I haven’t been able to write for a while now – and I’m unsure why. Perhaps the reason I used to write before was to waltz myself away from my thoughts – or perhaps right into them. I don’t feel as conflicted anymore. I don’t feel as hollow. Was it to fill the gaping void in my soul that I wrote? Was it all just a fling I had with my keyboard when my emotions abandoned me? Do I really not care enough for writing anymore to have the patience to open up my laptop and type this out? I tap away at the touchscreen keyboard on my phone, trying to make sense of what it was about writing that made me feel so complete. Or rather, distracted me from my incompleteness.
No matter how many times I convince myself of my love for writing, I cannot convince myself to write. It is but at 3am that I find the time and calmness to collect my thoughts and regurgitate them into a virtual notebook on this digital screen.
Do I write to prove a point? Maybe it’s to show myself that I do feel. That emotions do exist in me. Maybe I do it to feel human. Because what are human beings if not accurately wired chemical reactions held together by sleepless musings? If writing is what makes me human, then what do I become without it? Do I write to keep my dull, animal self at bay? And if so, which one is the real me? The one who hides behind his temporary fix of writing a few paragraphs? Or the one who accepts who he is and tries, in vain, to face it.
Maybe I’m just a junkie, addicted to the sound of my clattering keyboard and hooked to the pain-numbing characteristic held by each word I type. Maybe I can’t let go of writing, despite my inadequacies, for the same reasons people savour the last few drags on a cigarette. Maybe I just love the rush in my veins. Or maybe I’m just a coward who can’t face his withdrawal symptoms, unwilling to move past his fear of being hollow.
Maybe that’s why we all write. To fill ourselves with purpose. Maybe we all feel the need to pour our musings into a flat bucket made of paper. Because the world is a harsh place and sometimes, people just don’t understand.
But you’ve always been there for me, my trusty keyboard. You listen, without asking questions. You let me push your buttons. And no matter how long I leave you alone for, you always take me back with open arms.
You let me Esc to an Alt world and give me a sense of Ctrl. You Enter my mind, Shift my perspective and Delete my misery. They say dogs are man’s best friend, but us writers have our keyboards to be our bitches.
To my sole companion in my past loneliness and internal desolation – my keyboard.