Wednesday 19 February 2014

Writer's Block

My blog to me is a place where I can showcase my writing and let people know that I can write but recently, I don’t have anything to write about. I have writer’s block as many famous writers would say, and I think that the only way to overcome writer’s block is to forget about it so I did and this is what I finally came up with:

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NOTHING! I have no idea what to write about, so I finally made up my mind to sit down and find a nice blogging challenge which I could do for my blog but everything I looked at was asking me to write about myself and I prefer to write fiction because my life is boring. Fiction, to me, is an escape. A way to forget about my life and talk about a made up character which has formed itself inside my mind. I know that I can write. I have been told by my friends, family and teachers that I should write more. Especially by my mother who keeps badgering me to write but I cannot write when someone tells me to write. I write when I feel like it. I write when I have a plot line which is pounding in my head, telling me to write it down. 

Okay, picture this, the sun is pouring through my windows. I squint to look out my window and I see a bird. Then I close my eyes and continue with whatever I was doing. An hour or two passes by until I realize that I have to go for my art class. I get out of my house, get into a bus and sit down. I whip out my phone and I just start typing in my notes an idea, that initially came to me when I saw a sign that said “CCTV Cameras Operating” and this is what I came up with:

I keep my face invisible from the CCTV cameras in the bus. My legs shake as the reality of my current situation and what it will be like after I have successfully completed the heist. I get up slowly, at the same time, my hand reaches towards the 45mm pistol hidden behind my pink, plaid shirt. I stand up and make my way through the narrow lane between the two columns of seats. As I reach the front of the bus, I pull the gun out and hold it parallel to my face. I can feel my hand stiffening as I make a 2 second eye contact with every one of the passengers. I can see the fear in each one of their eyes as they think of their loved ones. I order them to empty their wallets. As each one of them reaches into their purses or pockets, I see her. I see a woman who didn't move an inch, instead she sat their with a smug smile as she giggled under her breath. She looks up and we make eye contact. I shoot her an angry look and in return she gives me an innocent yet brave look. Her legs stretch as she stands up. The pressure on the trigger tightens as I watch the woman stand up. I couldn't help but admire her confidence in standing up to me. I began to think that she didn't notice the 45mm gun in my hand. Her hand shifts across her body, she pushes her shirt up and I see a golden glint. The sun was shining upon a police badge, lodged between her jeans and her skin. I felt a soul move behind me. I turned around in a panic. My eyes were now fixed upon a man in his mid-30's. He wore a leather jacket. He mimicked the woman's actions. He lifted is navy shirt and the gold badge glinted in my eyes. They two of them smiled as they realized their accomplishments in capturing me. I drop the weapon as I kneel down and put my hands on my head. I knew the drill. As she handcuffed me with my hands behind my back, the man reads out my rights, "you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law". A sense of failure surged through my veins as the man pushed my head down and into the black police car.”

Pretty lame right? And all of this came from a sign which just informed people that there were cameras in the bus. That’s when it hit me. This whole passage did not just come from the sign, it came from my head (and the crime show I was watching just before I left). That’s also when I realised that, since I like mystery and crime so much, I should write about that. But then, I remembered the stories that I have written before which were all based on 2 universal themes. 2 themes that I believe no one can go wrong with, death and family. I was playing it safe. I did not want to step out of my comfort zone. I did not want to take that leap because I knew that the stories I have written before were good because people can relate to it. In other words, it is universal.

So after this, as I like to call it,  “mid-writer crisis”, I have decided that my blog is not going to be just for my stories. It’s going to be my voice. Referring back to what my English teacher told us, “your blog is your megaphone” or microphone or bullhorn. I don’t remember the exact words. So, this is my megaphone and I am screaming in your ear all of my ideas, right now. Be prepared for some extreme and timid ideas because, in my brain, there’s a lot going on. A lot of nonsense and a lot of genius. I am like an active volcano that can erupt any time so, get ready, TO RUN!!


(I’m kidding!! Don’t run, I won’t hurt you) 

Thursday 13 February 2014

I Am From - My Version

Here is a poem I wrote a few months ago. I finsihed it and it just was left unnoticed for a while. I was never sure on whether I should post it but I decided that I will, so here it is. I hope you like it..

I am from a land
    a land filled with beauty but no one to take care of it
I am from a land
    misunderstood, dull and blind


I am from a land
   of outgoing, loud people
I am from a land
   of the rich and the poor


I am from a villa in the south
   a place to call home
Parents who work, parents who love
   a brother behind a wall, soundproof


I am from broken bikes and swinging swings
   from London, from Paris, from flights, from trains
I am a traveller
   intrigued by the world


I am from a condo in the east
   8 pools for my enjoyment
Friends to laugh with, enemies to fight with
   gossip, rumours, laughter and tears


I am from a worn out school
 unit tests and assessments
I am from awkward silences
 from teachers that yell, from teachers that scare


I am from a shut mouth
 afraid to speak up, say how I feel
I am from the empty seat in the back
 someone to fill up the seat


I am from big dreams, a big heart
 but scared to pursue, scared to love
I am the interior designer, the writer, the federal agent
 dreams of mine, yet to be fulfilled

I am from the strokes by my brush
 the canvas, the water, the colour
I am from an art class in the corner
the girl splattered with paint


I am from a posh life by the Reservoir
 a small house, a small space
I am from a stocked wardrobe
 filled with clothes but nothing to wear


My life is being forged
 manufactured behind doors I cannot reach
There’s time lost, there’s time left ahead
 its my turn to show the world
 the magic behind my personality


I am from a life in the making.