THROWBACK: WRITER'S BLOCK
Often, I would start my journal by saying I don't know what to say and would actually end up writing down quite a few things. I always needed a jump starter, may it be someone or something that would take off my writing appetite and that would pave the way for my own competing train of thought. There are days that I get lost to what I have to say and discuss, something that has become the nature to most of my literary. Lost...that's me. I have always been more than willing to beget creative writing, a masterpiece, or a composition of something I can call my own. I have always believe that writing, indeed, is for me. For all the privileges of being called a writer, no matter how trying hard it may get.
"I am repulsive to the idea of time, I am disgusted of time. This is maybe why I would unconsciously avoid it and caught myself chasing for it afterward."
Today, is another day at work. I am on commute and chose to be at my usual spot beside the shuttle window. The sun is up from almost two days of hiding behind the dark clouds and overflowing rains. Through the glass window, I see cars, trucks, bikes, houses, and people. I also listen to podcast preaching. At the right angle, I can also see the blue heavens and the thick foamy clouds, thinking of an escape to what I have started. Pity how I really have such a distorted focus, I know not what to do. I got lost again. I always find myself groping for the main point of my story, of my life. I wonder how I have always allowed things to interrupt me from what I have to do, from what is expected of me to do. The struggle is real. I am repulsive to the idea of time, I am disgusted of time. This is maybe why I would unconsciously avoid it and caught myself chasing for it afterward. That's the power of time. It's unbreakable, unattainable, and for me is forcibly unforgiving. It is very unfortunate how time, and everything around it, is blocking me to pen my thoughts. It is undeniably unreasonable that time as my adversary is concealed to the very place of my cerebral nest.
Thursday: completely can't think of a word to say. My usual idea crisis. I needed to back off for a moment.
"..with faith I know I would be able to put a period to it..."
Then it's Friday, I'm traveling home from the office and was thrilled to see the town getting all dressed up for the Christmas season. While listening to some worship songs, I'm scribbling the things I long for my heart to feel. I want change. I want to start anew. I want an end and a new beginning. But I am trapped in a world where and when life goes on and on. I am in a place where time, direction, and destination are use as basis of progress. I yearn to escape it but I just don't have the ability. I know I am but a speck of something in the face of the world but it feels so heavy as if everything is gravitating over me. Feeling like I am at the centre of it all. How can I possibly end this essay? How I can I reconnect the words to its original thought? Pity I for having this writer's block, for having a mind that usually got stuck. Poor I for wanting to finish this writing, and yet is taking layers of bushes to beat, but with faith I know I would be able to put a period to it or else just like a writer's block it's not yet finish.