1 year ago
For much of my life, I wanted to be other people; here was the central dilemma, the reason, I believe, for my creative stasis. I was always falling short of people’s expectations: my immigrant parents’, my Indian relatives’, my American peers’, above all my own. The writer in me wanted to edit myself. If only there was a little more this, a little less that, depending on the circumstances: then the asterisk that accompanied me would be removed. My upbringing, an amalgam of two hemispheres, was heterodox and complicated; I wanted it to be conventional and contained. I wanted to be anonymous and ordinary, to look like other people, to behave as others did. To anticipate an alternate future, having sprung from a different past. This had been the lure of acting—the comfort of erasing my identity and adopting another. How could I want to be a writer, to articulate what was within me, when I did not wish to be myself? Cite Arrow Jhumpa Lahiri
  1. cantbdragged reblogged this from youmightfindyourself
  2. tildemo reblogged this from mister-nobody
  3. wecouldbemaybeokay reblogged this from snappppppppppppppp
  4. trevonjamal reblogged this from chebmoha
  5. travieso reblogged this from mister-nobody
  6. chebmoha reblogged this from christiandinoor
  7. christiandinoor reblogged this from mister-nobody
  8. mister-nobody reblogged this from youmightfindyourself
  9. harlemblipster reblogged this from youmightfindyourself
  10. hat2dabak reblogged this from foxxxynegrodamus
  11. fromnycwitlove reblogged this from foxxxynegrodamus
  12. lilmangu reblogged this from foxxxynegrodamus
  13. cherishfaye reblogged this from foxxxynegrodamus
  14. whereisemma reblogged this from foxxxynegrodamus
  15. cabbagestaxxx reblogged this from foxxxynegrodamus