It was damn easy to write about myself when I was younger. The first time I got on tinder and wrote a bio, there wasn’t enough space. I had a lot to say about myself to strangers & potential romantic interest/s. And I’ve reused those till Tinder got sad, full of horny or creepy people and ads competing with bots. This isn’t about Tinder, it’s about writing about myself. It was easy and I’m not sure when it got difficult but now I can’t do it anymore. My Instagram & Twitter bios are blank spaces (like Taylor Swift song, screaming for help) and since Hinge doesn’t need a bio, the online dating game is on.
I couldn’t offer a decent bio for work and it sounds very pretentious now and I’m okay with it. “A Freelancer who drinks too much coffee.” It’s accompanied by a picture in some places, a hot-ish picture making me seem a little vain when I’m actually vainer than that. So all in all, not too bad. But after a woman on Twitter blocked me for liking her tweets, I was just surprised. Taken back. I didn’t text/troll her. So it was depressing but I guess that’s what happens when you have a fragile male ego.
Anyway, I am yet to make a full discovery at why this struggle with writing a bio. There’s a lot of itch that it could be part of the great identity crisis that comes as a part of the quarter-life crisis which in my case is accompanied with marginalisation (cos Dalit). Not fitting into a lot of boxes they know, plus I’m queer so like, fuck. A good amalgamation of identities to give me enough shock & men (sometimes Sanghi (soft/hard) & sometimes Marxist) or Tam-Brham women tell me I should handle these oppressions & not call them that. So, fuck you. It is a pin and someday, I’ll say it to the next person who spouts BS at me, for now, I’ll say it here.