Unfulfilled?

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What prompts people to write? I wonder what makes us want to share our intimate thoughts, wonderings (and wanderings) and even fears sometimes with those who read.

Over the years, I have known and still know many people who write and it is interesting I have never known why they do it, but what’s most interesting: why did they start in the first place?

I remember writing short stories and essays for school. But also, I used to write other things at home way before that, when I was a (very) little kid. For a while I wrote a lot of poetry, then stories, then as a teenager I used to have a diary. And after that I quit writing altogether for years. I realized I wasn’t able to go back to my writings and feel comfortable re-reading them. Looking back in time now, I think I did not recognize myself in those words, that was not me I thought, I could not understand (or stand) myself. Writing started being not rewarding at all, it was actually making me feel awful. So I stopped.

Quite a few years later, words and ideas were starting to build up again. Around the same time, I met a person who used to write a lot and encouraged me to start writing again. And little by little, even though there had been some time from then until now when I have not written a single word, everything began to flow again. Good thing is that I’ve come to terms with myself and now I can read what I write. 😀

Why do people feel like they have to write? For those who write, writing is a crying need I think. Some people need to paint, others to compose music (I so wish I could!). That need becomes an urge. You have to let something out. Is it because we have some kind of unfulfilled need to express ourselves, to be understood, to be listened to? Are we then the only ones who are unfulfilled in this sense, then? Is it that we need to stand out in the crowd? And if we write fiction, is it because we want to be somebody else? I do not think that’s it. Fact is I had rarely ever shared anything I wrote until internet became available.

Funny that people who like reading eventually start writing, people who listen to music eventually start composing or playing. They support their favorite activity in another way. They jump to the other side of the board and become creators instead of just spectators. But this is not necessarily so either all the time.

So writing is definitely a need… But need for what? Maybe when you write you just feel like having some sort of conversation, sometimes with yourself. Or at least I do at times. 😉

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Out of Place

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In the last week or so I have heard at least 5 different people saying they feel out of place.

People who are out of place feel dislocated, unwanted, and somehow trapped in a really hopeless way. They don’t belong to the place where they are. Frustration is always present. What am I doing here? That is what they all wonder. So you think: if you don’t know what you’re doing here, then go somewhere else! Sure, clever one. Problem is that as humans, we have that stupid habit of creating ties and bonds wherever we go. It is interesting how these misplaced persons perceive no mental connection or support from their environment, but can distinctively identify the bonds, that become obstacles in the end.

How to avoid these feelings then? Stepping out and running away from that spiral should help. Spin it. Everybody deserves to feel in place. So look for your one, whatever it means to you, whatever it takes, wherever it is.

(This post best read while listening to:
Walk On by U2)

Little Pieces of Truth

Little by little life keeps taking its course.
And everyone we meet adds something to it. Whether it is a big portion or a little portion but it is always something. All turned into tiny pieces that are like sand on which we walk.

At times the sand gets soft as sugar and it feels sweet under our feet, other times the grains are bigger and the nice stroll gets rocky and hard to enjoy. Sometimes we even have to climb on an edgy rock that will hurt our bare feet. We will wonder why that rock was put there, even wonder why it made our skin bleed.
Sometimes the sand will be too hot to bear and we will walk in big steps to get through it the sooner the better.
Sometimes the tiny grains on the pathway turn into quicksand, that could take us to dark places little by little, without even noticing the downwards movement, the growing darkness, desperation and frustration of not being able to get out.

Sometimes we will succumb. And sometimes there will be a helping hand that will get us out.

Grains of sand that make your pathway through life, they are the tiny pieces that can bring so much joy or so much pain. Everyone adds to it. Push away the rocks and the chunky sand. Surround yourself of soft, sugary-textured sand that will make your walk a magnificent one. And then, do not forget to enjoy.

When Life Takes a Real Turn

There is always a moment in anyone’s life when life takes a real turn.
After that turning point, there is no way back, life becomes difficult, your decisions are no longer a matter of fate or a matter of “everything is going to be alright”, no more fairy tales and no more heavenly help, no more childish wishes becoming true. This is the point when anything you decide can f*** up your life, no more “emergency exits”, no more easy way-outs are available.

When life becomes real all of a sudden, crossroads are dark places, full of spiderwebs and you’re holding no map. Your instinct will get you somewhere, but you hardly ever know where. You’re on your own.

I am sure you can remember that very moment. What then? Since that moment, I have been trying to live my life as if it was a book I am writing. What would I like to read? But maybe I am no good writer either…

(This post best read while listening to:
I Am the Highway by Audioslave)