Writers' block

-noun

a usually temporary condition in which a writer finds it impossible to proceed with the writing of a novel, play, or other work.

Duran Duran says : 'I come undone'...

I hesitate to write about my life here for fear of it sounding 'kebaratan' and myself coming off like a 'mat-salleh'-wannabe (I really am not).

I hesitate to write about my efforts to preserve my Malay heritage for fear of sounding desperate to hold on to my roots and failing miserably at it.

I hesitate to write about myself at all for fear of coming off like a chronic narcissist.

I hesitate to write about the things that I like to do - cooking, gardening, crafting - for fear of coming off like the stereotyped housewife-blogger.

I hesitate to write about the things that I miss about Malaysia for fear of sounding like I'm reinforcing the fact that I am overseas - perceived by many back home as a luxury but is really quite the contrary.

I hesitate to write about my true feelings for fear of sounding weak/pathetic/sick/desperate.

I hesitate to write about religion for fear of sounding like an extremist - I've seen other people's take on Islam and to voice mine would definitely make me come off like an extremist when I'm simply being a Muslim.

I hesitate to write about my dreams and goals for fear of them never coming true.

I hesitate to write about serious issues for fear of sounding like pseudo-whatever.

I hesitate to write about the things I cherish for fear of sounding like a braggart (maybe on some subconscious level I AM bragging).

I hate exposing my insecurities but I feel it is necessary since they are some of the things that are clouding my brain. I read somewhere in O that it's good to put things on paper what you can fully understand. A good spring clean might prove to be just the psychotherapy I need....hopefully.

Write, for the love of God, Write!

Must start writing again.

Too many

internal conversations

clouding my thoughts.

Must put them into words

before they cause

further speech impediment.

Colour Me Clueless

It's a few minutes past midnight and I can hardly close my eyes. I've just had a final discussion with my dad and we've decided that I should go for it. Of all the momentous decisions I've made in my life thus far, this one in particular has kept me up nights the most. I'm excited at the prospects of pursuing my life's passion.

But.

It scares me witless that I am leaving the field that I've been immersed in for the past seven years. ( I can't believe it's been that long!) And I probably won't have anything to show for all those years of toil. I can probably psyche myself up for one final year but I'm worn out from the struggle to do well at something that I clearly have no aptitude for. It is probably wiser to stick to something that I am thoroughly familiar with, passion or no passion.

But.

All the years of watching Oprah and real life-changing stories has taught me that it's never too late to make a change. (Take that principle to another level and it's never too late for anything, really!) So now I'm going to make the first tentative step into a field I have no knowledge about but has been a passion all my life.

But.

I'm paralysed with fear, at times, at the thought that I might fail again. My reason for leaving architecture is because it's never been my passion. I was divided as to where to head for my future when my sister came back from her first semester and told me how exciting it was and I thought, heck, I can manage that. Writing's always been my passion since childhood. It's something I've always excelled at. Somehow it never crossed my mind to seriously pursue it. Rather, I never had the guts. This is something I'm passionate about and if I fail at it, then what? I'd be beyond devastation.

But.

Someone reminded me that failing is good. That this is something I am good at. It's the one person who saw right off that this is the right decision. (Boy am I glad to still have friends like that!) My mom was cautiously encouraging. My dad was initially reluctant but I know he's mostly concerned about my future well being.(I must have gone through a dozen vocations before finally settling on architecture.) I'm so blessed to be surrounded by such smart, supportive and loving people. I'm so blessed to have God on my side, i'Allah.

So here goes nothing.

Draught

.
I place myself in front of the pc, poise my fingers over the keyboard, take a deep, deep breath, close my eyes briefly,
and bring my fingers down with a torrent of words for this week's entry....
And I am sadly disappointed.
By myself.

I wish I could write like Amy Tan and Johanna Krintiensen, reflect on the simple miracles of life called relationships, share it with others and make an enormous impact in other people's lives.
Well, maybe it's a bit far-reaching, but I used to write a lot, words seemed to spill out of me with no regards towards what others think and how they might judge me for it. It was a joy to see in words what I had swimming in my head.

Now nothing comes out without consent from the observing public. Nothing goes uncritisized.
When did I become so intent upon satisfying others, all but myself, my want, my relish? When did I become so concerned about being judged, now, later, for what I choose to express about myself, for expressing myself?

It must be this environment I am in. The walls restict me from roaming far from what is reality. The windows gives me a narrowed glimpse into what could be, but never how. The cold floor remind me again and again that there are those who will not approve of this verbal tantrum.

I wish I was in Aryani. The beuatiful idea of the little timber house all to myself. No one to bother me with their unasked-for opinions, nothing but the lone pot o' bougainvilla on the verandah to keep me company should I ever get too lonesome, if ever. The timber floors gives me all the space I need, the sea breeze fleeting through the window, lifting my hair of my shoulders.

What bliss......

baby steps

I'm posting my first blog
it takes baby steps to build a good one,
....or so I was told.

I'm opening my labrynth of emotions and thoughts
to strangers and, much worse,
to people whose opinion matters to me most.
...baby steps to not caring.