I often felt like this with painting too, but then with painting I have been teased enough.... long enough for me now to gain the upper hand. I have learnt their way and know how to perform a dance to beg for rain. Well people told me stick to what I am good at, I guess I should listen to them...... but then again may be not. How do I know what I am good at, I don't do I? Good at???...good at what???.... good compare to who, compare to what. I only know I want to do something, try some writing....write despite of not knowing how.
Language is just not my thing, I was bad at composition at school many decades ago. I haven't written anything since then - not even a page of diary, except an occasional love note that I copied from lyric of songs and posed as my own to try to wow the love of my dream. (It did not work) Never thought I was born a verbal person anyway. I was a quiet child, an introspective child. My mum would suddenly jog me out of my existence and ask" Hey tim what are you so quiet about now?" I was only 9? 10? 11? how would I know how to answer this grown up question - "is it not proper to keep to yourself ?" I wonder then. I was sure sometimes they thought I was angry, I felt guilty about that. In my little mind I wish then someone could understand that I was simply enjoying myself by myself staring out the window. I was not even sure why I did that, looking at what? I just spaced out, that was me and still is. May be this is a sign of insanity manifested at a young age.
While I was growing up, I could not understand how come some people have so much to talk about. I mean some talk no000n-stop at anything and everything, I saw people listening to them so they must be interesting. I wonder, but I was sure that they are not insane, I was the one who had the problem I thought. Soon I tried to fit in; tried to be smart; jammed myself with knowledge; tried to excel at what I do; competing; comparing and always comparing fearing of being left behind. All along thinking I know who I am and where I want to get to but deep down inside I knew a void was brewing bigger and bigger by the day. In a split second, lapsed into adulthood, middle age, past that and up the hill, over the hill finally while on my way down realising that I am insane.
I have always been insane to have given up my solitude. To have stop staring out the window, to have stop daydreaming. Insane to think I know who I am and know what I am good at.....and what not good at. Old habit die hard, I still think I cannot write, still think I am not good at it. But, ...."not good at"..... compare to what? Who and what I am comparing to, I am still wondering. Suddenly it is 2.09am - two hours past midnight - I have been wondering for 2 hours and still nothing came out of this dried up desert of a brain of mind. So I guess I go and perform my rain dance and pray that when I wake up in the morning, I would have written something in my dream.
So I went to bed and drifting off into that state between sleep and dream, vaguely I heard someone appearing, I cannot make out his face but I thought I recognise his voice - I knew he was Paddy from a blog that I listen to, although the sound is faint but the voice is crisp, I thought he said //"go on and start writing...exactly like painting, I'm sure you have started with an idea of some kind to paint something and you find it turned out completely different; taken on a life of its own. I find that with writing. The best personal results are unexpected."// After that I must have dozed off completely, I am not sure if Paddy really appear in my dream but the advise is sound. May be I'll try that, I'll just go ahead to begin a writing. Lets see, here I start with putting down " Since Wednesday until now..........
"Do we really know what we do not know?"
"What we know we are not good at, is an obstacle to overcoming what we think we are not good at"