The fear of writing that I felt when I started blogging and writing has vanished. I never noticed that I liked writing, didn’t really think about it, until I started blogging. Maybe writing has been something, that has been waiting inside of me to be let out. Like a caged up animal, just waiting for the chance to be set free.
But then, when it was set free I feared it. How could I write in a language that’s not even my mother tongue? Should I even try?
I had an interesting conversation with a blogger yesterday, who said she cannot write this week’s “Knock Knock challenge” because she lacks imagination. That was my biggest fear at the beginning. Do I have what it takes and what does it take? Do I have enough imagination to write about everything? And more importantly, do I have enough experience to write about my life?
Do we write what we lived through, or do we write using imagination? And more importantly, do we have to choose?
I believe we can do both. Some days I can close my eyes and I can daydream a story, a made up reality that exists only in my head and it’s just flowing out of me. Then there are days, when my life and the experiences I made throughout the years take over, and I start writing while thinking about my past, the present and my wishes for the future.
Most of us humans are selfish and sensitive at the same time. Sometimes, we selfishly create our own world in which everything happens to our wish, making us happy for the time-being. We want to be in that world, perhaps to experience what appears to us as joy or happiness. But when the reality clashes with the imagination, it’s like a big bang of the waves of the sea and mighty rock cliff. The very first clash destroys the waves. Making a roaring noise it returns back to the ocean and becomes quiet. That roar is simply not the sound produced because of the waves; it is the cry of the ocean, which realizes that it cannot go further, beyond the rock. Our conditions as humans are the same. When our hopes and wishes get crushed by the cliff of reality, we shatter. A deep roar comes from our heart which can only be heard by us, just like the lonely ocean. Tears flow from eyes, terrible agony piercing our heart, making us weak.
But the ocean doesn’t lose hope. With sheer patience, its waves hit the strong rock again and again. And in due course of time it crushes the rocks turning them into sand. How does it do it? Where does it get the patience? From where does it get this amount of faith? Maybe as humans, we don’t have this much patience or belief to change our own destiny like the ocean. I am no exception. I am also too weak to bear this much gloom. I also want to be happy, experience joy.
This is why I want to write. Neither do I have the patience of the mighty ocean or a steady belief. I cannot make amends to the world created by a God. If there is a God then he/she is the master of it. God knows everything better than anyone else. I have to create my own alternate world where I am the master, where I can blend all the imperfections of the reality and mold them according to my wish, making a perfect world for myself. And the joy which I will be getting after creating it, perhaps, I may be able to borrow a little joy from that abstract, imaginary world and try to infuse it in my own imperfect and real life, giving me a reason to be happy despite of all odds. Maybe that little joy will serve as the fuel to rejuvenate my pathetic life and provides me my self-confidence.
My fear of writing is gone, I slew the Dragon~!
Fears evolve over time. What is one fear you’ve conquered?