Personal Writings II: How many days long where being is thirst and thirst?

Whom do I tell when I tell a blank page? Woolf’s words have been echoing my thoughts over the past few weeks with the struggle to write.. something, anything. The question though, has been less about who to tell, and more of what to say. Nothing comes to mind. Robin is stuck in a dead end. After Modigliani, other inspirations have come but fear that I won’t do justice to Kafka or Poe, who I plan to follow the post on Modigliani, halts. Pour oublier la solitude… I… let’s say writing has become even more important now

I think writing truly is the greatest invention of mankind. Not, as they say, the wheel, the toilet, or bread and butter. If it weren’t for writing, we would not have the thousands years worth of history that we do today. Besides being an information source on people who came before us, writing also liberates. I do believe in that. Don’t you always feel better after a diary entry? It’s because when you put it on paper, the problem, becomes concrete- it has assumed a boundary because it is not floating in the recesses of your mind anymore. And if you write a fictional story, past experiences whisper themselves into your characters and streets and buildings, and a weight lifts off the chest.

But, only when you write… which I have not been doing.

Somebody suggested recently that I take out some time to write- say, an hour- every single day, and that I gotta push myself to achieve my goal. I can’t help thinking though, if writing can ever be forced? Sure, academic writing. I know though that I cant make Robin lose his sense of alienation in the designated chapter sooner than it is supposed to happen as I am emotionally connected to him… It just isn’t the right time, but I am not even moving if I don’t write what is supposed to come before, right? And, oh, Marcus’s project with Robin and Aniko can’t get started just yet because Romanoff …. (OK, I won’t post a spoiler if you haven’t read the latest chapter). Julien and Raven, Robin’s attackers in the knife fight, are still very much a mystery. And the book he found cannot… well, you get the idea. All these events in the story are SUPPOSED to happen but I am stuck in something I can’t get through. See, I don’t even know what that “something” is!

Speaking of events happening in the story, the character Lanvin’s poverty has been probably the toughest to deal with. We haven’t gotten into Robin’s mysterious, unknown lineage or even much of Gratia’s history just yet so we don’t know what lurks in those places. But we know of Lanvin’s poverty because poverty always shows itself, blatantly, without apology, and with little mercy. It is the embargo to peace of mind, and the stealer of childhoods. Poverty opens the door to unwanted adventure with the question of “what will happen to us, eventually?” always hanging in the background. I cannot give Lanvin more food, or more support to draw comfort from because this is the reality of the poverty-stricken life of many people today. I wish I could, but the intention is to leave you gutted in the gut to grasp… the horror of the human condition.

You know, this is really proving to be a bit of an existential crisis. I always thought I was supposed to write because I’ve always gotten most consistent and positive feedback on that. Have I finally lost it? Is this temporary! How long does ‘temporary’ last for? I am not the smartest person at math and my cheese omelettes always have more spices than cheese in them. What to do? I am cross legs at crossroads.

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