When I was in school, there was this usual tradition of writing and filling in slam books. Slam books were usually these pretty, printed books which had questions like, Name, nick name, favourite colour, yada yada yada, and you could give it to your best friend or crush or someone you don’t really know well, as a symbol of keeping in touch, or rather trying to, with those people. Sometimes, we grew up a little and thought of new things, like having a plain notebook and giving it to people and doing the opposite of what we did in those printed books. The people wrote about the person whose notebook it was and their relationship with the person. It was so much fun. I loved writing in every book and especially my close friend’s Amulya’s. I wrote on the top:
I wrote it in every book and all the time and even in the second time I wrote in Amulya’s book. I loved decorating it, drawing it and using every small stationery and art supplies that I had with me: glitter pens, colour pens, colour pencils, drawing some really lame stuff, quoting the backstreet boys, telling romantic quotes in a pure, innocent meaning. I loved every bit of it. I love reading it in my book, and I remember vague memories, of writing them, of the memories mentioned actually happening. I love it when I am reading through it and tears spring in my eyes, tears of lost memories, lost people, lost childhood and false promises of staying in touch and being there and getting summoned. And of course, the old, hardly existing phone numbers and the hardly-ever-used email ids.
But now, I don’t think anyone ever does that. I am not saying that I’m from the age where technology was unavailable, but I was in that lucky age group where I never took technology for granted. We wrote on paper; I wrote my first book on paper, and we did things like “FLAMES” and other such silly high school girly stuff where we were all just silly and happy to be silly. I miss those times.
So, I really wonder why, being such a believer of the written word, didn’t continue this in degree. I always kept wondering if I should give out my green magnetic spiral bound notebook to the people I want to, but something held me back. I guess I thought that people wouldn’t write anything different. Nobody would write it if they hated me. The would say the same things in different words. I am not disrespecting them, I am just… bored, I guess. And things don’t bore me that easily.
Also if I were to give the notebook, I would have to give to a LOT of people. So, instead, I wrote them letters. Which, honestly, made me so happy. Happier than if they’d written all those kind words about me.
I came about writing this post as to why I kept my blog name the name it is. And also why I don’t plan on changing it. Even if I did, it would remain something along the lines of my name only. I can’t think of anything more suitable.
And yes, I know I am a little full of myself. Can’t help it. That’s the only confidence I have.