I wan’t to write, but I don’t know how… So I decided to write about it :P
Okay, frankly, I’m not being completely honest here- I used to until a couple of years back. I owned a blog where I had published full length poems, an instagram page to support it with short ones and had even maintained a dream journal — excerpts of which I used to transform into interrelating short stories hoping to stitch together a novel someday. As time went by I started college and caught some new habits along the way in exchange for some old ones. Some of them were beneficial (maybe I shall write a post on it someday if you seek to know more :P), but the rest were just me being caught up in the flashy glimpses of the excitement that newness brings along with it. Now that the newness had settled and along with it the realisation of that newness, my habits sought repair more than contemplation of the what-could-have-beens of yesterday, and for that, I thought, where better to start from what I already had back then! So I sat down, once again, to write, to experience the emotions through rhymes, to re-live dreams as I penned them and the excitement of, ironically, the what-could-have-beens, only this time of the present. I began. A blank canvas was waiting in front of me to be painted by the enthusiasm of fantasies crafted by my imagination. But turns out there was just that…enthusiasm and no words.
Was the me I was back then no more!? Was it just a phase? Had I deteriorated over time? Did the me-back-then that I speak about even exist? Well I did still posses a few articles and poems I had written back then. But the words… were they all just gone!? I wished that I was dreaming; something that I could then wake up from and write all about. But it wasn’t. Realisation hit and with the loss of words, enthusiasm followed suit. I felt lost. Like a drowning man out of breath I gasped for inspiration. I took to YouTube. I read blogs. Judged them even — if he/she could write, publish and have a fair share of viewers on such shallow writings, so could I! My desperation for acquiring motivation had reached such a low that it now sought hope from the meagre successes of people who made videos about them finding a hack for blogging by stitching together excerpts from different articles and labelling it original. No! This was a writing massacre. I rather not write than go down this path of utter desperation to revive something I used to be by force. That’s when I realised — it didn’t need revival! All it required was me.
A Happy Ending
The ideas, the thoughts, the imagination, despite the absence of words, it was all still there. So I decided to just go for it; to bury my ghost of yesterday and begin once again. It might turn out to be crude, unpolished, amateur, a failure even, but it would still be a start — fresh, original, me. And thus I re-opened my canvas today and started penning my thoughts down — the words you have been reading above and those that you are reading this instant. The words are always there and so are dreams. They don’t have to be dreamt to be woken up from and then written about; they can be dreamt when desired and can be written about when wished.