On 25 February 2000, I wrote my first blog.
There was no strategy.
No SEO.
No audience metrics.
Just a simple PHP script called Blogger
and a young man with more thoughts than direction.
I didn’t know that one day
those thoughts would become 1,447 posts.
In 2009 alone, I wrote 349 times.
Almost one post a day.
As if silence itself was a risk.
I wrote about startups before I understood business.
I wrote about money before I had any.
I wrote about ambition before I knew its cost.
I wrote about trust before I experienced its fracture.
Still, I pressed publish.
Some posts were sharp.
Some were emotional.
Some were naïve.
Some were unnecessarily intense.
But they were honest.
Between 2008 and 2011, I wrote like someone in motion.
Not escaping life —
chasing it.
The blog became my thinking space.
My therapy.
My argument room.
My confession booth.
My rehearsal stage for dreams that hadn’t yet taken shape.
Across 1,447 posts, there were 433 comments.
Not viral.
Not explosive.
Just steady and quiet.
Which means most people read without speaking.
Or maybe they simply passed through.
Either way, I kept writing.
Then something shifted.
Life matured faster than my sentences.
Responsibilities layered themselves.
Experience sharpened me.
Trust became selective.
Energy became intentional.
The frequency dropped.
The tone changed.
From exposure to reflection.
From reaction to analysis.
From “Here’s what I feel”
to
“Here’s what I’ve learned.”
The writer did not disappear.
He evolved.
Somewhere between risk and responsibility,
between optimism and realism,
between dreaming and accounting —
a different Anand emerged.
Less impulsive.
More deliberate.
Less open.
More layered.
But here’s what I’ve realised:
Every version of me still exists inside those posts.
The young optimist.
The restless entrepreneur.
The bruised learner.
The structured planner.
The reflective father.
When I lost the first five years of writing during a platform migration,
I thought I had lost memory.
Now I understand —
The memory isn’t in the missing files.
It’s in the transformation.
From 2000 to 2026,
I did not build a blog.
I documented a becoming.
1,447 times I pressed publish.
Not for applause.
Not for algorithms.
But to leave evidence that I was thinking, trying, evolving.
And I am still here.
— S.Anand Nataraj
AnandNataraj 