Writing doesn’t always come easy; regardless of how talented you are. It might be a strained muscle or voices muffled under the weight of life. Recently I’ve been chasing after the first word; the end of the string. I want to pull at the first word and then tug the whole novel back towards me chapter by chapter. But do you know how hard it is to find the right string once you’ve let it go?
Sometimes we forget we’ve been holding our inspiration for too long, and we let it go. We let it slip from between our tips.
Where did it go? It’s not there any longer.
Suddenly you’re not connected anymore, and all you could think about is:
It’s a key in the sea now. I won’t find it again.
Should you give up. No. So how do you get it back?
Other people are paper thin. They have no depth, no original thoughts, and no spirit. Basically, they are just moving dummies, but you are the only Pinokio; The only one who is more than timber. Yet, you’re stuck dealing with trees for the rest of your life. Isn’t it sad? Isn’t it frustrating to live inside your mind? There is so much you deserve because you are ‘special’.
It is disappointing, like everything human, to be self-centered as a whole and as a specie. We each think we are the sun of our galaxy, and everyone else orbits us; except everyone believes so inwardly. I’m an astrophysicist, but can we all be “the center”? The things is, we live with a sense of grandeur and entitlement, because each of us truly believes that even though we all exist, only he/she is real.
But, we all are just as real.
The homeless man you tossed a coin at this morning, he’s as real as you. Hilter? Real. Miley Cyrus? Yup. The weird kid in class? Just as real.
I’m not saying all minds were created equal; minds, in the sense of intellect, are only a variable in the equation of a human. But I know for sure none of us is the one, but we are all capable of originality and “philosophical” thinking (however you want to define it).
In other words, step outside your mind. And, if you are so dogged on being special, then do something special, instead of just feeling like you deserve the title.
This is it; the most important moment of your life:
You’re ahead of the rat race. One inch away from the finish line. Your chest aches and your breath is shallow and stabbing. The other rats behind envy you, you could feel it through your back; the waves of their jealousy pushing you forward. The eyes of loved ones too belong also in the background, watching as your gaze solely rests on the ribbon.
The fiber is torn by your momentum, and your hands are in the air. You double over, and breathe as deep as you could making up for lost air. When you straighten up, you look back, and the audience is gone. There is an instant of confusion, wondering why the colors are dim and the cheering is silenced.
Your in a zone of white, grey, or whatever color lays in the back of your mind in your sleep; The inside of your lids. The questions are overwhelming, but there is a clarity in their hustle. Was it even a race?