Confession; I have written Bad Reviews

I found my older self wrapped in my own words encircled between the whitespace, dots, and punctuations. I began Introspecting. Questions followed one after the other. What was I thinking?

Looking back to my posts, I came across some of my older writing pieces. Some rambling thoughts on books I like. Not bad I would say, but definitely my present self would have thought millions of times before putting up with them.

My past self had her way of writing book reviews. I feel she was more concerned about the post rather than the book. For she was a newbie, still struggling to find a niche in this already packed space. What choice did she have?

What seems pretentious now felt embellished to her back then. Flashy words, they lure you in the trap. The constant urge of posting. It hampers your thinking capabilities. Any number of likes and comments are simply not enough. The anxiety uproots your confidence and throws you in a pit. 

Not that she didn’t make enough effort into writing. Her direction became haywire. She made the wrong choices. But, I think she should have been more about her likes than what others would like to read. I think the past me wanted to garner attention just by plain alphabets devoid of emotions.


Those words feel so disconnected today. No sense of comfort by reading them. The reviews were bland and unappealing. What went wrong? She couldn’t deal with the social media constantly gazing at her, pushing her to pretend someone she clearly wasn’t. We all have at some point.

She gave into the hype. She gave up. We all have at some point.

I don’t resemble her anymore. I have come a long way. A lot has changed since then. A lot has changed within me. Did it make me a better writer? I can’t say that with certainty but it did make me a better reader.

I proudly wear those bad reviews as armour because they made me a better version. They have been a constant reminder of the consequences I would face if I start losing myself again into the ocean of social media. It took me a year to accept my imperfections and transcend them.

Today I read before I begin to write. I feel about what I write and write about I feel. With no rush in hitting the Publish button, I edit, edit and edit. I draft my pieces and read them a million times over. I don’t care about the hype anymore. I have stopped worrying about the consequences. 

I am Myself again. 

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