isn’t it?
I regretted and grieved a lot over this decision. At that moment, at least. Because I thought it’d be the end of the thing I loved most – my passion for writing. And then, for better or worse (of course, it is for the better) I joined the civil service. This new job only asked me to do official write-ups, correspondence and implementing programs and projects. No creative writing. I was sad.
Two months into the civil service, July 2010, this blog was born. There are scores of people to thank for this. My friends. My colleagues. And a handful of Bhutanese bloggers. For their support, inspiration. Of course this blog lifted back my spirits immensely.
It’s been almost three years that I’ve been blogging; also working as a civil servant. Now I learned that anywhere I can practise this healthy act of writing – be it in the journalism, civil service, my village, school, college. Even as a kid, as a lover, as an adult, as a loner, as a humble person, as a novice thinker.
Today, at 29, I’m just a naïve writer still learning how to write. I’m still learning how to put everything into words. And I take out my camera out there, anywhere, and take pictures. Because at times my digital lens tell the stories better than my words. I feel what I’m doing is right for me. This is what I wanted in my life – a humble life and pursuing my passion of writing.