Shivam Sinha

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why hard work does not matter/don't try

I have always been an average student, well, that’s not entirely true, I was average throughout school but I was pretty below average in college. Being a veteran, I have some things to say which are entirely based on my personal experience with learning.

There is no correlation between the hours you put in studying for a test and the marks you get, there is none. I have scored more than others in some tests by just showing up(a very rare occurrence) and have also seen others score a ton by devoting a fraction of the time I did. The only explanation I have for this is, the time you put in never matters, what matters is the desire you have to study. A 30-minute study session where you want to actually study will always fetch you better marks than a 6-hour study session you forced on yourself.

The point I’m trying to get across here is that hard work does not matter, however weird that may sound. If you don’t want to, you never will. The question that now arises is, What if I never want to study? There’s a simple answer to this, force yourself to study. Just study enough, you will always know when it’s enough. When you don’t want to study, the hours do not matter, just get it done with, the result will be the same for a 6-hr study session or a 30-min study session. Just make sure you do enough.

Here’s a poem by Charles Bukowski that means more or less the same, although he was much more hardcore.

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

got judged

A guy in the mall judged me for wearing flip-flops. How shitty of a person do you have to be to do this? I AM SO FUCKING ANGRY.

That’s all I wanted to say. FUCK HIM.

stories to tell/music

I love listening to music a lot, in fact, it’s all I do somedays. It’s also helped me a lot in my life, once when I was all alone in college, with no friends and no one to talk to, the music got me through it and it also was the common thread that led me to meet some great people, who are now(very luckily) my best friends.

It’s really weird how easily you trust someone who listens to the same type of music as you do. It also gives you the best stories to tell. I remember climbing up to the hostel terrace by jumping on the window sills, we would reach the terrace and get high while Russia on Ice by Porcupine Tree would play in the background. Somedays I’d reach my room only to find someone listening to Slash shredding the Godfather theme. You’d ask someone to play a song and they would play Pink Floyd’s Julia Dream. I would put on Hozier’s Cherry Wine some evening and everyone would just sit around listening. I remember all of us drinking Whiskey out of saucers while Pink Floyd’s Shine on you crazy diamond mesmerised us. There were some days reserved for the Blues, I distinctly remember BB King’s The Thrill is Gone playing as everyone shares a cigarette. But the song that has a special place in my heart is Kurt Cobain’s version of LeadBelly’s Where did you sleep last night, me and my friend(both of us had gone through a bad breakup recently) would reminisce as Cobain would sing one of the most beautiful songs there is.

Those were the most beautiful days of my life.

Here’s a link to a playlist with all the songs I mentioned, I hope you listen to them with your friends.


A friend today told me about Emily Dickinson, she was a poet who dedicated much of her work to a person she loved, Susan Gilbert. This obsession fascinates me, as I have been also obsessed with many things, many times in my life.

Of all the obsessions, the most fierce I feel is the obsession one feels for a person. I have always had a dark, almost miserable view of life, however bright has the sun of happiness shone in my life, it has always been dimmed by the clouds of self-composed gloom. I have always longed to feel happiness, and have done all I could do to achieve it. This is where obsession stems from, the thought of finding something which will part the clouds of gloom. This makes a person see hope. Often, people attach this hope to another person, this hope gives one the courage nothing else does, and this courage is a playwright who writes great romance, but does tragedy even better.

This courage made Emily Dickinson write great poetry but also took her away from her own self. This is true for everyone that gets obsessed, you may do something truly marvellous, but that will always be accompanied by a tragedy that will always tower over your feat. Maybe, the clouds never go away, even when the sun stops shining.

rediscovering myself/thanks daksh

The last few days have been very hard on me, I was reminded of how fickle life is by everything I saw, it destroyed me. This sadness manifested itself in the worst ways possible, I did some bad stuff, I did not want to do anything with the old me.

I have never been the one who handles melancholy well. I have never handled it well, and when sadness struck me again, I began looking for things that have always picked me out of a rut. I could only find one, alcohol. It sickened me, to just think of what I have become, I thought, not again, I am not the guy I was, I can’t just drink to get rid of my problems, I have responsibilities now.

Not having an out that would have been drinking, I did stuff I don’t understand why, one of them being deleting this blog. I don’t know why I did any of it, and I have no explanation. I was surrounded by this feeling of being not enough, I was consumed by the thought that the people I love will never see me do anything worthwhile with my life. All I was doing was talking, I was not doing anything.

It got better, I feel much better, I talked to one of my friends and that conversation made me want to write here again. Thank you dost.

This post is more of a confession at this point, but I just needed to vent. Whatever the sadness did, it had one good effect, it made me want to know myself again.

I have now realised that making people happy would help me more than any drink could, and I’ll try my best to do this.