Every time I hold a pen or stare at the computer, I can always hear a voice telling me, “write..write..you need to write”. The voice tries to cast a spell on me so that when it wins, something “literary of the weird” comes out.
I have always loved writing and I will love it for the rest of my life. But as much as I wanted to....as much as the voice throws more hocus-pocus on me to get me going, my mind would just hang-up, making no response to a lass who dreams to be a good writer. The more I force my mind, the more it thinks about nothing, the more it says no.
My psyche is just too occupied with thoughts I never wanted to conceive. My mind is too busy to think of perfect words that human beings will understand. My mind is too clouded with teeming worries, unnecessary stress and fancies. My mind is too brave to refuse but too coward to admit that I have a lot of things to write but I don’t know where to begin and what word would completely fit the introduction.
I have already devoured all the pages of my notes but still the same nonsense thoughts appear. I tried to read it again, making it more exasperating as ever. How pathetic. How can I dream of becoming a writer when I cannot even convince myself of the words I wrote?
Envious. Irate. Despondent.
Because the dream I’m dreaming is now unreachable, indomitable.
I wallowed into a lunacy that deeply disappointed me after all the intrepid trying and struggling. Well I guess I am just a flimsy, ambitious young woman diving into a cliff down to the world of the geniuses. Crap! The poorest triumph in my lists.
Disappointed, I put down my pen, shut the monitor and said “it’s over”. I have to put an end to a dream that seems to be a bluff.
"Life goes on". The cliché uttered by the defeated. I walked along the journey following the blurry vision of the path towards the dull future.
Unguided, I was totally lost.
I am a vestige of my own life.
A stigma.
Then one day a man approached me through his book saying “When you find your path, you must not be afraid. You need to have sufficient courage to make mistakes. Disappointments, defeat and despair are the tools God uses to show us the way”. Reading his lines is like an elixir to my dying soul.
Blood rushes, the intrinsic talent reincarnates, the tenacity becomes stronger.
Dedicated. Zealous. Exuberant.
I started again. I became an instant avid fan of myself – the author. I discarded all the doubts, forgotten the fears and veered to a new life. I watch myself yielding to the culmination of my dreams bringing with me the strength and inspiration I gathered along my vicious walk in this world.
I have crossed an impassable gulf of hapless moments of my life, now I face new intricate challenges in my journey. I am aware of the countless encumbrances, procrastinations and random failures along the way that will yanked me to the hell world of the forsaken but it will never stop me from dreaming.
I’m back for my vendetta and this time I’m going to win.
I will never fail myself because failure is unforgivable.
That’s why I persist. I insist.
I wrote my own story, I dream my own dream and with God I will love the life that He gave to me.
For Him I offer everything.
My success
My dream
Myself
Me
The young woman He named Goldy.
