Writing under boring and restricting conditions always gives me some sense of purpose. It’s like my brain is continuously surprised by the outcome of my fingers’ wisdom. As it’s obviously my fingertips that blurt out the common sense that my brain did not know it had.
But now – recently my elder brother (56) passed away – I find myself in the mourning process, I find it very difficult to continue to express myself in writing. It seems as though I’m waiting for time – and you can hear an echo sound if you pronounce the word: ‘time’ – to heal me. It’s though that I simply cannot find the right words to define exactly what my brain is then processing. I sat down on many occasions to wanting to write something – anything – in order to feel what my emotions are telling me exactly.
And yet every time I sit down and stare at that blinking cursor, nothing of any kind will doom up. Do I suffer from writer’s block then, or it simply too soon? To be quite frank I do not really believe in writer’s blocks, as my brain is literally always busy processing one thing or the other. My fingertips, however, are simply not in the right mood, so it seems.
Sharing pain, grief, or the mourning process should be so easy, but my fingertips’ wisdom prevent me – for now – to give it all away. Because there’s so much that you can give away in the midst of a mourning process. And it’s like my fingertips want to prevent me from hurting anyone, most of all myself.
Yet, I’m still so moonstruck with this entire writing thing. For every time I finish something in writing, I automatically feel a sense of huge relieve afterwards. This feeling of relief after writing something – anything – will last me a whole day. It’s as though I wander around on a huge cloud after I published something. It’s as though I must first bleed, then blog, in order to find bliss. And I should remember that more intensely than what this mourning will leave me with.
