Being a Woman
It’s been such a long time since I’ve actually sat down and put my thoughts on paper. As soon as the children’s holidays started, my entire schedule was thrown off kilter. The absolute lack of routine had me feeling like I was stuck in a constantly running washing machine, topsy turvy all the time. I’ve heard of writer’s block, but this was more like being stuck in a maze. The words were out there taunting me and trying to get me to catch them, the wily rapscallions ! They hovered around and I could hear their whispered comments and secrets. I turned a corner of the maze and almost got a hold on them when they slipped away leaving merely a promise of new ideas in the air. When I felt that I’d wrapped my head around a marvellous thought to write about, the naughty words jumbled themselves so that I was left clutching an idea that somehow had lost it’s appeal.
Earlier I didn’t have a writing corner yet I managed to write in nooks and crannies and even on the children’s bed. Now I’ve got a tiny alcove of my own, with a narrow window looking out onto a road with beautiful trees and a glimpse of the sky between buildings . I arranged my stuff on the table and sat back with the thought that now the words would flow in a never ending stream. Unfortunately the lil critters had other ideas. They played hide and seek with me and lead me into the maze. I was completely lost there. Was it a surfeit of things to write about or a complete lack of it ?
There’re times when I’m very clear about what I want to write and so with a sense of purpose I settle into my chair, my laptop opened and ready to go. Then a flash of movement outside the window catches my attention and I look out. A pink bougainvillea flower from my neighbour’s balcony, peeks down at me and playfully dips its head in the errant breeze. How can I ignore the cheeky flower ? Once I look out, all my determination and focus gets scattered in the wind . The ebb and flow of life outside reels me in and does not let go. There’re two trees, on either side of the road which runs in front of my apartment, which cast giant shadows on the ground. I love to watch their shadows start to move towards each other and meet in the middle. Then there’re the people, going about their daily lives, unaware that a self-professed writer is weaving fantastical stories about them in her mind, when she should be doing something productive.
After weeks of duelling with the errant words, I’ve been able to write something. Have I finally acknowledged myself as a writer ? I’m still not too sure about that, but there certainly is a feeling of being incomplete when I don’t write. A feeling of not being fully there unless I let my thoughts take the form of words and release them from captivity. I think I should definitely put a stop now to this rambling, while at least a semblance of sanity remains. But there’s a celebration in my mind since I’ve successfully navigated the maze, for the time being at least. I know that it’s waiting there,unseen, to catch me when I’m feeling complacent. It’ll make me reflect on and rethink my thoughts. It’ll make me pause and give a tad more respect to the world of words…..