Confessions Of A Writer
Writing... It’s always been writing that I do to express myself, to make something beautiful in all things. The stirring of these bottled-up emotions and thoughts that are inside of me always let me grab a pen and a piece of paper at all times, to scribe words and phrases, sentences and paragraphs. Whatever it is that my soul’s telling me, writing has been a way to turn what I feel into a masterpiece, to create beauty and wonder in everything.
What I write tells a lot about who I am. It simply is me and my creative instincts, just in written words. And these are turned into pieces of poetry, stories, prose, essays, and songs — works that are a part of me, a soul of mine, a masterpiece. Wondrous creations with a breath of fresh air lingering on them, in every stroke of ink, inscribed on a blank piece of paper. This is because, I wholeheartedly believe that the simple and the extraordinary occurrence in the cycle of daily life can be always written about; everything that rests here on Earth, inanimate or with a breath of life, lies a story behind it. Everything deserves a well-written story.
When my heart and soul are blissful at something, when they ache or mourn, or whatever these two feel at their best, these words, the ink and the paper, have been willing companions. Even though lifeless, they reach the infinity of my creative thoughts. This trinity always go together, witnessing the ups and downs of life.
Many times I find the greatest inspirations in the things that most of the people have overlooked or have taken for granted in the busyness of life: signages, moving vehicles, strangers who are strolling, or even the mud under the soles of their feet. In the eyes of a writer, these portray meanings that are queued to be written as a poem, a story, an essay, a prose, and a song.
Even when my mind sparks with endless ideas, bursting forth with colorful vivid words and imageries, the firecrackers of words sometimes die down and disappear, turning my mind into a blank slate, like a clean sheet of paper. The mind is in a loss for words and in search for the right things to say to come up with a literary piece — a writer’s block. It is inevitable, for not at all times a writer’s passion is burning. But that is completely alright. What matters is the constant desire to acquire new vocabulary and new inspirations to work on. A burning passion, for it to grow, needs the flames to be fanned, continuously.
Nothing can be more meaningful than to write about people. People’s existence carry hidden messages through the words they say, through their actions, and through their beautiful minds. In them lie an implicit story waiting to be written about, in their oblivion. Countless times I have turned people into works of art. They are in the verse of a poem, they are in the catchy lyrics of a song, they are a subject in a prose, the main character of a story, and the main idea of an essay, and it is, always, in their oblivion. Never did they know that they had been a subject of something beautiful, read and sung over and over again. Maybe that is one of the mysteries of having a creative blood running inside your veins, you are always in awe and wonder; you are constantly making wonders.
Everything deserves a well-written story. All the things around us have a voice, and all we have to do is listen. There is beauty out of something. There is a masterpiece out of nothing.