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Writer’s Block

 

Ever had one of those writer’s block? The ones where you feel like writing something, and you must and have to write something but just can’t get yourself to write it because you just don’t know how to start the whole thing (or even end it for that matter)?

 

Today’s post is all about writer’s block.

 

Sometimes, when I get a writers block, I feel like I’m having to go to the toilet to take a dump, but you sit there on the toilet bowl for 20 good minutes, and all that urge to take a dump just disappears. Have you ever felt that way before? It feels like shit. Only it doesn’t  happen…

 

I’m feeling it now.No, not the part where I have to take a dump. But the writer’s block part.

 

So what do I do about it? When one has a writer’s block, one just writes about it. Just like me.

 

I have explained how I feel when I have one and what I do about it (read above again).

 

But what I haven’t explained is how one has to write about it. Writing is like water. It has to be smooth, going with the flow kind of thing. Scrape off all that systematic rules and such. Those are bullshit. Writing should come from within.

 

At this moment, I’m in the library (where else?). And infront of me is an Iranian nerd. The first of it’s kind I’ve ever seen. He’s not wearing any spectacles but he seems really distraught over that piece of paper which is infront of him. He’s scratching his head and moving to and fro in his chair. What does it tell you? I think he’s doing some difficult mathematical calculation. That’s what is bothering him at the moment. He just got up to ask his friend on how to do it. How do i know he’s a nerd? He frowns and his legs are an inch closer to each other (it’s as though he’s hiding his crotch). It’s a sign that he has been thinking real hard and the to and fro movement he does with his body, he’s trying to crack his brains to answer the difficult mathematical equation. And his hairstyle.

 

Next to me, are two Chinese girls (locals I think), and they’re both busy doing their  assignments. Both look bored but both look like they’re dying to finish whatever they’re supposed to finish. Keeping themselves busy like bees over a flower.

 

Two African brothers are sitting two tables away from me, both are on their laptops but both are busy talking to each other. The first guy is making use of his time looking around at the library, scanning. Searching for something or someone. Probably he’s waiting for a friend. The other guy’s on Facebook. Probably both of them are waiting for their next class to start. Ahha, his friend has arrived. An African girl. Not hot but big boobs. My guess was right, he was waiting for someone.

 

Not many know that I’m blogging. Few take notice of what I’m doing. Some think I’m busy chatting or Facebooking away (which is kind of true) and the rest think that I’m typing away madly to finish off my assignment. For me, I love that sense of mysteriousness I’m giving away. It’s like being a frog under a coconut shell. People can see the shell but not many see the frog.

 

Just said hi to a friend in the library and she sat next to the Chinese girls I was talking to you guys about and they start chatting away madly. The librarian observes but doesn’t approach them because they’ve realised their mistakes and are finally keeping their voices low.

 

Almost everyone you see in the library has a story to tell. They’re busy with something. Killing time. Waiting for a friend. Feeling like shit but pretending not to because they feel the library is the best place to hide away their tears and pain. Some are flirting. Some are just listening to music. Some are just walking about aimlessly.

 

See, observing is fun. And when one observes and transmit the whole thing to writing, writer’s block is diminished. And when you’re a writer, you view the world in a very different way. You start to have this urge to chronicle every single thing you see. Although they may not seem interesting to many of you, it’s the way you write that makes it seem so.

 

For example, a bunch of students are waking down the stairs. Four boys and one girl. But all five don’t know each other and yet they’re walking down the stairs in an orderly fashion. Each one is different in their own way, from the style they dress to the way they walk and talk. Each one had been on the same floor, probably sitting next to each other in the computer room and their lives intertwines (somewhat) on that stair case. Has it ever occur to you why we meet different kinds of people? And how our lives suddenly just intertwines like that? All these questions fascinate me. It’s amazing, knowing a stranger once and then being real good friends the next. I think it’s beautiful.

 

Sorry to bore you but hey, welcome to my world 🙂

 

Much Love,

Sukhu

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