Often enough, I always find myself drifting amid the stream of knowledge and wisdom where there is seemingly endless horizon, yet my movement is perpetually confined and my thoughts are always feathering into tributaries but will never coalesce. Emergence of a brilliant idea, most often than not, will be eclipsed by a series of mental discourse and deliberation. Hence, I am afraid to write. Afraid that my idiosyncratic creation will be perceived merely as a kitsch. Afraid that my perception and presentation do not appeal to the mass. But mostly, I am afraid of being judged.
It has been months ever since I held my pencil akin to a mighty sword, devoting my soul into the sanctified paradise of writing. I cherish those memories. The exhilaration and contentment of extracting a masterpiece from your chamber of cerebration and imagination never seize to fulfill my draining satisfaction. However, as my mind begins to fill with void, there is a colossal edifice that halts my propagation. It prevents access to my chimerical imagination and artistry. Eventually, holding a pencil no longer emanates surging vitality and electrifying experience but more so becomes a heavy burden strapped onto my shoulders.
I am stranded in this bleak darkness. However, with the motivations and inspirations bestowed upon me, I believe I will gradually garner the strength to escape from this predicament. This is the first approach that I have taken towards the realm of light. I know for a fact that I must now disregard the time albatross and write as I please, write till I discover my purpose and finally, write till I’m able to reach the horizon of the endless stream.
Under The Olive Tree 