Categories
Thoughts Words.

Where’s my voice gone?

                                                

Writing can be scary. That is probably a bit hypocritical of me to say since I try to promote it so much for personal relaxation and freedom of expression. But honestly…

I’ve been having a major block lately. A major turn-off to my daily journaling and a strong heaving wave of dread sweeps over me if I even begin to ponder all of the different things I should or could write about. It is endless yet empty. And so the noose of procrastination bears heavy, looming in the background.

I have put an awful lot of pressure on myself to write pieces that tug at emotions or resonate with the reader. But I really haven’t written just for the sake of it without analysing, without judging, without expectations in a very long time.

I have been doing more and more, yet feeling less and less connected to my words. I feel strange and detached, as if I am not writing my words at all. They feel forced and hinged and stuck.

I am wondering if anyone else feels like this. The more I write. The bigger the audience. The greater the feedback.

The more the enormity of pressure mounts and crushes my voice. My words are blurred in between opinions, and shared, and spread and exposed. And I feel I no longer own them. They are no longer mine. And I cannot take them back.

Fear is paralysing. And words don’t flow when we are stagnant. They need light. They need bravery. They need acceptance. Someday my words will be forgotten. And I will disappear. And I will no longer have a voice.

So while I am here I will speak.

PS: I was reading a piece by lexicographer, Susie Dent, last night and she explained that journal derives from the Latin for ‘shine’… which I think is a sign if I’ve ever seen one.

Quote by Fiona Brennan “What people think or do not think of you is quite frankly none of your business.”

Categories
Words.

Rosie.

A chair lies empty, lifeless, and bare.

Filled only with shadows of the memories we share.

Once held by mischievous giggles, warm faces.

Slobbery kisses, Strangling embraces.

Infectious laughter compelling hearts to dance.

Relentless Robbing at every waking chance.

Boisterous roguery, unrestrained affection,

Gentle soul, with kindness and connection.

A smile that could quell a storm and calm an ocean,

Open, unreserved displays of devotion.

Your playful spirit forever in our hearts,

We treasure your stories though we are apart.

Categories
Thoughts Words.

Be Yourself.

Every single one of us has a box we are trapped in. Confining discomfort we tolerate, numb and avoid straying from. We all wonder what lifting the lid might look like. What expression of ourselves could be set free?

Yet in reality what we see is ugly. It is messy. It is not a neat path. It’s thorny, it’s full of unpleasant truths. It forces us to give up our comfortable habits, and to relinquish our pain. It compels us to challenge our fears, so that they no longer control our actions. It pushes us to ignore our critics, and dive full frontal, all cannons blazing into uncertainty.

Into opportunities, dreams and possibilities. We are hushed, tossed away, rejected, and jeered at. But it doesn’t matter. Because we can laugh and fly and realise that life is a carnival of weird, bizarre chaos. It can’t be orderly, it can’t be perfectly balanced in all aspects. We will mess up, we will get hurt and we will upset people who chose to stay confined.

But at least we will be living. At least we will let the gifts we have so kindly been blessed with be free. Because to die having lived a half-life would be the greatest tragedy of all.

To have hustled, to have busied ourselves, to have scurried through life in the pursuit of pleasing others. Chasing our own unreachable expectations. To have forgotten what it feels like to be alive. What it feels like to be vibrant. To have fun. To laugh. Blocking everyone else from experiencing our quirky, beautiful, remarkable souls. Our passions. Our voices.

Stray from your cage. Dare greatly. Dance to the funkiest music like no one is watching. Wear clothes that light you up. Love openly, speak honestly and keep the ones who really love you closest to you.

.

Image by Rupi Kaur*** Taken from her book ‘Home Body’.

Categories
Flash Fiction. Thoughts Words.

Own your story.

Her back aches. The books got too heavy. She couldn’t read them. The language was ambiguous and chapters continued in disdainful jargon. She felt like pages were missing in places and piled in others.

She tried learning to decipher the words. But she lost the battle. She tried getting it translated. But no one else could interpret it. She had to go back. And start at page one. And watch the pages turn into chapters. And let the weight leave her. As pages flew from her grip and floated away. Emboldened. And she was free. Everything her mind told her not to do she did. Everything the pain told her she needed she let go of. And piece by piece the puzzle joined together. From corner piece to middle she formed great mosaics of colour.

She had to go back to go forward. Around to go straight. Look down to see up. She had to love the blemished paper before she could turn it over. She had to experience the paper cuts. And only when she knew the story did she realises which characters were most important. In ways she could never have imagined.

And so she understood. She had to publish her book or she would never know what it could have been. Who it could have reached. For she saw light in the most painful chapters. In the most hurtful words she found space. In the most shameful moments lay lessons. In the failures she discovered victories. And in the moments she thought she had crumbled she found strength.

Categories
Thoughts

The Bully in her mind.

He taunts her and taints her voice. She hates him. But she loves how he fills the gaps that lay bare when he is not there. She loves that he numbs her. That his spluttering retorts confirm her worries. That in some way she is validated by his outbursts. Each quickening of his pulse, each word he spits at her choking himself, chaining himself to his own pain. Is it not better to be seen for something than not be seen at all? He tells her she’s worthless and she must work harder and she must do nothing at all. Do nothing at all. There’s no point. Nothing matters. But doesn’t saying nothing matters imply that believing in hopelessness matters? Is trying to be detached not just clinging to feeling unattached? Weird. She can’t let in happiness because he’s there and he’s being rather loud. And he’s telling her she can’t be happy for she doesn’t deserve it. And she can’t be positive for there is no point. And she mustn’t eat and she must follow his every command and only do as he says or bad things will happen. Very bad things. Her nightmares will come alive and pounce at her. And she will have caused them for simply not having followed his orders. For not having done what he said. For not being chained to him.

And some days the sky shines out of her and he shuts up and other people are let in. With their smiling compliments and their reassurance. But he always comes back. Like an unwanted visitor who overstays their welcome. Like that creepy customer who doesn’t understand social queues. And because she is feeling weakened by his strength she curls up and she follows him again. She regrets every feeling positive. Feeling ashamed for every feeling hopeful. For believing for a split second that she could be enough. She tries shouting at him, retorting, crying, and running away. But he’s so loud now. He knows how to play this game better than she does. He knows he’s louder. He knows her deepest, darkest secrets. Her flaws. He knows how he can push his spiteful words like poisonous daggers into her wounds. And so he does. But this time she lets him. And when he tells her what to do she just hears the words and stops concentrating. She just lets him sit and scream at her. And lets the pain come. She lets it sweep her off her feet and make her question everything she has ever thought to be true. But she has started silencing him. Bit by bit his screams sound less terrifying. More like a lost child wining somewhere in the distance. And sometimes his words are so cruel, that the daggers in her sides make her want to give up, to retract. Or fight. But she doesn’t. Because she knows that he is getting louder before he gives up. For if you let someone roar they eventually must stop. If you stop believing in words they lose their meaning.

No, she has not lost herself. She has seen herself. Fully. More. There is more in ways she couldn’t have imagined. Space. Fields. Sky. Sea. Breath. Behind his words. Behind her words. Always there.