I wrote the below as an introduction to a print version of my friend Vyasa’s blog THE BIBLIOTECA OF A TEENAGE BISON, I highly recommend you read it after reading this. The link is below.
One night during our senior year of college, my roommate Vyasa ordered Domino’s pizza for carryout. Through some set of negotiations, I was tasked with picking up the pizza in my stallion of a 2002 Acura (cassette player included.) When I entered the surprisingly yellow interior of the Dominos on N. Walnut St, I could see our pizzas waiting. When I let the cashier know this was a pickup for “Vyasa”, he gave me a certain look. It was less skepticism, and more the look of someone blindsided by curiosity.
“Where’s that name from?”
Now I was the one blindsided. Explaining that this was my roommate’s name and not mine seemed like the disappointing option here. It would feel like telling a child that Santa doesn’t exist, or that the Disney World characters are actors.
“It’s South African, actually.” Not my best lie, but the Dominoes cashier was satiated.
“That’s awesome.” He emphasized while he handed me the pizzas.
This moment of pretending I was an African man is likely the closest I’ll ever come to being African, and to being Vyasa. As you’ll well see, that is no small feat. What follows here are blog entries Vyasa Babu posted to his blog THE BIBLIOTECA OF A TEENAGE BISON between April 2014 and May 2023 when he was between the ages of 16-25.
Fundamentally, it’s easy to be embarrassed about our past creations. This is most true of our teenage endeavors. The writing here will not be nominated for a Pulitzer. It’s the writing of a teenager, and it reads that way. People often critique teenage writing as ‘dramatic’, neglecting to realize that the feelings behind that writing are in line with the language being used. When something bad happens to you as a teenager, It is the worst thing you can remember. It feels like everything is falling apart, and just because the perspective of age has sandblasted our expectations does not mean the dramatic words of our youth are not valid or true.
In the great words of Rick Rubin:
“Sharing art is the price of making it. Exposing your vulnerability is the fee. Out of this experience comes regeneration, finding freshness within yourself for the next project. And all the ones to follow. Every artist creates a dynamic history. A living museum of finished objects. One work after another. Begun, completed, released. Begun, completed, released. Over and over again. Each a time stamp commemorating a moment of passage. A moment filled with energy, now forever embodied in a work of art.”
That is what you will find here. You’ll see the writing change as Vyasa matures, the text will become more verbose, the entries will become longer and then shorter again, the titles will change format, and the entries will change in theme. It’s a constant winding experiment of writing that mirrors the mandatory experimentation of transitioning into adulthood. It’s the blog that attracted me to the idea of putting pen to paper, although as opposed to myself, Vyasa is much more transparent about his own feelings. Rather than trying to perform an experience, he is writing a cross section of life for himself and then sharing. In capturing his experience — and the feelings of many others enduring the same transition — it’s perfect despite its teenage imperfections. It’s a clear window into a tumultuous time.
It is rare, and it is a revealing treat to read. I hope it brings the value to you that it did to me so many years ago. Also, it’s worth noting – Bison live to be between 10 and 20 years old. A teenage Bison is an adult bison.
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