I’ve spent the past months trying to write something, anything really, that would be funny or informational, or bring some sense of “togetherness” in this trying time. But instead I’ve been met with a wall of frustration and the inability to articulate the emotions I’m feeling and the proper gravity of the situation at hand. The fact that the words “The situation” could mean the pandemic, riots, protest, hurricanes, wildfires, the devastation in Lebanon, is only another example of the trauma that 2020 has been on the world. If I were to give 2020 a word that would be it by the way -- Traumatic. Traumatizing. Hellish.
But to bring myself back to point, these past few months (seven months to be exact), I’ve been silently watching friends and peers post think pieces, music reviews, interviews, commentary on the current events. All amazing, all consistent. And while I was and still am happy and oftentimes a fan of their works, the lingering question that laid in the back of my mind was “If they can, why not I?” What was holding me back? Why couldn’t I put a pen to paper (or in most cases a finger to a keyboard) and write out words that actually make sense and I’m proud of. Instead I kept half made pieces and black pages hidden away. And while my failures were kept hidden, and I continued to push out somewhat mediocre work sporadically, I couldn't hide the thoughts of latent feelings of being an imposter. How can I have a writer in my bio when I never write? How can I be a true journalist if when I finally do write it’s average at best? And while there were days that I managed to wrangle in my emotions, to look at my situation logically, and realize that my work and hobbies would be affected by the trauma that the country is going through. From the personal trauma that I was and still go through. It felt as if the littlest thing could set off the spiral again. Someone could complement my writing, ask about it, I open my computer and come face to face with half finished projects. Then I was back where I started, wondering if the career I chose was right for me and if my writing was even good enough when things are normal. And I think that’s my biggest fear. What if this becomes the new normal? Even if it’s only normal for a few years. What if staying home and away from people is the new normal? What if watching the news to hear a new death report becomes normal? What if endless natural disasters that overlap and cause displacement is the new normal? And my most selfish question (out of a whole rant of selfish thoughts): What if my lack of inspiration, my lack of the desire to write, is normal? What then? Who am I at that point? I would love to end on a positive note, as I do try to keep it more positive on this blog, it being the mirror to my journal and all. But I think I'd like to end on some more realistic realizations that I’ve made in the moments when my logic prevailed in my thinking.
So, that’s all I wanted to say in this post. I think I’ve hit my writing wall for the month, but I hope what I wrote made at least someone feel less alone. Especially in these times.
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AuthorHello! I'm an 23 year-old college student, who's spending most of their time studying and waiting for her next big adventure! Archives
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