‘It is what it is are’ or whatever it is they say.
Thoughts of writing have plagued me since dawn; right from the moment I took my first morning yawn and for the first time in a long time I have managed to not think myself out of doing it.
This dilemma (if you could call it that), is as true as it is a lie. To be honest, thoughts of writing have been one eternal plague. I am convinced I had thought about writing even before I took my first breath. Before my first pang of hunger as I sought my mother's breast with blind eyes and certainly way before I opened these eyes or learned to write.
And way before I learned to write a coherent word I had a habit of scribbling absolute gibberish on every paper I found which I would then show to my father in childish pride. Of course he always dismissed me and my nonsense and one of the times I interrupted his meeting to show him a piece of paper I had created a litany of endless lines trying to mimic my brother's handwriting he screamed ‘don't be silly’ at me after trying to digest my bombastic effort and failing.
I do not know the relevance of this memory to what I'm writing to you but ‘it is what it is are’.
In the last few years I have written nothing that has been worth reading and I understand your sentiment if you disagree. Perhaps you are wont to believe that whatever I've written in the past deserved to be read or even written.
You're certainly one who would think me a very captivating writer but what would you know of a writer who only thinks? Who always fails to capture those thoughts and the right words who procrastinates instead of doing?
I reckon you must have read a poem of mine, received a newsletter from me and maybe can swear that I am lying about my own inadequacy but you will never share this weight of failure. Nor will you ever know what it feels like to have your midnight dreams filled with cinematics stories. Your days of thoughts , ideas, innovations that you'll never ever be able to capture and not necessarily because you're lazy.
That is a fact though. The laziness? It is no longer something I worry about. If the creator did not think that I needed enough physical strength and stamina than he's given me, ‘ it is what it is are’.
See I digress. My mind has wandered away from the point of this conversation as it is wont to do and now that we are here it is imperative that you also are made aware of my hearing disability.
Certainly , if we've ever had a face-to-face conversation I'm sure this surprises you and perhaps I should clarify that it is not that I do not hear all right. I certainly do hear words. I may even heat too much sometimes. It just so happens that I don't listen as recent events have revealed because somehow after a series of corrections and getting scolded for my actions (I should state that absolutely nothing I do is with malicious intent because if I want to do maliciousness, you'll know), I somehow tend to repeat those actions. Sometimes the reason is just habit. Sometimes I forget. And sometimes it is plain old stupidity. Other times, I simply cannot explain it away.
So writing. I am not bad at it because I'm lazy. Actually is it possible to be bad at something you don't give yourself a chance of doing? So maybe I'm great at it, we will never know.
Sigh. Somehow I believe we've established that what you think of whatever you read does not matter in this conversation.
It is all right to think that maybe I do not have a healthy dose of self-esteem. I would not judge you for the thought and absolutely not because it is true but because judgment is of the lord and I am not quite there yet. Baby steps.
Fortunately it is not a lack of self-esteem. You of all people should know that I mostly think the world of myself. I admit that these have been quite challenging days but that does not change.
Inwo obibi ori ona di ka mu. No. It is not self-esteem and you should let me finish otherwise this will never end.
You. Me. Stuck here. In this office I have created in my mind. You playing therapist against your will even though I do not think you're doing a great job at it and me, well.
So why do I not write why even though my mind is a forest of stories , ideas and endless thoughts?
I do not write because I think.
You could argue that this was a quote from Socrates but you and I do know that he wrote a lot. So maybe I am capable of great statements. Maybe you're right about me, maybe you're wrong and if I do not write because I think, would that make my mind a graveyard of thoughts? Where all good stories come to die.
And do writers not think? of course, they do. And do thinkers not write?
If so, what hogwash of an excuse is that?
One time I dreamed this story set in the Nigerian civil war and wrote bits of it on my WhatsApp status. One time I started writing this lesbian romance. One time I started another and another and another and the common denominator is how I did not go back to any of these stories after the first writing session. And it is not because I did not want to go back to them. I did. I do.
However I spend hours, days and weeks thinking about the next right sentence rather than writing it. It is just so unfortunate that in my thoughts there are only the wrong words, the wrong sentences and an overwhelming fear of failure.
I am bamboozled by the ‘what ifs’ of everything going wrong. Perhaps I don't think myself a good enough writer to tell those stories. Or I just am scared of being a bad writer. So perhaps you may think that you're right that I may not have a healthy dose of self-esteem as to my art but I maintain that this is not about self-esteem.
Overthinking has dwarfed me or maybe my dreams (let me not be overly dramatic ), and rather than do, I tend to overanalyze until everything looks wrong and subpar and I am more afraid of failing.
I envy you because you can get out of your head. It just so happens that my own head while being my biggest asset is also my biggest obstacle and even now I have dragged you into my head and forced you to share this analysis.
Today I thought about writing and after hours of overthinking, I somehow did write. Tomorrow I'll think about writing and most likely will not.
‘It is what it is are’.
Happy New Month, Mon Ami.
Thank you for being here, still reading, even after I’ve been away. I wondered if you’d stay, and here you are. How are you, really? I meant it when I said I’d try to show up here, and that hasn’t left my mind. The words seem to come in bits, but maybe that’s what makes it real—us meeting here, one letter at a time.
I’d love to hear how you’re doing. Tell me what’s new, or even what’s just the same. Here’s to a new month and, maybe, a small beginning again.
I’ve been finding comfort in a few songs lately, ones I thought you might enjoy, too. So here’s a little bit of my world for you:
I’d love to hear how you’re doing. Tell me what’s new, or even what’s just the same. Here’s to a new month and, maybe, a small beginning again.
All of my love ♥