I just got out of a tormenting approximately three-days illness. My stomach hurt so bad that it gave me fever, vomits, stings, and acute diarrhea. I never properly got diagnosed, but through home medicine I managed to crawl out of the rut. I was in a pretty bad shape during that time, that I didn't get anything remotely productive done. And when you're even too weak to muster your strength to do the usual daily time-waster of mindlessly scrolling through your phone, yet too awake to be resting, you resort to something horrible.
You begin to think. You are, then, alone with your thoughts only.
For me, that's the case. Of course it's not something real original or groundbreaking or anything. It's just... I begin to contemplate? When sickness strips you out of your strengths and daily routine, what's the first thing on your mind? What do you regret leaving when you're laying on your bed? What if that acid reflux is your final boon? Will you be able to go peacefully? Dramatic, I know. Can't help myself.
With that kind of sickness, my body practically refused to *desire* any kind of delicacy that I generally would crave. Not donuts, not sushi, not pizza, not baked alaska, not lasagna. Nothing. I wouldn't want *anything* to eat. Even the thought of eating hurt. So with such a basic, worldly hungering out of the picture, I begin to wonder, what matters then?
I think I spend my daily life around the routine of "eating", which is totally fine, of course, we need nutrition, right. But to me, personally, I find it rather... bothersome, I must say. Sure, there are plenty of foods that are great, but they are rather expensive to cost daily. I can't cook, and my mediocre attempts would result in at least mildly edible that took me an hour to make, 10 minutes to eat, and at least extra 15 minutes to wash the dishes. Alternatively, if I were to order food delivery, there's still the matter of picking what to eat, compromising what I want with my budget, choosing mixes of wanting this beverage with that dish, hunting merchants with promotion codes, etc etc. Summed up, mostly they take more time and chances are I got even more frustrated. My optimism in cooking is that I would gradually learn how to do things properly and my skill can improve to cook things more efficiently.
Anyway, as I was laying on my bed, weak and disempowered, stripped out of my worldly distractions (food and internet basically), I began to miss... writing, oddly enough?
I wanted to etch another one or two sentences to prove my existence. To convey what I was going through. What's in my head as I lie there with no other medium of entertainment. What inspiration that particular Wednesday brought upon my mind. Anything. I didn't even thought of the petty idea of "who's going to read it", or whom is this going to prove to. I just felt like I *need* to do it. Even something as horrifically ramblish like this, like I always did, I miss it.
Where did it go wrong, anyway? When did writing become something that I just *not* do?
What's stopping me from typing out another pointless observation in my blog? Is it fear? Is it procrastination? Is it distraction? Is it contentment? Feeling of obsolete and meaninglessnes? No time? Not a priority? No inspiration? Too busy? Too happy to contemplate?
Am I just asking the wrong questions, or seeking the wrong answers?
I'm just wondering where precisely the table turned, when exactly I lost my enthusiasm to communicate my layers of thought to.. well, to anyone who cares, actually. But I mostly write for myself, just so I can re-read the pieces and laugh at my younger self's naivety or something.
But of course I realize now, I need to find the answer. The underlying truth. So things can change for the better. Otherwise this will just be another cycle of "write-one-post-then-hiatus-one-year" and the essence of my writings will never evolve out of deep-ramblings.
I've been making an "aspiring writer" my internal identity for several years now, yet the "aspiring" part never truly peels off. Because no actual, strategical efforts have been made to pursue this track. Passion is admirable, surely, but it isn't really enough. Ideas without execution are subjects to be lost in the void. I can admit to everyone that I'm a "writer", but where's the proof? This lousy blog where I channel the energy of a middle-aged woman who regrets the loss of her lifelong dream due to an arranged marriage?
There's also the problem of the word "writer" being too broad. What I am aspiring to write as? Journalism? Script writer? Copywriter? Novel author? Fanfiction author? Lyricist? Poet? Academic literature? Webcomic plot writer? ..Blogger?
Would I be content with being a personal-stuff blogger for the rest of my life?
The short answer is probably no. That's why I'm having all this thought.
One hypothesis I have as to why I've been... obstructed in my writing is that I'm never held accountable for my writings. I'm not in a 'system' where I have to submit any form of progress, no deadlines to meet nor requirements to fulfill. Nobody's pointing a gun at me and demands "you have to write a whole damn novel draft by tomorrow or else". Nobody's going to get angry if I don't write. Nobody really expects anything much from me as a 'writer' (except for a few people who still read my blog and wait for my first novel break, I love you!!). That's kind of the problem. I lack the self-discipline and persistence by my own.
I feel like I always need to be in a system that puts me to work. Yet, at the same time, I know I need the freedom and flexibility to make the creation 'my own'. This isn't a special case, I know, most of us have to deal with this contradiction.
Writing is hard, especially without the proper trigger. I could just follow the 10,000-hour rule. I could try and set a project goal of, say, write a romance fiction, and set daily task of writing 2 pages or write 2 hours each day. But I'm not necessarily a romance writer, so I would probably already burned out by my main job, inspiration doesn't pour easily, then I get frustrated because I end up writing nothing that day, then the next day I got discouraged because the previous day I didn't write anything. Then I would think "eh, what's the point" and the project got discarded altogether.
I know I said previously that "passion is admirable but not enough", but frankly, I found the energy-spike moments where I could write for 5 hours straight are better for my morale than setting myself up for 2-hours-per-day scheduled routine. Like now. Because there's nothing really at stake. If I suddenly get this burst of inspiration to write out of nowhere and finally come out with a piece, no matter how weird or pointless, it became a pleasant surprise. But if I spare 2 hours each day to write with the possibility of leaving that time slot discouraged, I feel like I would end up hating writing, so I'd... rather not do it. Is it fear or am I just a bad gambler?
The initial objective of this rant is actually to come up with something useful for me to actually start making writing my habit again. Be it through scheduled writing, entering a 'writing system', or setting up a distinct writing goal first. I realize this is not a systematic writing, just a rant to hopefully clear my head and inspire me to come up with something more specific and systematic outside the realm of this blogpost.
Sometimes I really envy people who can just... do it, you know. Do what they want to. Do what they need to. Don't have to ramble pages over pages of self-doubts and try to sell it as authentic "writing".
Signing off...
