An Ode to an Author

I’m writing this for myself.

I’ve been going through a lot lately. I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate. I keep making these scenarios in my head that will never come true. I keep thinking about stuff that I know I can’t do anything about. I keep believing that one day, everything will be fine when I know it won’t.

Sometimes, we know the truth, yet we cannot accept it.

My university life is never getting better. I’m going to be this lonely for three more years. And considering everything that has happened last year, I’m scared how I’m gonna survive three more years of this shit. I’m so tired already.

I can go hours without talking to anybody. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m thirsty until I get to speak to someone. And I feel like I’ve forgotten how to talk. I can only ask questions, never change topics or add anything meaningful to the conversation. It’s been so much time since I’ve cursed with the boys and laughed so happily.

I thought it doesn’t matter if I cannot fit in here. I know why people think shit about me. I know why I can’t simply get the confidence. I’m not that rich, that sophisticated, or that good-looking.

But, I simply can’t accept the truth. When I talk to somebody new, I still dream about things finally getting better. All I get, in the end, is false hope, though.

People have heard my side of the story. They know what the fuck is happening with me. Yet, they don’t care. They won’t text or call or check in. Only my highschool friends do that, and they’re so far away.

Everything is so hard. And it’s taken a toll on my productivity. I cannot study—my marks are down the drain. But I can’t care much about it now. With brutal honesty, writing is all I care about in my life right now. But it seems like as everything gets over my head, I’m losing my grip on that too.

I understand you, Dhruv. I fucking understand you. I know what you’re going through. I know shit hasn’t changed yet, and that’s why you’re reading this.

I’m writing this to remind you why you began writing. Because you’re seriously forgetting it.

Remember the first time you picked up the notebook with Spyral Diary written on its back. Remember what you’d decided when you opened your laptop that evening.

I’m gonna publish this. And become the best writer in the country.

Isn’t that what you decided upon? On twenty-fourth August, twenty-twenty. It’s gonna be five years since you saw that dream.

You were just a child, addicted to anime. You loved Tokyo Ghoul, and you saw the references in Spyral Diary. Attack on Titan, Parasyte, Monster, Your Lie in April, Anohana—you’d seen them all. They’re the anime that you can never re-watch again, because the memories you associate with them are just too nostalgic. Don’t forget them, Dhruv.

No, don’t cry. Not right now. We have a lot to talk about.

That’s when Myth was born, Dhruv. That’s when you began writing this story. As you’ve grown up, this story has grown with you. You’d finally felt confident enough in your writing that you began working on what you call your magnum opus. Togashi-sensei’s Hunter x Hunter, Isayama-sensei’s Attack on Titan, Ishida-sensei’s Tokyo Ghoul, Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Riordan’s Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief.

Dhruv Kumaar’s Myth.

The one story that was gonna take you to the top. The one story that you’d be known for. The one story that had been on the back of your mind for years.

The one story you’d decided you won’t write until you’re good enough. The one story that you’ve been preparing yourself for all these years.

That’s what Myth is to us, man. That’s what Myth is.

As you grew up, you gave up on the idea of ever getting an anime adaptation. You shifted your focus to just writing and publishing a great story. A story that nobody had ever written before.

We’re writing an epic here, man. Yeah, we’ve fucked up so much, but that’s fine. We can work on our mistakes. We can re-write. But what we cannot do is back down. What we cannot do is scrap this project.

The times are hard, yeah. You have a lot to think about. You have a lot that you should be scared about, and rightfully so. But… don’t forget Myth. Don’t forget what it means to you.

It’s been months since we’ve had any meaningful development in the project. Seems like life always finds a way to get in the way. It’s not right. Why us? Why the fuck are we stuck in this shit?

You regret every single second you breathe here. And yeah, if the breathing stops, your regret might stop too. But you cannot think this way. It’s not your fault, so why would you pay with your life?

And that’s okay. Even though it’s not our fault, it’s still something that needs fixing. So rather focus on how we can fix it than crying every night over what’s wrong.

You can try getting that attention all you want. Push yourself at the gym, punch those bricked walls, and bleed everywhere you want to. Red calluses and knuckles are invisible to others. Nobody here gives a single fuck. Not even the people you think would give one don’t. And you know it. You know how people have left you even after you opened up. You know how it goes with you. You know you’re just another misfit for them and you’ll always be that and nothing else.

Nobody is gonna ask you how you got those bruises. And even if they do, you don’t trust them enough to tell them you made them yourself.

This works. All of this bleeding and crying works for some time, even though it leaves you worse in the end. And that’s okay. But let’s focus on what works here, on your Google Docs, too. We’re done scolding ourselves and our fate.

Yeah, we’d spiral back into those thoughts again. And I don’t know what I’m talking about. But I have to keep talking. I have to keep typing. And that’s what you have to do too.

Keep writing. Don’t forget that fifteen-year-old Dhruv who first picked up his father’s laptop and soon made it his. Don’t forget the kid who fought so hard against his family, who went through all those taunts of you’re-not-getting-anywhere, who has been giving it his all, and who has stood up through thick-and-thin for years to keep writing.

Two hours every day. These two hours of the day are yours, Dhruv. For years, it has stayed like this. It has not changed and it never will.

You’re going through a lot of stuff. And I know that we can keep it aside and move on. I hate to say this, but you’re still optimistic.

You can’t lose that, man. Your mother got that optimism—it’s in your fucking blood to keep hoping for the good. Your heart is gonna break several times. But even though we fall, we can rise up again.

Do it for the kid, man. Do it for the kid who loves Tokyo Ghoul, who is still searching for those adrenaline-filled action with emotional depth. Do it for the kid whose whole life revolved around writing. Do it for the kid who gave it his all to be here.

He’s still alive inside you. You can never lose that child. Remember his smile. Remember his happiness. Remember his passion.

Just push yourself. Keep your head up straight. Think about the future, not about the past. You’ve forgotten to do that. But we can cultivate the habit again.

Think about being successful. Think about the life you’ve dreamed of—the one filled with love and care. The one where you’re not just the giver, but an acceptor too. Where you can open up and be the best version of yourself.

Yeah, that’s it. Fuck this university. Don’t think about it. The university has made you forget what writing means to you. It’s revolving around your life too much. Take the control back, man. It’s your life, and even though you live inside this university, your life is not this university.

You can do it.