020: twenty

call me crazy, but is this really my twentieth post here?

twenty posts. twenty Fridays. twenty times i have showed up. twenty times i allowed myself dance to the rhythm playing in my head. twenty. twenty sounds a lot like plenty. maybe it’s to say that this is no small feat.

today, i am choosing to slow down time a bit. to lie on my bed a bit longer. to breathe quietly. to allow the cool of the weather around me to soak up my mind. i am choosing to be here in this moment — for it was in a moment like this that i decided to begin a Substack newsletter.

it was when i heard the loud inner screeching begging for peace and freedom. there have been few times when i have seen writing as an aid to the hurdles i have faced. today, everything around me demands my attention. but the cry of the draft page is the loudest.

recently, i have been falling in love with writing all over again. in this world where nothing really lasts and people change, this art makes you feel like you can keep an ounce of permanence in your back pocket. loving the art doesn’t mean that i have been writing or reading more, it’s a simple realisation that many things are fickle, many things are easily forgotten and many things do not matter.

i have been more drawn more, because on these pages, i learn to slow down. i learn to catch my breath — to wait on the most apt array of words laden with the grave task of conveying the deepest weight of the very thought i want you to feel. everything about the world is fast. we move like we are being pursued. we are the wicked, we are running. really, no one is chasing after us.

so, i am grateful for twenty. this is twenty times i have committed myself to digging into my own heart, to discovering intents, to choosing to be alive. when i first began, i was on a quest to find freedom. i believe i am doing more than writing the world on Substack, i believe i am learning to be free.

this singular art is my flight from this world. it is my reminder that a man can be whole again, that he can think holy thoughts, that he can ascend far above heights unimaginable. this, this is my little quota to the few who read: many things do not last, many things fade. who can hold the wind?

at twenty, my growth looks me in the eye. it tells me well done. i joined Substack because i wanted a place where my thoughts could be allowed to grow pure, unfiltered and uncultured. before then, i had begun weaving Artificial Intelligence slowly into my work. i was falling for the pressure of wanting to sound better, smoother and put together. but, no. i am not smooth and put together. i am as rough as my thoughts, as unreliable as my heart and as unpredictable as my actions. Artificial Intelligence was selling a lie, and i was purchasing it with dividends of my originality.

i took it further. i thrashed all the capital letters (reserved a few for emphasis's sake, though), because i have this weird belief that you can be free from anything — even grammar. hehe.

writing on Substack has been my reminder that i am enough. our thoughts may be rough, but this is what makes us Creatives — for we are not all rough on the same sides. writing on Substack has taught me to question my motives over and over again. it has taught me to write even if when the views are low. it has taught me not to chase engagements, but consistency, not for an award or bragging rights, but for clarity’s sake. i long for the whole picture, i yearn to see clearly. i want to live fully, and i am writing my way into it.

source: Pinterest

clarity sits at the end of the tunnel, but we get there by consistency.

at 01, a lot of people hopped on the train. we all love shiny new things. at 010, i wrote about “nothing”, because i genuinely had nothing to write about that day but i had to make a post regardless. at 020, i am humbled to know that anyone who reads my Substack reads for reasons beyond me. you read because even if my writing is no longer shiny and new, it somehow reminds you of yourself. i see how life isn’t always painted with bright colours or fresh flames. so is my writing — even i know that.

so, i have decided to keep going till 030, 050 and maybe 0100, if i am able.

have you ever wondered why these posts are numbered? i have never really considered myself to be a storyteller (primarily because i don’t write fiction), but here on Substack, i am telling my story in parts. every friday, there’s a new chapter waiting to be added to this book of my becoming.

you may read, yet you may not see it. but, i see journey, i see the progress, i see growth. i see you the unrelenting desire to get it right, even after failing terribly. can you relate?

when next friday comes and 021 is delivered to your inbox, ask yourself this: “how am i really doing? how has the past week been? how am i better?” these are the questions i ask myself every time i have to write here.

this feels surreal. let’s keep going. let’s keep living. there’s a world to live, a world to write. thank you for ALWAYS reading. this story wouldn’t be complete without you.

till next friday, my friend. live.

with all the love and strength to write the world,

benny.