I skipped posting January’s non-fiction post that I had scheduled on my blog. To be honest, I tricked my mind by procrastinating long enough so I could create the excuse of being “too late” and then avoid writing it entirely. Now here I am reflecting on that mental process.
I love the writing process when it is creative, experimental, journalistic and fictitious because that is something I have had practice with. Since the age of ten, I have written in those formats. I have many poems and essays in my diaries, a few awards and commendations for the same. But it’s different with non-fiction writing, especially when it has to be factual or informative, especially evidence-based. I know I can write it, but the hesitation is psychological. My mind subconsciously loves to escape into fantasy/fiction. Fact means I have to look at reality and reality does not appeal to me — as a woman or an underrepresented minority or both I suppose. This block also becomes an obstacle in my practice. I procrastinate and delay non-fiction writing, and yet all my creative posts are on time and sometimes even early. I can write them with my eyes closed.
So this time, I am sitting down to introspect. And yes, I have escaped the January non-fiction post scheduled on my content calendar. But in order to make any progress, I believe this self-diagnosis is necessary. There are multiple reasons that come to mind for why I may be avoiding this non-fiction writing endeavour. However, I will only focus on the ones that come to my mind immediately on first thought.
First, my identity overwhelms me.
I am a woman from an underrepresented marginalised group. Being real and factual and dealing with data requires that I deal with reality. And the reality for women, especially those in the margins, is not a pretty one. I have to fight the urge to escape from it. I use creative writing and poetry to mask my opinions of reality, to dissipate my anger and disappointment. But the fact that I am now sitting down to introspect means that I feel ready to deal with reality directly. I do not wish to escape it or bypass it or avoid it any longer. Earlier I would hyper focus on work or keep myself occupied with other tasks or procrastinate, not because I was ignorant but because I did not want anything to do with it. Now, I finally feel like my mind is getting out of the last remnants of that slumber into which women very often fall by themselves or get pushed into by others— getting sung to sleep in the name of survival or protection. I have decided to wake up and become fully conscious of this reality.
Second, I have become insecure about my non-fiction writing.
Concerning my research writing to be more precise, I felt a wound develop while doing my MPhil in the UK. In theory, I am aware that native and non-native speakers of English follow a different standard. In fact, I have done sufficient comparative research on the English curriculum standards followed by major native English speaking and non-native English speaking countries during my professional years in the Edtech industry. I know there is at least a gap of two whole levels throughout the formal education timeline starting from kindergarten to college/university, if we compare the prescribed Indian syllabus of any board from a language perspective. That’s the textual analysis by the way, the on ground reality is far worse.
Based on these facts, having extensively researched and applied them in my work, I would think I’d be prepared for higher education in a native English speaking country. Also considering my IELTS scores to be an 8 on the scale, while simutaneously knowing that language assessment indicators can be insufficient in making linguistic judgments, I still was hopeful that I’d catch up. I did not take into account that the transition did not only include linguistic standards, but many other factors that would make me question my identity and therefore my existence. I did not account for the fact that I would not have enough time to work on my language skills while choosing to prioritise saving my resilience. Saving my linguistic interests suddenly took a backseat in order to preserve my academic interests at heart— my non-fiction, research writing interests took the collateral damage. I’m glad my research interests have survived, because it’s easier to treat my linguistic wounds between the two. In retrospect, I may even be judging my experience quite harshly for all I know— magnifying the hurt I probably felt due to the lack of redressal or inefficiency of the system in meeting the needs of a diverse English speaking student body.
And third, I am confused.
I have been unable to think clearly because I believe I am still processing the first and the second factors in new light. I cannot decide what I must write about. I only have questions — about my identity, whether social or linguistic. More questions about linguistic differences and systemic prejudices in education at the local and global levels. And a much larger question— who do I go to for guidance or where do I find answers to my questions which seem to be intertwined and enmshed deeply, thanks to their interdisciplinary nature. I am grateful about that at least— that I am sure of my interdisciplinary approach and research intent— that the confusion only lies in not knowing how or where to proceed next, and not with who I am or what I am doing.
Now that I have admitted to my fears, I suddenly see how my liberation is also closely connected to these themes. When I say I am ready to deal with reality directly, it means I am ready to own who I am and voice my insecurities to seek justice for myself. It is only when I stand up for myself and face my fears that I may begin to make any real difference. Even if I do not have the answers, the inquiry is what is more important to me. I am curious about my identity, the social injustices in education faced by marginalised groups especially, the power of being fluent in the English language and using it as a tool for linguistic accessibility, equality, diversity and inclusion.
Maybe it is my love for the people who resonate with my beliefs, who play chess with different ideologies, or the love of a diverse population living in local communities that makes research very personal for me.
It became really important to write this down and post it as compensation for skipping my January non-fiction posts. At least, provide a substitute for it with an autobiographical or introspective post until I get some of my confidence and decisiveness back and write a non-fiction piece. More than the adrenaline and dopamine rush that I am getting out of this task, it is the showing up that matters to me. I may have failed in the initial task that I set out for myself— and not having lived up to my own expectations— somehow, I still feel good that I did not run away from myself and hide from my own eyes. If I am being honest, I feel a certain satisfaction even as I acknowledge my failure and honour it with my time and reflection. To end on a personal note, I think I have just managed to switch my failure into an achievement.
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