Blogging to combat resignation: reflecting on my first month on Bear
I had no idea how much sanctuary I would find in joining Bear after an almost two-year-long break from writing consistently.
As I sort of hinted in my first blog post and is evident in many of my writings, I struggle with identity issues. This inspires me to get my thoughts out there, to describe them in a way that maybe still doesn't make sense to a lot of people but can maybe give a glimpse into what it's like if I can articulate myself well enough.
I also neglected to mention vulnerability, something that I simultaneously respect and lack. I adore all my favorite artists and their work particularly because they are vulnerable. For various reasons that's hard for me to replicate when interacting with those close to me. About 1.5 years ago, I started working with a competent therapist who specializes in my issues, but I still don't think I am very transparent with them.
So, writing is an exercise in vulnerability for me. Truly, it's much easier for me to practice this from behind a screen, far removed from anyone who interacts with me in real life. And without having to hear myself.
For the past several months I've been plagued with resignation. For one, I've been stuck in a graduate program for over five years. It's hard to not feel like you're suffocating at that point. Though there is a light at the end of that tunnel, it can't help but amplify my resignation with other things.
In less than one month it will be three years since the war between Ukraine and Russia broke out. It was hard to perceive that as anything other than the world somehow being against me, since I had been working hard since early 2020 to renew my Russian passport and learn my birth language. I had longed for that since my childhood. I know this is sort of a selfish take given the number of people out there who are actually suffering, but I digress.
My political views aside, for whatever reason I have clung to some morsel of hope that someday things will become how they were before, even if the West and Russia never befriend each other.
But recently I started losing that trace of everything-is-terrible-but-will-have-to-improve-someday kind of optimism. I started questioning whether it was even worth continuing to improve my Russian despite how far I have come. I don't think I can stop, but this now lingers in the back of my mind nevertheless.
Do you ever try to imagine a worst-case scenario but have to stop yourself because it becomes too much to handle? It has been like that for me this whole month.
I've been trying to picture myself in a decade, thirty-something and still not having yet visited the place that was once native to me or met any of my biological relatives. Could I fathom never knowing myself? I know I have to try to convince myself to be okay with that. I simply cannot. Though it is certainly not impossible to visit Russia right now, I am not super keen on doing so anytime soon.
Anyway, all this is to say that returning to blogging has been a breath of fresh air for me and is helping combat this resignation. I'm not depressed, but I knew I needed something refreshing in my life. Now I can confidently say that joining Blog has made this month less heavy than it usually is.
I've loved living vicariously through others here and admiring everyone's art, be it just writing or other media as well. It helps me to see others be vulnerable through text, but I also enjoy the smaller (but not necessarily less important) anecdotes about life because they also show me that there are a lot of other things I can write about too. Plus I get to learn about different hobbies and places or become acquainted with new viewpoints.
I'm also taken aback by the interactions. While I joined Bear with some hope that a blogging community would motivate me to write more, I did not expect to connect so quickly with others. I wanted to highlight just two of many pleasant exchanges:
I'm still astonished that I was the subject of such a compassionate note from Jason. I truly do not know how to respond properly to this, so I will just say that I almost cried when I first read it.
This week I also received a poem by email from a reader, introducing me to a famous Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, whom I wish I had known sooner because now I can't stop rereading "The Dice Player." It's so fitting. I am going to dive into more of Darwish's work in February. Thank you!
The ending of the poem deserves to be the conclusion of this post. But before that, I want to reiterate that I am committing to blogging as some sort of anchor in the sea of uncertainties in 2025 (and probably beyond).
Who am I to say to you
what I’m saying?
It would have been possible not to be who I am
It would have been possible not to be here …
it would have been possible
if the plane had crashed that morning with me on board
Luckily I’m a late riser
and missed the flight
It would have been possible never to have visited Cairo
Damascus the Louvre and other magical cities
If I’d been walking slower
the rifle shot might have cut my shadow off from
the watchful cypress
If I’d been walking faster
I might have been shattered to pieces by shrapnel
and become a passing thought
It’s possible if I’d dreamed more excessively
I might have lost my memory
Luckily I sleep alone