I Didn’t Write in December.

I haven’t written in so long, the thought of abandoning this project has plagued me. I found interesting that when my life was suddenly where I wanted it to be, the writing stopped. Why as ‘tortured artists’, do we insistently write when we’re upset; when the world has handed us depression, boredom, frustration, uncertainty, heartbreak and loss?

I lost. In 2013, I did lose. And through that loss came words that spilled endlessly like droplets of blood pooling onto pages of this blog and various notebooks and word documents and text messages and Facebook messages and any other outlet one can imagine by which to communicate. Because when life gives us uncertainty, we need to communicate that; when life gives us loss, we need to share it with the world so that we may find solace in seeing it there, like a fish waiting to grab hold of bait, unknowing of the cruel, tined hook beneath that enticing, colourful charm.

And so my life has been good; it has been a nightmare, a tragical comedy of error and stress and sadness and uncertainty and wondering what I’m doing here and why I’m doing it where, and wondering if what I’m doing is right and fair to myself and to others who depend on me in the role I’ve taken on. My life in the last two months has been so hectic, I abandoned this, which I started almost five years ago in order to mend something, to control something that was broken in my life. It was a bandage for loss. The loss of someeone, the loss of something, I wanted back desperately. In turn, here I am now. It is 2014 and that loss has disappeared, it has been shelved, it has become just another thread in the tapestry, still shinier than some of the others but gradually fading into the background as further threads are intertwined making new pictures, new patterns that are more colourful, intricate, and interesting than the older ones.

I will write again. I will write regularly and I will write honestly, and I will not just write to reflect loss; rather, I will do my best to write for the sheer joy of it, for the sharing, for the expression, and to bridge the gap between the confines of my own head and the sordid, busy, scary, often overwhelming world I inhabit, that we inhabit.

I didn’t write in December. But I will write today.


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