Hello, my old friend.

Hello, my old friend. It’s been a while. Counting off yesterday, it has probably been a year. How did it go from just brimming with things to spill to ocassionally visting the site when the ol’ friend ‘guilt-trip’ comes to town? How is it that even when you force yourself to come to this page, you find yourself staring, like an idiot. Look at that blinking, flashing line, the blank screen staring at you. Don’t you see? It is mocking you. Of course, it is mocking you! When was the last time you wrote something? Sure, there have been papers for college and articles for that magazine you have been working with, but, can you even remember the last time you had an idea and you just couldn’t wait to write it down?

The truth is, you have been afraid, haven’t you? It came out of nowhere, didn’t it? One minute you thought that you would be writer, no questions asked. It seemed the most natural thing. Then, one day, like a thief who comes in the dark, it came. It came stealthily and grasped you in its clutches so tight that you couldn’t breathe, much less free yourself. This fear made a home for itself. It was everywhere. In your heart. In your head. In your gut. You just couldn’t escape it. It consumed you. You were convinced that you had nothing interesting to say, that you didn’t write anything worth reading, and most importantly that you are not a good writer. So, you stopped. You stopped writing, until when you needed to. Sometimes, you would just miss the feeling of just writing down whatever came to your mind. You would think, who cares if you didn’t have anything interesting to say or if you didn’t say it well enough? Maybe, if you kept writing, someday you would actually have something worthwhile to write about, you thought. But, it is not all that easy, is it? Almost always, it is not the criticism from the outside world that can be tough on you, but the one that comes from within. How do you deal when you compare yourself to standards way beyond yourself? You don’t. Instead, you retreat. You pretend like you have no standards to meet, until you start believing it. You start believing that your talents are insignificant, and no matter what you did, it would stay that way. You tell yourself that the people who once told you that you write well were only doing so out of courtsey. Then you try to remember the last time someone told you that you were a good writer. You don’t remember. Maybe because you weren’t paying attention, but really because noone you thought was worthwhile told you so. Then you begin to wonder, what even is the point of trying. Just give up and wait for the world to stop going round and round. But that doesn’t happen so quickly, does it? So you sit there, stewing in your heavy dose of self-loathing and self-pity, forgetting that all the magic lies in the tips of your own damn fingers.

Maybe, one stoned night you will remember. Then you will tell yourself, maybe for a while you should just write. It could just be five lines, but hey, it’s still better than nothing. Why don’t you write till it seems as effortless and normal as having a class of ice-cold water on a hot summer day? Why don’t you just take that little feeling in the pit of your stomach, or the one that seems to be weighing down on your heart and put it down on a piece of paper? Why don’t you take the earphones off your ears for long enough for you to be able to hear your own thoughts? Why don’t you let yourself go with that thought instead of telling yourself that it is stupid? Then, why don’t you do us a favour, and take a pen, or open your laptop and write it down. Just write it down, the rest will come to you. Eventually.

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