The reason people write is to let others understand what it feels like to feel—for so many reasons. As for me, I write when it feels too much or too little. When it is too much to hold any longer, because there is no other way of letting it out—or perhaps it is simply that I do not know how. On the other hand, there are times when it feels too empty, too quiet, where even silence seems unbearably loud. The first thing that comes to mind is blasting one's eardrums with music or playlists, because it cuts off the noise for a while—but never for long.
The worst is when you have so many things you wish to say, to write them all down, yet your hands refuse to hold the pen, refusing to move. That is when you know: you can no longer bring yourself to write. You can't. You no longer know what to speak of.
That is when even writing becomes exhausting. Because no matter how much effort you pour into expressing yourself—be it through acting out, speaking aloud, or writing it down—no one will ever truly understand. No one will ever fully grasp how you feel. Because it is about you. It is only you, and no one else.
There was a time once—I remember being able to have my limbs strong, my legs and arms not trembling as they are now accustomed to when I made my way to the stage. Hundreds of pairs of eyes just staring right at me. "Smile and nod," the quiet voice to my right seemed to chime softly.
While on the other side, there was that one unfamiliar, unsettling feeling that had begun to grow in me. Like a seed planted somewhere in the soil among roots. Somewhere deep in my body, my cells, my skin. Little did I know that this would be the beginning of everything. That this was where it all started.
