A Mere 2,000 Readers a Month

 This is in response to Friday Writings #232: A Few of Her Favorite Things

I have put myself on a path to realizing a long-held dream: writing a book on a topic close to my heart—designing a hotel from everyone's perspective. To keep myself motivated, I have been sharing the journey as a book-in-progress on my other blog, A Slice of Art and Design.

Like most dreams worth pursuing, this one is not happening easily. I am fighting tooth and nail to make it happen.

Perhaps because I am immersed in the subject, I have started believing that everyone—including you—is secretly curious about how a hotel is designed and is a potential reader of my book.

As the manuscript slowly blooms, a different emotion has begun to surface—anxiety.

Not many people seem to be reading my work.

On some days, I become sad and grumpy. A mere 2,000 readers visit the blog each month. I find myself wondering whether the effort is worth it. Who am I writing for? Does anybody really care?

Then, on better days, I look at the same number differently.

Two thousand people.

I am incredibly fortunate that two thousand individuals choose to spend a few minutes reading something that originated as a thought in my mind.

Before the internet, those thoughts would probably have remained trapped in a diary. After I departed this planet, the diary itself might have been discarded by someone clearing a shelf-I hammer this idea into my own head.

Instead, those thoughts now travel farther than I ever imagined. Some may be forgotten. A few may be remembered. One or two might even inspire someone.

And perhaps that is reason enough to continue.

The book will arrive when it is ready. Until then, I will keep writing, keep sharing, and keep believing that everyone in this world is a little curious about hotel design.

If you happen to be one of them, I would be grateful if you became the bee on the bud of this book, carrying its link from flower to flower and helping it bloom.

The 54th Post — Closing the Daily Chapter

 

I have been on a writing marathon for the past seven weeks — and today, on 30 November 2025, I’m closing this chapter with the 54th post of my series. It has been a ritual: sometimes demanding, often unexpected, but always real fun.

Over the previous 53 posts, I wrote about many things — curiosity, doubts, discoveries, ideas. I experimented with different styles: sometimes essay-like, sometimes personal, sometimes informative, sometimes conversational, and once I even tried a poem. I wandered between memories and questions, theories and observations, hopes and uncertainties, including a few thoughts on AI.

What I wrote:

Moments of wondering — small questions I had about life, culture, and the things I see and feel around me.

Thoughts on learning, on change, on growing.

Pieces of honesty — moments where I tried to share what I truly thought rather than what I “should” think.

A mix of genres — essays, musings, and snapshots of ideas. I pushed myself not to follow a fixed formula but to trust where my pen (or keyboard) led.

Once I shared an old Tagore song my daughter used to sing as a child, and once I tried my hands at a poem.

Some days the words came easily, like they had been waiting for me. On other days, I had to sit quietly and coax them out one by one.

What I learned — and how I changed:

The first lesson for me is that writing consistently taught me how to think more clearly. Even when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, the act of writing teased out hidden thoughts — ideas that were living inside me without my awareness.

I learned that motivation does not need external stimuli — I wrote whether or not anyone was reading, reacting, or appreciating the effort.

A big lesson was that you don’t need to write anything negative, hateful, or hurtful to keep going — even though social media often allows exactly that to thrive.

I also learned that discipline beats inspiration. Not every day was inspiring; some days I wrote simply because I promised myself I would. And often those pieces surprised me — with clarity, with emotion, with something I didn’t expect at the start.

And along the way, I connected with many like-minded bloggers — people I would never have met otherwise — you being one of them.

What this marathon means — and what are the take aways:

This series was a commitment: a way to prove to myself that I could keep going. A way to give shape to my inner questions, to trust my own voice, and to build a habit of creation and exploration.

If you read even one post and felt a spark — a thought, a question, a moment of recognition — then this marathon was worth it. And if you’re reading this now and thinking, “Maybe I could try that too,” then take this as a quiet invitation: start. Write something. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It may feel confusing. It may matter only to you. But keep going.

To you, dear reader — known or unknown — thank you for being here. I'm not going away; I’m simply closing this daily ritual. Keep thinking, keep questioning, keep writing your own story.

— End of the daily series, not the writing.