…it’s not you, it’s me.
I don’t want to blame you and your intangible existence for my laziness. I don’t want to blame you for not giving me any creativity to write original content. And I definitely do not want to blame you for the crippling, debilitating regrets I have in my head. It is unfair, isn’t it? You, who do not have arms and legs, to be blamed by someone who are far more capable.
In fact, you should’t even be considered as someone, or something, accountable; you’re just an idea. A label. An excuse. But let’s be honest, everyone encounters you at some point. Whether it be a college student, a professional writer, you, uncalled-for and unwanted, knock on the doorsteps with your middle-finger waving in the air. Sometimes, however, more than being a pain-in-the ass, you are capable of teaching us valuable lessons.
You’re the one who reminds them that they are not perfect, that they cannot always write something substantial. You make proud people humble. You keep others grounded to their feet whenever they feel like they’re skyrocketing to Uranus. You keep us sane, you keep us humane. We are not gods and goddesses of writing, and you appear to remind us that.
You are often a blessing in disguise. You arrive during our lowest. Whenever we feel too tired to function but we don’t even realize it, you suddenly swoop in like Santa Clause on Christmas Eve. You tell us, non-verbally of course, to stop overworking ourselves and take a goddamn break. We are not machines—we are living, breathing human beings who experience fatigue and stress; both physical and mental.
But why is that we fail to realize your innate value? Why do we see you as a nuance, a pain-point, instead of seeing you as a good thing, or a challenge at the very least? You always receive the blame, but sometimes I wonder, shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t it be you who should blame us for our lapses? Our incompetencies? Our lack of experience? We think too highly of ourselves and our work that sometimes we fail to strive to become better. We stop searching for new experiences because we say to ourselves “I create worlds. Therefore it is not necessary for me to dwell on someone else’s.” We stop pointing our fingers to ourselves and instead relive our previous faults and failures, thinking that we can attribute our current condition to the mistakes that our past selves have done. we become so distracted with the outside world that we forget to live in our own. we become so fascinated with the lives of other human beings that we fail to realize that we have to concentrate our attention to the characters and beings we created with our ink. They are living, waiting within the pages of the stories we wrote. It is a bit selfish to neglect them, don’t you think?
So, Writer’s Block, I’d like to apologize if ever I’ve blamed you for the misfortunes that I’ve encountered as I crawl my way to writing greatness. I was just scared of blaming myself because I know that there is no one else to condemn if I screw up. The next time we meet, I’ll greet you with a smile and give you a tight hug. But until then, let me focus on my craft, myself, and my world.