It is late, and my mind is cartwheeling around, hyper off the thoughts that will not go to bed. I am going to keep this as short as possible, and as simple as possible, because there is not enough time in this night for me to type each thought that exists in my mind at this moment, and also because I want to keep things relatively precise.
The past few days or so have been pretty difficult for me if I am being completely transparent. I'm not one to focus on the things that are going on around the world and in the society that exists outside of my own little life because I have always just lived my life in my own lane, focusing only on the things that are important to me and that impact me. Not in a selfish, self-centered way, but just because I like to focus on the happy things, the positive things, that things that can help me grow and help me evolve into who I am supposed to be. For whatever reason, I have recently indulged in letting myself really look into the comments people have and the things that people are saying about various topics, events, and what have you. Now, I understand that there are bad people in this world. There will never not be bad, and I have accepted this because there is a balance in this life where one thing cannot exist without an opposite to some degree. What I have come to realize, and has really affected me, is the magnitude of the people who exist that spew their hatred and negativity onto other people who they don't even know. I'm a happy person, and I get a lot of happiness through seeing happiness in people around me. So when I read and see all this negativity around me, it breaks my heart, and it hurts me. It hurts me to know that the hatred and negativity in the world is completely outweighing the positivity and love that exists (somewhere) in this world. I am sad. That is the bottom line. My heart breaks for the people who feel that they must tell every person what is wrong with them. My heart breaks for those who are targeted by such hateful people. It breaks for the hate in the world. It breaks for the lack of love in the world. I feel very broken, and to be quite honest, I feel like this is the exact reason why I have never really let myself pay too much attention to the things that go on in the world. I don't know where to go from here. My first thought is to delete some of my social media platforms. Eliminate the source, eliminate the exposure, eliminate the heartbreak. At the same time, however, some of those platforms are my way of self-expression as an artist, an individual. All I know for certain is that this world, this society, this time, contains more negativity and hatred than I have ever experienced in my life. And that, frankly, hurts my heart.
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I have been surrounded by art pretty much my entire life. My dad is an artist, and ever since I can remember, I have had a set of colored pencils or markers and a sketch pad on my bookcase or in my art box that my parents would pack my sisters and I on long car trips. It has always been a sort of release or outlet for me, a way that I can get emotions and thoughts out without actually acting them out.
One of the things I was always frustrated with in school was having to separate my artistic desires from anything academic-related. My favorite part of biology was drawing out charts of the brain lobes, or sketching out procedures in lab. In English, I feel the same freedom in writing that I do in drawing, painting, sketching. Creative writing especially became a way for me to get my thoughts and experiences out on a page while still maintaining the freedom to use the words I want, to structure it the way I want to. Poetry has been my favorite aspect of writing that I have turned to in terms of expressing myself. There is so much beauty in everything around me, everything in the world, and I don't think there will ever be a way to adequately capture certain things in life, but poetry gets you pretty damn close. Poetry has few rules, and those rules are O.K. to break. Poetry is my favorite way to describe the sound the rain makes when it hits the glass, or the smell of smoke from a faraway chimney. Poetry allows you to write about the happiest things, or the things that make you hurt the most. I have written seven poems about my aunt since she passed away, and none of them are good enough. But that's okay. Because these poems get me as close as words can get to describing someone who was so alive. Poetry is freedom and poetry is art. And I am so thankful for that. Sometimes, writing comes easy. It spills out of the fingers and right onto the paper, onto the document, onto whatever writing surface you have grabbed to scribble that line, that thought that just popped into your mind. Sometimes, though, finding something to write about and getting words out of the brain is like trying to navigate a Best Buy on Black Friday. It happens to everyone. And it sucks. For everyone.
One of the most frustrating things that I can think of as a writer is not being able to write. It's the one thing that I know I'm good at, so why isn't it working? Well the best thing about writer's block is that sometimes my best writing comes after working through it. But let me tell you, the "working through" part can be tedious. Sometimes all it takes is standing up and walking outside, or talking to someone about not being able to write. That actually works a surprising amount of times for me. Something about turning to speaking words instead of writing the words can change your view on things, and give you new perspective. Other times, though, it is not so easy as changing your environment or stepping outside for a breath of fresh air. One time, I had writer's block that was so bad, I literally went on a road trip to get past it. And you know what? It worked. I love traveling, and being on the road with one of my favorite people in this world made it much easier to ease and clear the traffic that had cluttered my head. And once that road was clear, all the writing ideas and theses that I needed came to me faster than I could get them down. It's like when a ketchup bottle has been left open and there's that little bit of dried ketchup blocking the rest of the ketchup from coming out. And you squeeze it and squeeze it and you might even shake it or throw it in the microwave to see if you can soften it, and finally, when you get that piece of dried, black, crusty ketchup out, it comes out too fast on your hot dog and it is no longer a hot dog with ketchup on it, but ketchup with a hot dog underneath it. Just like the ketchup, you have to try a few different things until you can finally wrestle that writer's block out of your ears and fingers and brain folds. It's a glorious feeling, getting past writer's block. All you have to do, is do it. Don't be afraid. Don't be intimidated. Get aggressive. You are better than writer's block and you will get past it. Sometimes all it will take is a nap or a brief outing. Other times, it will take a complete change of scenery and surrounding. Whatever it is you feel like you have to do, just do it! I support you. As I sit alone at my dining room table in my now quiet apartment, I realize that I must look like something out of a movie. Stacks of books from various classes are piled around my laptop, which I have been dragging around with me everywhere the past few days. My apartment is dark, except for the light from my laptop screen and a single spotlight shining down on me from above. I am the quiet mouse who dared to stir on the eve of Christmas. Trust me, I would much rather be buried in my comforter and suffocating myself beneath the mountains of pillows that have accumulated on my bed. But alas, I am a junior at St. Mary's College of California, a dedicated student who cannot fathom the thought of leaving an assignment unfinished the night before it is due. Hence, the spotlight position I find myself in now.
I have been writing a lot (five essays down, one to go!) in the past few days, but unfortunately, none of it has been the things I have been wanting to write about. I have been wanting to stop for a second and write a poem about the stress I can feel in my hair follicles and I'm sure anyone close enough could actually smell on me (Yes, I have taken a shower recently. But whether or not I have washed my trusty finals sweatshirt is a completely different question). I want to write about the feeling of desperation that blankets the inside of the library, where apparently nobody understands the concept of WHISPERING. I want to write about the place that exhaustion has chosen to reside in my face— right behind my eyes and cheekbones— weighing it down. It's a funny thing to write so much, and have none of it be what you really want to be writing about. I'm wondering if the reason I have pushed through it is dedication or desperation. Honestly, it's probably a mixture of both. I have written an essay on meditation, an essay on what I think about community service that has an unnecessarily long prompt, a take-home final that was a million times easier than any assignment from the semester, and a few other ones, with one more on the horizon. Looking back at all of the papers that I have produced in the past few days, I am actually really proud of myself. Three years ago I would have been procrastinating like crazy. It only took a few times for me to learn that leaving my essays and studying until the last few days is not the way to approach finals week. I don't really even know why I stopped to write this post. Maybe I'm trying to motivate myself and remember why I'm writing this. Maybe I really am just in a delirious state and this sort of rambling I am doing will get the nonsense out of me so I can get back to writing coherently on my essays I have left to finish. Who knows? I don't. |
AuthorEach of these little blurbs are written by yours truly, me! They focus on various things, but all things relating to me. If you want to read some mostly-coherent thoughts from a Biologist-turned-Creative-writer, please investigate this section of my page. ArchivesCategories |