THE BLOCKADE...

It's 2AM. I feel like writing, but everything that has come out so far is so baseless. Shallow would be an understatement to describe such writing. It’s not like I strive to write something deep all the time. The only criteria I really set is whatever I write needs to come from within. A flow of thoughts I guess. It shouldn't be forced or from the head. I see writing as some people describe making music. Most times you have to sit and practice and improve. Most times you have to see the possibilities of what new piece you can compose. You have to think from the head. Write down the various ideas. In due time when you pick up that instrument, the music becomes a part of you and flows from inside you. You become one with the melody. Writing isn't much different to me. I think about everything around me, everything that's happened, everything that might happen. These thoughts become a part of me and when I strike the keys of my keyboard with my fingers, I expect not to think, but just to let it all out.

                I guess this has really been something that has upset me in the last few years: the mental blockade.

                I have been taught how to think. Whatever I do, first I must make sure it's edited and fine-tuned; I have to make sure it's something acceptable by the general public. Basically anything I feel has to be subjected to a second opinion by my brain and then with the appropriate permissions: allowed to pass out into the world. Frankly I have some amazing thoughts that fade away before I can jot them down.

This blockade isn't limited to my writing. It is connected to almost everything I do. How I interact with people, how I perform some activity, how I perceive any situation. It makes me think twice about almost everything.

                I remember as a child (I was one of the unruly ones), how I used to hardly give a damn about what anyone thought. I never cared about what anyone did (unless it affected me), I didn't interfere with anyone, I didn't care what people thought of me. I was independent. A person independent in thought is a person independent in life. I was always looking for something new, always yearning for more. I wasn't anchored down by burdening thoughts and self-subjected responsibilities. In short, I was happy. I remember when my parents gave me a cricket set. I used to give it to the other "well behaved" kids and then run off to roll a cycle tyre on the road with a stick along with the poor kids. They were fun and they didn't care about who said what about them. I remember spending all day climbing trees in the neighbourhood; always such a challenge. I remember learning how to remove air from tyres and then flattening all the tyres from more than thirty cars in one afternoon. I got it good at home for that incident, but I didn't care. I was a wild thing and I lived in a magical world where there was no limit, because my mind was free to roam in any which way it desired.

                As adults look at what we've become; we spend most of the day obsessing over others, wondering if our actions and/or looks impressed them. We have all become masochistic beings, always scrutinizing and comparing ourselves to those around us and in turn pulling out unrequired flaws within us. We are intent on hurting ourselves by pointing out everything that is wrong with us. Well, our flaws make us special and our flaws create the person we are. It isn't right to act like the kid I was (wild type) but it is important to give less importance to others opinions. It is time to give ourselves more priority; to be able to think a hundred impossible things everyday just because you can. Being boring and like everyone else won't get you an exciting life. Break that stupid wall, that mental blockade. Don’t let it stop you any longer. Go ahead, carry out your hobbies in pure passion, do your work like an artist, meet people with that independent sprit ablaze in you.

                I look back at my little self and wonder when I lost him. I try emulating him as much as I can. It’s hard, but something is better than nothing. I try to not care, to trust myself to be alright, being just the way I am. Of course the irony is that I’m trying to compare myself to someone else: my younger self. I want to be like him. That rascal on the other hand is somewhere in the past right now hanging off a tree or flattening car tyres just for fun. Stupid kid.