It’s only when you truly begin to understand yourself and
your idiosyncrasies that you can affect the way you feel. For instance, I was
feeling irrationally sad earlier. Morbid even. Then I remembered something
funny about myself – that writing about it would heal me. It’s strange how in
the lunacy of life you can forget the vital keys to your own happiness. I have
gone almost 6 years living in this whirlwind of study and work and failed relationships
and broken friendships. And in that six years, I lost sight of what made me who
I am. I lost sight of the simple pleasures in life. I forgot what it felt to be
content. I forgot what it felt like to be WHOLE.
Now here I sit, after a 2 month holiday in the United
States. A frantic and exciting journey it was, to say the least. How strange it
was to realise that I was once again happy, and once again feeling blessed. That
I could remember what made me smile – but more importantly, what gave me joy.
I love to write. Writing, to me, is the simplest yet the
most brilliant form of expression. If you can write, you can create. And if you
can create, then you are virtually unstoppable.
When I write, I am the creator. I am the inspiration. I am
the story. I bring words to life. I bring characters and plots and twists and
turns into being. I can manipulate the events and I can envision the outcome.
But the single best part about writing is that so long as you’re satisfied with
your own words on the page, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You
created it and it’s yours. It’s only true purpose is to serve you – to serve
your own joy and contentedness.
And this, my friends, is why I write today. I have
rediscovered the simplistic beauty of taking joy in your own handiwork. I have
found my muse again. I know it wasn’t lost, but to have discovered it again is
like finding the $50 you stored away for safekeeping but couldn’t remember the
hiding place. My writing has more value than $50 to me – to me, its price
cannot be named.
Ah, such joy this is.
