Lost in Inspiration

I am not the girl you think I am. I am not strong or smart or confident. I break down easily. I don’t know why are we having wars. I cannot stand against a bunch of crowd going against my view. I cannot even stick to my view.

I know I declared that I will stop writing for a while. But the moment I declared it, I couldn’t help but long to write again. I was waiting for inspiration. Every Saturday since last few weeks. But all my Saturdays have gone against my wish. The first Saturday, I couldn’t meet everyone I planned to meet. The next Saturday which I planned to spend by reading books, was spent being tired and feeling sick. And today, I thought, I would go out and enjoy a concert. But I’m at home, with an almost sprained ankle.

I have a dream. To write. And travel. And tell stories. I have been planning to do MFA in Creative Writing after a year or two. Then, work in a magazine while also working on some books. Get publishers and travel. Go to places. To Europe, Peru, Egypt. Afghanistan. But lately, I am scared. I don’t feel like writing all the time. I feel vacant and empty inside. As if I no longer have what I love the most. I feel sad and I suffer inside. Oh, I suffer greatly. I might not show it all the time but I spend sleepless night praying for words to come back to me. For inspiration.

This friend of mine always tells me not to wait for inspiration and look within. I always tell him, when I feel restless and frustrated, that I feel like I have been caged inside four walls. “Four walls, there is your inspiration”, my boss told me the other time we were chatting on Facebook as I told him how my words have disappeared. “You can find inspiration, anywhere you look for – books, poetry, walls, chair, table.” He’d said. Well that’s what I fail to do. I try to find inspiration in people. Ordinary people. And people don’t have inspiring and positive stories every time. They also have stories about failures and heartbreak and sadness and suffering. Like these two amazing blogs I have been visiting recently. I know both the bloggers personally and have always been a huge fan of their writings. But lately, I have been thinking that if these two have not yet been able to find publishers to bring out book, what will happen to me.

During these times, I really feel small and unworthy. Also, I want to write stories of ordinary people. What they go through everyday or what they feel. About war and poverty and hunger and the sufferings ordinary people go through. Losing loved ones, disappointments, failures. But today I wondered, is it even ethical? Selling someone else’s sorrow? And what difference does it even make? Many people have written about wars and poverty. But have these books helped to stop the war or eradicate poverty? What’s the use of writing all these stories, if they never help someone or inspire them? I have become distraught with all these questions in mind. I wonder if I need to find something else to pursue but I know that at the end of the day I always come back to writing. Writing is something I cannot leave. And I am not sure if I will ever want to leave.

Right now, I feel that I am in a crossroad. I am confused and more fickle-minded that before. I hope to come to conclusion soon. At least before it’s too late. Or even after, because in things like this, I know it’s never too late actually. I just hope to reach there one day.

A/N: Following are the blogs I was talking about. a) thinkinink b) dearest

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I don’t like this at all.

I lay on my bed closing my eyes, counting 1..2..3.. “Any seconds now,” I tell myself waiting to fall asleep. But I fail. Another day, as I fail again. To fall asleep, to write. My insomnia and writer’s stuck moment is back on track and I don’t know if I’m to be happy about being normal again or sad that I don’t have that I need to write vs I need to sleep moment anymore. It’s going to be like this for another few days to weeks, so I guess I better get hang of it.

What I wish right now to have is Caffeine. I would prefer milk tea but that’s not possible. I’m on my tea limit so I have to be okay with a cup of mango juice. I wish I was not though. I wish I could gulp down cups of tea or rather enjoy each cup with precise moments cherishing on the drink. The juice ain’t that bad but I would rather have what I wish. But I’m sure that won’t help me either given the situation.

And it gets worse you know. When you are being an insomniac and not being able to write, these ideas and stories come to your mind. The images of a girl with plaited hair and white dress walking down the damp, small , spooky gullies of Kathmandu Valley comes in front of your eyes but you can’t seem to do anything about it. You can’t get up and write because you have no idea what to write about. Nor can you go back to sleep.

And now I can’t think of stuffs to write about. I still wish to have tea though. But I will have to be back in my bed because tomorrow, I need to be an early bird. And tomorrow hopefully, words will find their way back to me.

Goodnight Folks!