I thought I would gradually begin posting some of the things I’ve written over the years. Although I aspire to be an investigative writer and reporter, I once thought of majoring in creative writing or English. I turn to writing when I have too many thoughts floating too fast through my head. Here’s something I wrote during my finals week last fall quarter. It was a tumultuous time, full of work and anxiety about achieving my goal GPA. While it was an admirable goal, I learned a bit about the difference between meaningful and meaningless standards. And I’ve since learned that many of the emotions I was feeling at that time came from separation from God.
I can only type in Times New Roman.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the goings-on of the everyday. The problem is you forget what matters most, the drumbeat within your soul. You get caught up in the doing so much that you lose the feeling. It’s a scary realization. Terrifying, actually.
Damn I’m lonely. There’s no reprieve for the weight of the world’s emotions: loneliness; love lost; love gained, but not by you. Deep, deep darkness filters out all the light. You are lost in it. And sometimes you don’t want to find your way out.
I switch tenses, pretending it’s YOU that’s lost, not ME, not I. If I am lost, it is because I wasn’t following directions. Maybe sometimes I want to get lost. Explore in the wilderness, instead of following the route to my destination. A side trip, if you will. What always comes of these side trips is a mediocre revelation, or a vision of interest. It’s never the beautiful vista I’d expected, though. It comes with a tinge of sadness, having an expectation of something more that is never fulfilled.
I like to start paragraphs and sentences with I. These are my words, my thoughts, so I am allowed this liberty. It feels good to write, to get my emotions, daily suppressed, down onto the screen. I don’t do it enough because I know there are other more important things I should be doing, productive, means to an end. But what is more productive than pouring your tears and sorrows out, letting them flow like blood from a wound so that you may be healed?
When I do this, I feel a tingling that seems to originate from my heart, but maybe it’s deeper than that. It’s the feeling pouring back into my veins after a long hibernation. My heart is raw, my soul sliced open, no longer numb to emotions. In this moment, I feel the weight and depth of them, which cannot be measured by any traditional method, and take in the sensation: I am alive.