Master Prompter

The pen feels strange in my hand; I dismiss the feeling and tighten my grip on it. The words will come eventually to me, they always do.

Soldiers are afraid in the face of battle, and yet the put on a brave face, draw their swords and march on. I do the same; I press on and write nonsense for a while. Sometimes my brain refuses to cooperate and it’s all nonsense, true. There are times though, that nonsense turns into proper thoughts, and somehow these thoughts find their way onto the paper, and word after word after word they start to make sense, and my mind clears, and the noise finally dies down and it’s just me and the story.

And as I go deeper and deeper into it, and people and faces begin to form, my writing gets messier, almost incorrigible, because my hand cannot keep up with my brain, but who cares, I am finally writing again and that’s what matters: damping my frantic thoughts on a piece of paper, hoping that they still make sense the day after and that I will not lose my nerve and share them.

Because my head is full of clatter; so much unimportant stuff taking up space, leaving little room for the things that really matter. 

Do I even care if people are interested to look past the clatter? For when I write, I am the realest version of me, because I can "hide" myself in the stories. Everything I am and everything I am not is on my pages.

Every hope and dream, every fear and terror is on there, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much. I can be a romantic realist; I can be vulnerable and scared and brave, all at once; I can be naïve, yet wise in my naiveté; everything goes because the page is a very bold stage suited for shy people.

Authors have many voices, but still, they are only master prompters, reminding themselves the lines not yet uttered.

But who I am when I am not writing? When I am using only the voice that's mine and mine alone?

I am insecure and clumsy and awkward and humour is my safe space, and yet somehow I still manage to make sense.

A very long hiatus

 Hello world!

It's been over three years since I've written anything really; I mean, I've written shopping lists and formal work documents, but you get the point.

I have not written anything of substance in so long, that even attempting to write feels strange.

And I hate that it does, because all my life, I've been good with words.

Up until now, if I wanted to express my thoughts and feelings, I would write about them. 

If I was confused, I would still write about it, trying to work myself through the maze that's my thoughts; and it would have worked.

These last few years though, words keep failing me.

I have had many thoughts and many, many, MANY feelings, but I have yet to express them properly.

With my thoughts tangled, and my feelings a complete mess, I try hard to find balance, yet failing miserably.

I am still me, and yet, I sometimes feel like a stand-in in someone else's life.

When do I begin to feel like me again? 

That's does not even make proper sense; or maybe it does, I am not sure.

Had I not been so out of practice, my thoughts would have been far more articulate, but, it is what it is.

Still confused, we march forward.

Late night thoughts on endings

Long time no see, but I suppose that’s real life for you; it gets in the way and demands your attention.

Part of this thing has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time now, with me being worried whether it will read as too personal or not, but I’ve changed my mind. All my writing (and I feel that is the case for most people who write as well) comes from a very personal space. A thing has to mean something to me, if I am to write a public blog post or a story about it.

So, without further ado, let’s talk about endings. If you want the short version, I personally think they suck. But, the long version, well, it’s a bit more complicated.

2018 has been a year of endings; and I don’t mean just on personal level, I feel there were lots and lots of endings around me in general. Planned, unavoidable, unexpected, saw-it coming, they all sucked. 

[Edited to add: There are some things that make you sigh with relief once they end, but this post is not about those.]

Moving forward, endings have a sneaky nature; even the ones you saw coming, still catch you unaware, and you are left with huge gaping holes in your heart, trying to reset your entire life while wondering what the hell happened.

Last weekend, I stumbled upon a documentary about a woman who was involved in a project she loved for ten years; it took a lot of her time and work and then she had to step down due to a series of personal reasons. Having been involved in a project that ran for many years, I am well familiar with the “now what?” feeling you get once it’s finished, and how long it takes to get your life reorganized again (because, honestly, you suddenly have a huge amount of free time, and you have to figure what to do with it). I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like, stepping down from something she loved dearly.

Still though, life is like a book; in order to get to the next chapter, you have to turn the page. And in order for that book to make sense, you can’t skip chapters. Even the ones that end on a cliffhanger, they are part of the story. They might suck, but they need to be there, and, eventually, they make sense too.

And the nature of life is such, that an ending will be, sooner or later, followed by new “wow” moments; which is simultaneously both great and sad. Great because you are growing as a person and having new experiences, and sad because the thing that ended, was, at some point, a “wow” moment as well.

On a closing note though, you must remember that as you work your way through your story, you carry those past chapters with you; keep that in mind and always remember the lesson they taught you. But, trust me, you will be surprised at how many things that supposedly ended, find their way back into the story again, in a new form. Because, surprisingly, some things are not meant to end, ever; and that’s a lesson too.

   

The problem is, we think we have time…

…and of course we do, but it’s limited. The moment we enter this world, a count-down starts for each and every one of us, a count-down we have no knowledge of.

We know nothing about the number of our days, and the only certainty in this life is that, eventually, those days will end.

But, the thing is, most of us, if not all, see that end as something very far, far away. But life teaches us, daily, that that’s not always the case; sometimes that end might be closer than we think it is.

For all we know, that end could come tomorrow, and yet we are constantly wasting time, forgetting about the important things.

Do we take good care of ourselves?

How much time do we actually spend on things that we truly enjoy and are passionate about?

How many relationships have we left damaged because of a misunderstanding or pride?

How much good do we contribute to this world?

Do people that are important to us know how we feel about them? Do we see/talk to them enough or are we too busy?

And do we like the people we have to see often enough to not consider it a waste of time?

So many important questions, and yet we are only reminded of them in the face of adversity; like I did.

And when pain and sadness become dull, I will most likely forget them again; like we all do, because we are amazingly adaptable like that.

We embrace our losses and move on; as long as those who live on remember, those gone never really leave.