An Attempt to Write I

Maybe we're just too afraid to write.

Writing is a very honest way of confronting oneself with feelings and thoughts. When we write them, they're there, in front of us, a reality. We can deny something all we want, but once we hold the pen to write (or the keyboard to type), words sneak from our hearts and surprise us on the paper (or on the screen). Maybe a name would come up, a name you haven't mentioned in years. Maybe a friend's face will be described in a way you never consciously thought of. The point here is, writing puts it all out there.

There might come a period, when we write and write and write. It would feel great, because you accept what you see. You accept what your heart is confessing to you. Then, a moment comes when your heart tells you something that you do not want to hear. You decide to ignore your pen and paper for a while, you decide that they need a rest. You distract yourself with all various things, sometimes unwillingly. And that pen and paper are hidden in a drawer somewhere so you do not feel the guilt of deserting them.

One day, you wake up with a terrible urge to write. You get out of bed, take out the pen and the paper. You write two words, and then you stop. So many words clog up your head, but you cannot write them in sentences. These papers simply do not absorb the ink that your brain is trying to produce. You are late for an appointment, and you decide to give writing some other chance later on.

Days pass, sometimes even months. You decide to give writing another shot, but it doesn't work, still. You wonder if the pen and the paper are still trying to punish you for leaving them for so long. However, one day, it simply hits you.

Maybe, if you write, your heart will come up with a name and confront you with it on the paper. A name you tried so hard to bury, a name you tried so hard not to speak of. Maybe, if you write, you will mention unwanted feelings and unaccepted behaviors. Maybe, if you write, you will write the truth, and there is nothing scarier than the truth. Maybe, if you write, you realize that there has always been one thing that inspires you, and with that thing gone, writing does not make sense anymore.

You realize that, all along, it was fear of words that stopped you from producing them. How can we fear something we love so much? Only powerful things have such an impact. Only powerful words could have such an impact.

I have defied my fear, and my attempt to write succeeded.

A special thanks goes to my English professor O'Neil; he suggested 'writing through the block,' which actually worked.

Have a great night,

Sana H.