ravingjazzer

There i was, walking along the road. The sun was high and the heat burned my skin like coal. I knew where I was heading to. I knew my direction. I knew how many miles it would take to get there. I have everything computed. I knew how many days it will take for me to get there. I knew the journey would be painful but it will be worth it to reach the destination.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw a glistening lake. I stopped and looked at the road ahead. the heat, the distance, the time. Then i took a look at the stream. I looked at the hammock and the trees beside the lake. I looked at the promise of shade, rest and refreshments. I took one quick glance at the road and thought to myself, I could stay here by the lake. So I started walking towards the lake. I was pretty soon, cut off by an alligator. I was staring in fear. I felt like my heart would pop out of my chest. The alligator stared back at me with its eyes. I knew it was ready to pounce anytime. Then alligator closed its eyes and didn't move. I thought it was asleep. I thought its finally safe to walk towards the lake. the beautiful, promising lake. so I walked slowly careful not to wake up the sleeping creature. as i drew my face closer to the water, i heard a loud snap and i had to run away as fast as i could. the promises the lake held, were all but fake. The trees turned out to be made of cardboard. The hammock had a huge hole in the middle. and the crystal clear lake, cradled thousands of creatures waiting for their next victim.

I soon reached the same familiar road again. The sun was still high. My skin was still burning. But this time, I couldn't way fast enough towards the destination. I could smell the stench of sweat on my skin. I could taste tears running down my lips from my eyes. My eyes are getting grey now from the extreme dehydration. I see hallucinations of water, lakes and even rain. I'm still far from finishing this journey. Still millions of miles away from that destination. Almost at the end of my strength. But I will keep on walking. I will crawl if i have to. I will take every dying breath till i reach that destination, even if i die in the process.

overjoyed. speechless. damn, so this is how its supposed to feel like.

This morning I found myself in a familiar place, right in front on my laptop. I could hear the clicks my fingers make on the keyboard. The same blinking line of the screen winked at me. Start your song, it whispered to me. Its voice was the only sound I hear at the moment. Not the noise outside of the rushing cars. Not the conversations unfolding inside the coffee shop. Not the gentle greetings of the people giving you their sweetest smiles as they tell you how good the morning is. It's the blank spaces of the sheet that caught my eyes. The words borrowed from a person's soul and posted into a substance called paper. What is the real essence of writing? I dare try to investigate this through the eyes of those who have gone before me.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind", I quote from the Brilliant Mr. Shakespeare's play, A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was one of his earliest comedies.  Mr. Shakespeare married his beloved Anne Hathaway at the age of 18. They were blessed with 3 children. After his death, majority of his fortune went to his oldest daughter, Susanna. To his wife, he left what biographers identified as his "second best bed". As weird as it may seem, it seemed like an insult, something of no significance. Why a bed? Why not something of more value? But the more I read about that "bed", the more I realized how his romanticism seemed to run deeper in his veins more and more. The bed was a place of comfort, of rest and of peace. Researchers speculated that the bed signifies richness since it was the bed they shared. I tried borrowing Mr. Shakespeare's heart and found that he indeed is a sweet person. He gave this bed to his wife to show her how much he loved her. Till the end he wanted her to see the thing that would remind her of how much he valued their love. Worth more that money or gold, he gave Anne the best gift he could offer anyone, love.

Another author caught my eyes with his romanticism and funny lines for his novel, The Last Song. A line that gave me a nice laugh, "Mom says it's because she has PMS.
Do you even know what that means?
"I'm not a little kid anymore. It means pissed-at- men syndrome."
I asked myself, how in the world is this man able to think about lines like these? A closer look at Mr. Nicholas Spark's life revealed his secret. In his biography, the writer told of how he attempted to work with publishers on his novels and how he tried to get into law school but was rejected.  He chose to try different jobs instead, which even included selling dental products over the phone. Funny lines like these enabled me to see through his strength. He was now a well known writer and almost all of his novels are now major motion pictures. I've seen how he can manage to give us a laugh. How his words has been giving us comfort. No matter how hard life turns out to be, there's no reason why we would not smile.

I found myself an hour later still on the same seat. Only this time, the empty spaces on the sheet wasn't as empty as it was anymore. I, myself, am a writer for almost a decade already. Not nearly as amateur as I am ten years ago, but yet I felt as if I have a lifetimes worth of stories I have yet to learn. The stories beneath writers' lives breathe life to their ideas. Every page is the pot in which the stories are immortalized. The writer's life is the soil in which the story is planted. So as I start to munch on the keys of my keyboard again, I begin planting another one in the page of the novel I've been working on ever since I was born, my masterpiece I am living. My-so-called life.

so this is how it feels without music.

its way past 5 in the morning... my eyes are getting tired but my brain just won't shut up. I had to find inspiration and an outlet for this burning sensation from my throat. No, it ain't sore throat or whatever your twisted brain tells you (hahaha.. gotcha, didn't i? ). I needed music back into my words again. So... i.... sing.