Looking back, to even just a year ago, a day like today would have come more often and with more imminent force. Now, when the days blend into each other and when there’s little else to hold onto then my own desperate self chants of an optimist’s verse, now I stop and think more. But even adjusting to a life that’s comfortable, bland and boring, rings far from what I had imagined for myself. There are only moments that allow an escape and they are only as kind as the seconds they hold. Too few. Too fast.
I wonder if it is just all that simple. Just as simple as sitting down and starting to write. Is that what a novel’s all about? Just a decision from a story teller to begin telling that story? Any story. His story or hers, theirs. Where do I keep going wrong? There will be days when the flood of emotions overwhelm me and leave me uncomfortable in my own skin. I yell a euphoric chant, slash my skin open and wail as I realise that life vividly is trying to use my talentless and semi blocked channels. There’s something awaking in me. Moving and shaping, asking for help to live. Seldom am I alert enough to realise what is happening. Writing is discipline for me. It is order not chaos. It is choice, not fate. It is painful not carefree. It is extra curricular, not a drug I need to live. It is a chore I must do. I must because if I don’t, I feel my existence a burden for society. There is already too much burden to carry, too heavy a load.
Once my body will be completely still, lifeless. My mind may stay intact and my eyes ready to tell my story. Then I will need every one of you to stand there next to me. Hold me together with love, encourage me with smiles and let go of me when I feel I’ve gone too far. I wonder which one of you will stay and which one of you will turn away. Who will read or dance, sing or talk, make me a lullaby? All my true colours will reflect on all your true intentions.
My life’s not crazy, just lonely. My ambitions are not forgotten, just have not been verbalised. My friends not absent, just distant. My love not gone, just captive by someone else. But at the end of a day like this, I feel like my soul’s been shaken by the kick to my stomach. It hurts and I yell. If you hear you could come help because I’ve found that everything works in your arms.
