The worst kind of heart-break will isolate you from your art.
-unknown
Just kidding, an unknown did not say that. I said it—for it is something that I concluded after months of being a no-show. My hobbies do not excite me anymore. Long gone are the days where I used to think about writing every waking moment of my day. I had so many original ideas for all different kind of projects that I wanted to spend my energy on. The rush was unreal and I was so excited to put forward my work and have people acknowledge it. Yes, it always felt good to hear so many praises from so many people from different parts of the world. It was amazing. But I cannot bring myself to write anymore. Nothing excites me the same way. I guess trauma does affect one's life—directly and indirectly. I often wonder, what is keeping me away from my hobbies now? Now that everything that had to happen has happened, now that all the damage has been done. I guess it still affects me on a daily basis. The memories haunt me even sub-consciously. I seem to be doing fine from far away, I finish all my work in time; even if I am pushing myself really hard at the last moment, I still have things to show for places where my work counts. It's not like I'm not doing quality work, I still finish my work the way I want it to be. I just am not excited about anything anymore. I do not understand why this is happening to me. I guess a writer's block or burnout cannot last for months. I have no labels for this phase.
What affected my hobbies are slowly seeping into my life as I sit down and stare at an empty screen in front of me. The words swim and I cannot believe I've managed to sit through the length of this 'excerpt' that I write. Excerpt—because it seems like a torn page from the chapter of a story which I never really wrote, excerpt because there is no start or endpoint to this. Being in the middle is worse than being at the beginning of the end. It is like being in the middle of the sea, not knowing which side the land is on, not knowing what to do. I am just floating, looking at the sky. There are people and birds passing me by, oh at least the breeze is nice.
I know that floating in the sea is nice and relaxing. The breeze feels so good against my skin and the sun is just warm enough. The warmth is comforting and it invites me to stay still and stare at the clouds as they float away towards the horizon. My eyes won't even make an effort to follow where they go, they just stare at the sky, and see what comes and floats away in front of my peripheral vision. I could stay this way forever, but deep inside me, there is the hunger which will never satiate unless I don't start pressing my fingers into these keys. It won't let me be at peace unless I see the words form in front of my eyes on the blank screen that I keep on staring. The hunger will grow and grow and grow and it won't satiate no matter how much I eat. It won't leave me be and let me enjoy the peace and the calm and the rest and the warmth that I can argue I deserve. I deserve it after all that I have been through. I deserve it for every tear I have shed and for every prayer I've made to whoever was listening. I deserve it. I earned it, yet I am not appeased. I am not satisfied with the mediocrity staying at one place comes with. I am not ready to settle. This strong desire will only go down once I start to pen my words on this paper. It won't go away, even after reading numerous reviews that say I am not good enough of a writer or that I am too up in my imagination. It won't go away because I started this five years ago in the same month, on the same date as I write these words that show I cannot write anymore…or maybe they show that I can.
It seems as though the magic has not completely left me yet.
You will hear from me again.
~~MISS KIREI~~