Tag: writing

Personality Tests Are Crap

Because personalities change.

People change. And not because they want to. Oftentimes, we make choose things in life without an option to choose another option. We do what we need to do—whether we want to or not.

People change. And not because they want to. Oftentimes, we make choose things in life without an option to choose another option. We do what we need to do—whether we want to or not.

How then could a bunch of random questions determine who you are? How would you answer from the heart when you’re not even true to who you are on the inside?

I was born an introvert. Shy, imaginative, creative, and dreaming. And way off reality. If I had remained the same, a personality test would’ve revealed results much different from what it would do now.

Because I’m different now.

I’m not the same person I was five years ago. Or ten, for that matter. Because the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve met, and my experiences with the world have changed me in so many ways. I’m not as naive as I used to be. Or foolish, or unknowing. I don’t watch as much reality television as I used to. I don’t revere film starts , or Google the age of an attractive upcoming actor. I don’t read Archie comics huddled under my bed sheets at night, or gawk at boys with budding moustaches and men with unruly beards. I don’t judge people by their looks, and I no longer trust anyone blindly.

I’d like to think I’ve grown, matured, as a person. From the primary school innocence to the middle school hair flip, to the now-abundant face palm moments, I’ve evolved with the times.

No personality test would cover all of that and still make sense. Sure, it would’ve been accurate the first time. But only then. Sure, it would have told me I’m nice, trustworthy, friendly, kindly, and all other “ly” verbs I now cringe at. I would have been elated then. Disgusted now.

And maybe if I take another personality test now, the results would be less embarrassing. But that too would pass. When I get older, I hope to have changed. I hope to have become wiser and more sensible than I am now. And then, the test I take today would be absolute bollocks.

Perhaps it would be a fun memory.

Made to Order

made to order

The ideal one is neither a riff raff
nor the tied-up, suited honest freak
not the shaven, tall, dark, or handsome
and certainly not the short-haired one.

The ideal one feels home with bell bottoms,
weeded hippies and loose collared shirts
the expert guitarists and beard nurturers
and a healthy addiction to cigars and beers

The ideal one is a peace craving soul rebel
who picks a pick, a headband over a love band
a sneaker or seeker, but with sneakers still on
or boots or roller blades, as long as it’s his own
who’s moved away from dad, and disregards every fad
who’d join hands and nods head to every new joint
who knows governments are cheats, political creeps
fights for the oppressed supports the suppressed
like a medical man and the clinically depressed,

The ideal one is one who stands his ground,
who speaks his mind, and folds his arms
and when he smiles it comes from the heart,
and reaches all the way to the eyes.

I Wrote a Novel

Sometimes you can’t help but wonder. What would it be to be a published author? I’ve wondered that since I was 13, and now, I have a chance.

Inkitt.com is running a contest, and they call it Story Peak Novel Contest. I’m in. And so is my novel, Praveena.

I posted one chapter of it a day last November during the National Blog Posting Month. Whether you read it then or not, you can now.

And if you do like it, please consider reserving a copy. The best three novels that get 100 readers or more will have a chance to get published. It’s a small ray of hope I’m clinging to.

I’m counting on everyone of you reading this now to help me get there. I’d appreciate it a lot.

Read it here: My novel on Inkitt.

Again, if you think it’s good, please reserve a copy for yourself (and tell everyone you know to reserve their copy, too).

To Fall in Love

They warned me
love doesn’t last
dear god please
help me then
for I have failed
fallen into bed
with fierce love
charging through
surging passion
sucking the sleep
from dreary eyes
seeking past sockets
searching my soul
keeping me alive
with gushing thoughts
and a pulsing heart
but when day breaks
and eyes crack open
that flame’ll be gone
shame though’ll stay
my book’ll be strewn
and I’ll be screwed
’tis a burden, a curse
to have fallen in love
with words enthralling.