Face Yourself: Heart Blocks

January 17th, 2014

For as long as I can remember I have been writing my heart out on paper. I never understood what ever pushed me to pursue this hobby but I found great comfort in writing to myself about...well, myself ! No one else seemed to be as interested in piecing my puzzle as I was. I also found refuge in books and escaping to different realities, not that I wanted to flee from something specific (as far as I know) but to go somewhere without the hassle of actually paying, traveling and packing.

The memory of my favorite "vacation" began with "A Series of Unfortunate Events" by the infamous Lemony Snicket. I wanted to be the deceivingly cute Sunny, the brainiac Klaus with each word he defines, tie my hair up to solve problems like the brilliant Violet. Frankly, their story was despairing and hapless but I joined them for the ride willingly from one novel to the next. I embraced the author's macabre taste, his writing as mysterious as his own life. I love books about memoirs and reencounters. I love digging into innocent pasts that unravels itself; it was my call as to when to turn the page. I sought to do that in my writing, that is, if ever anyone got to read my work. I was and probably still am a possessive and secretive person. I feared letting people in to understand and analyze my thoughts because that was MY secret that I was entitled to.
I will admit I don't recall "The Diary of Ann Frank," which surprises me because of how much I aspire to one day be revealed through my writing by accident. Is that weird? Well, those were my thoughts earlier on.

In my writings, I found myself hiding identities of the people around me. Every single person had a codename I fabricated and now even I struggle to decipher whom I wrote about ! I was fearful of being opposed and critiqued for what I was feeling. I still am because I appreciate my readers now that I made the step to publicized my work; however, the indirect approach to never naming out loud and in writing was a censor to my creativity. I was free to say many things subliminally and I have been doing so whether they get published or tucked  away deep in my closet, but that brought me more ambiguity than answers throughout my journey as a writer.

What's this schpeil all about?

Say what you mean and mean what you say. Be unapologetic to yourself in your passions and hobbies, you deserve your honesty and your peace. Remove the censored tape from your hands and your mouth; exhale the hurt and confusion, seek to stretch your understanding of yourself in any way possible.

Thank you for all the people I have met and conversed with from early mornings to late nights from book signings to coffeehouses from the past 48 hours; thank you authors, strangers, old friends, and new.

"It's not writer's block; it's heart block." -Alexandra Elle

My view #15

 ...I remembered why I was #teamtea 5 minutes later swimming in the nauseating smell of coffee.

Something

If I have written anything about you or for you then you must have been pretty damn amazing whether you knew it or not because you meant something to me once upon a time. It's one of the scariest, strangest and strongest thing to feel something towards a person, especially when it takes you by surprise how much they can offer to your being. Something can be anything: love, hate, anger, jealousy, inspiration, admiration, curiosity. Neither is necessarily better than the other, it's all just an experience, meeting people that shift the way you think about the world and of yourself. I say challenge your beliefs, let yourself grow, feed off good vibes and learn from the bad, let something move you; that's the only way you can find out who you actually are and where you stand if you're even willing to budge.

Writing has become an effortless and reflective hobby, second nature. We depend too much on others to comfort us and get angry when they don't know how to handle the situation. People run to each other whereas I write, and write, and write, and write until I've exhausted my thoughts. At the end of the day, although I may have written novels and sequels about you, I did it for me, to better understand myself as I watch feelings bleed onto the paper. Henceforth, if I took time to share something I've written, appreciate it; if you received a personalized card, postcard, or pictures with things written on the back, check inside the book flaps I've let you borrow, if we write to each other often and regularly, I consider you one of my closest; if I've opened up to you because you inspired me and you knew how much that took out of me, you were one of the lucky fews that had that access so don't front and instantly turn the page on me.

''  Write hard and clear about what hurts.” - Ernest Hemingway