In this article, I would like to be quite plain and honest. I am not a famous artist or a highly earning one but I do write like a madman. I have published many books and I’m only 19 years old. To me, some of them are disturbing to the point I can’t ever bring myself to read them again. As I said, I write like a madman, not just because of the quantity I write but because of the threatening quality of concepts that I choose to write on. I wouldn’t be surprised if years later, sometime if I’m recognized, people start calling me a devil’s pawn, a consumed writer desperate for nothing but her fulfillment through words. When I write, I am not myself. I am a pawn of the words that simply let go from my soul.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a mad person. I am as sane as any youth can be and I am a practical person. But my curse is that I cannot put a mask for too long, and eventually I must run to my own den to reveal myself. In reality, within crowds, this curse is most visible to me. I am a practical person and I can always get out of my fantasy worlds to focus on the issues at hand but still, I am not a religious person nor a political one. I am more concerned with human nature. In politics, in religion, in ambition, in knowledge, I do not believe that humans commit acts simply because it is in their profession, or because it is a part of their culture but rather because they are humans and humans typically adapt to high power roles with an extreme tendency of inflicting harm upon themselves and others.

This is a tendency no human can escape.

Now, expanding on the title of this article; As a writer, I cannot help writing the madness in my head that cannot be tamed. Writing is the only peaceful way to let it out. The impact it has can be perceived differently , but overall, its purpose is two-fold; to help me find sense in my insanity and for others to confront their potential demons that they can understand through applying the logic of metaphors in trying to understand my poems. It might be a unique situation that I write but the moral in their story and mine is the same: it’s a reveal to some deep part of their embedded natures and as the quote by Matt Kahn goes “people can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.” My writing is frankly not for someone who’s blissful in the ignorance of the extreme capabilities of their souls.

However, there is a danger to pursuing this kind of writing because then, the technical writing is draining, yet at the same time, is important for paying the bills. Now I believe, I do need to keep money and my literature separate. If I am writing for an audience, I am not writing for myself and this sort of writing will always be ‘technical’ in nature and not exactly soulful.

My 11 books are intense and progressive, sometimes unjustified and full of unfiltered rage. Writing, since COVID began, has been a way for me to breathe despite the chaos that bred in my surroundings. Now everything about writing seems broken to me. When I permanently shifted to Canada from India, I got into some bad addictions and I’ve been walking on the thin line between hurting myself and taking care of myself for so long that sometimes these two responsibilities seem like they are connected, as if one is not possible without the other.

Sparked was about the grief, about the crack of a breaking heart and the coping mechanisms and patterns that it birthed within me. All my Mind and A Fairytale in the Dark talked about love and the price that it slowly drained out of you. The Girl you Left in My Arms and Reina: the beginning of war were about the endless rage and thirst for revenge that came when you realised that those you loved had killed the little girl within you and created a demon instead.

Silly Little Lover Silly Little Demon, The Unraveling, Fall’s Decay, Psychos & Poets, Bitter Coffees without the taste of your love are all madnesses of my mind put out on paper, the contrasts, the fears, the rage, the longing, the desires, the sorrow, the sickness. The Writer’s Mansion of Words is simply the numbness. The Devil’s Underground, I hope, will be the tragedy that ends this desperate progression.

So, this is the danger of writing. At least my writings, since I am only 19 and yet I write of concepts that are out of my reach. This doesn’t exactly appeal to an audience. So, it is never faith in my writing that I lose, but faith in my mind, faith in my ability to ever relate with the world. There is a danger in pursuing these unknown waters because often no one is willing to provide help for navigating the path through it. But well, I suppose this is the sacrifice for one’s thirst of knowledge and there is pride in travelling here all alone.