Up to this day, things aren’t clear.
For months, I’ve been trying to write. Alas, I failed. It seems like I lost my voice, that I have to do something to regain it; that I have to exert tons of effort to find it. I don’t know how, when, where, and why. But one thing is certain, I feel vagueness and every word that I scribble down my pad makes me realize how incapable I am to share thoughts, ideas, and even experiences.
I have proofs of effort. I’ve written drafts, lots of them. One, talking about public schools. Another, talking about my faith. Others, comments and opinions on certain political issues and crimes that plague the society. True enough, I wrote several experiences, lengthy but when I read them, they seem to be incomplete and not even worthy.
Hoping to do some self-help and recognize possible inspirations, I found myself reading books. At first, I seek them for pleasure. But these past few days, my motive becomes evident – I just want to write again. Unfortunately, reading gives me pleasure and a few addition to my vocabulary, but not inspiration.
There is something wrong. I wanted to write and share and explain and learn. I wanted to pinpoint what went wrong, trace its roots and act on possible solutions, but I couldn’t. My thoughts are too vague, my experiences are too insignificant (or probably, I just fail to see the significance), my writings are too nonsense.
What is there to share if I am not even certain of what is really happening to me?
I am a lost kid. I want to find joy in the things I do. I’m trying. It’s hard. But I am not giving up.
Someday, I’ll get rid of this – no matter how long it takes.