Wednesday, July 29, 2009

To the Poets and Artists

The Time I have stopped writing, the time I stopped being myself -Totally Gurlish-

In the middle of chaos, I sit curled up in the dining table with my notebook. There is a clatter of plates coming from the kitchenette in the apartment we're staying in here in Bangkok. My sister scavenge for food as they discuss plot lines for their manga charachters.Cartoon network is blaring behind me and my younger siblings play rauciously. I'm not really distracted by all this hullabaloo, having grown used to it. I tend to feel lonely when there is silence. I'm used to the talking loudly to be heard over each other's voices. The snapping at each other and the occassional kicks as Shamasi my 11 year old sister forgets to use her words, uses physical to express herself.
I find that as long as the words are buzzing in my ear and haunting me with images, then I can write just find in the middle of the craziness. I love it. I love the process of listening to the whispers in my ears and writing them down or trying to paint an image I see with my words. Its my way of communing with myself, checking in with myself, or just cleansing myself from negativity. Now don't get me wrong, I have writer's blocks just like everyone else, but I learned that sometimes the mind needs to simply absorb the world around it. A word, a scent, or even a drawing could trigger a poem. Its important to romance the world around you whenever you can. Its these little moments that make life worthwhile. The satisfaction of writing a poem after being blocked for so long. Inspiring someone to write. Discovering your youngest sister writes funny stories and uses advanced vocab.
A dear friend of mine just recently found her way back to poetry. Her poem is beautiful in its simplicity, but even more so towards the end in its message. It reminded me of what its like to turn away from one's own talents.

What are we mere mortals but the stories we tell anyway?

so in this blog, I write to remind myself and whoever dabbles in poetry, whoever writes, whoever draws, not to forget. I will not deny my talent. I will not neglect it or who I am. My words belong to me, and I belong to them. We complete one another and this is where we belong. To each other...

I will remember

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