Crumpled Papers

Most of us think that writing is only for writers. Not so. Writing is for everyone.

Psychologists have found (few decades ago) that writing is, in fact, very therapeutic. Because it forces introspection, and increases (the writer's) self understanding.

I find it personally redemptive. So I write to heal.

But sometimes words just don't come easy. Many times when I sit here in my desk—meaning to put my thoughts into words—my mind just goes black, much like the screen in front of me. Monitor going to sleep. My fingers freeze on the keyboard. And I procrastinate...yet again.

But today is different. I've willed myself not to ignore the prompting within anymore. Because you'll never know what you could be missing by ignoring such moments of inspiration. And today I have one such rare moment. Still, I struggle. Here are some I've hastily scribbled on now crumpled papers in my desk before I finally got around to typing out this post...

I remember noticing a huge billboard sign over at the highway whilst driving to work one morning. The sign simply read, “We need to talk —God”, in bold white letters on a solid black background. It sent shivers up my spine.

I just love how our small office have the feel of family about it—we're all girls. Sitting back to back, all eight of us cramped into a 42 sqm space. One can only surmise what's behind the constant giggling ... not to mention all the eating!

When I was younger, I'd easily pour out my emotions into writing. Recklessly, now it seems (maybe age has gotten into me, or that creative expression evolves to something deeper, something more calculated as one gets older). Not long ago, I just quit. Somehow, my emotions, too, have all been filed away. Somewhere. Underneath. I think I have learned to restrain my feelings a bit more. The recklessness and moments of youthful indiscretion may have faded, but then again, I have never been that good at wearing my heart out on my sleeves either.

So there—my thoughts on crumpled papers—out in the open. Yes, i have a penchant for noticing details (that seem to go unnoticed by most) and finding meaning beyond the mundaneness of those details. Then I understand myself a bit better each time.
“You must write for yourself, above all. That is your only hope of creating something beautiful.” —Gustave Flaubert

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