It’s 2 am, and I Finally Started Writing…
It would probably take me another 20 years to write again, but who cares?
It’s 2 am, and I am listening to Beethoven’s moonlight sonata. I know nothing about Beethoven or Pianos. I can’t sleep. There are always days when you can’t sleep, and you decide you will write, but instead, just lie there and think about writing and never do. Yes, one of those nights. But today, I believe it’s a different night.
The Thing About Fear
I always wanted to write, but I was embarrassed. About what? I still don’t know. Maybe I thought I would write about my dirty little secrets (as if I am the most honest writer there ever was), and it will be easier for people to figure me out. Writing with my real name felt (and still feels) like being naked. So, it’s 2 am, and I am writing. I know it is delusional of me to think that people, especially those who know me, will invest their precious time reading about me, but this the thing about fear, it never makes sense and still manages to stop you from doing things you know you should have been doing since a long time ago.
It’s been 3 years since I updated my Instagram. I don’t feel the need to. But then why write it all here? Because this is how I think I will convince myself that I put it out there. And because the regret of not doing this will be greater than the guilt of doing this, I am writing this.
The Game of Scrabble
Is this going to make sense? I don’t know. Am I going to write everything I can, edit it, and re-edit it? Probably not. I am just going to do it. It. I think I care less about it, but not less enough to write my name. Just 15 minutes before I opened my laptop to write, I had so many things in my mind to write about, and now I have nothing. When you are playing scrabble, all you can remember is bat, cat, go, not, hot and a weird word that doesn’t exist like yat or something. So here I am finally on my blank canvas with nothing to paint. Maybe one day, I will remember what I came to write here. I will keep scribbling the random things that I wouldn’t dare to read again for the next seven years or so.
The Something Factor
Sometimes the days doesn’t make sense. Today, I was hungry. I don’t know what for. Yesterday, I craved nothing but sleep. Like you, I always think that this is just my life. This is just me, feeling all these things alone, but I am grown enough to know that it’s not. I know you are there with this constant urge to do something. Something. Something. What a weird feeling to have. To look for something you don’t know. Something that you can’t talk about or write about.
Whatever the Heaven I Want
It’s been a long day. What did I do today? Nothing and everything. Just like the past thousand days or so. Every day I wake up, and I think today it has to change. I have to take the leap or do something like that. People often talk about that, you know. But I never understood what that meant. Someone said that the things I say rarely make any sense. I said, so does life. It makes little sense to sell yourself just to exist or live in a place rather than travelling to new places or doing the same things every day to have money, something you can’t eat or feel, in your bank account. I know, I know, the real world and power of currency and blah blah blah, but this is my canvas, and I think I can paint whatever the heaven I want. Can’t I?
It feels like hours since I started this article. The lower-left corner shows the word count for this blog. I wish it could count my feelings. Now it’s not 2 am. The Auto-play music is Beethoven’s symphony-6 in F now. I still know nothing about Beethoven or Pianos.
