I’ve been away for quite awhile now, haven’t I? Yes, 6 days feels like an eternity on the internet. Lots of things have actually been happening in these 6 days – I saw The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies (VERY GOOD, PLEASE GO WATCH), and suffered a communication breakdown involving 1 unreliable iPhone and 1 exasperated flatmate. I finished the book Asleep by Banana Yoshimoto (Yes, Banana. Call me Pomegranate Teo). I had pho at Cafe East in Surrey Quays, which continues to be spectacular. I had a lecture on nature. I took a really good dance class. I had an unusually early start today and was blown away by the quiet beauty of early mornings. And, of course, I saw tons and tons of Gossip Girl.
The thing is, with all these things and probably a handful more, I tell myself: I should write about this! What a great review each would make. A flurry of words spin and tumble in my head as I experience each of these things, like how sugar in a cotton candy machine is somehow spun into that wispy, dubiously coloured stuff by centrifugal force. Then I come home, sit down, enthusiastically open a new post and … the words are gone. They melt away like cotton candy on your tongue. Either that, or the words are too disparate and I cannot summon the energy to piece them together.
I’m afraid my brain is a little fogged over.
Surely anyone who writes knows that feeling. The intense fatigue that cloaks you the moment you try and grasp for coherent sentences, like heavy drapes being dumped upon your shoulders. Sometimes I think it can be far more exhausting than actual physical activity. Yes, even running 2.4, as unbelievable as that sounds considering I consider my spirit animal to be a sloth.
As I was walking home from the station this evening, chin buried in my scarf and my thoughts rambling to try and block out the overwhelming thought that ‘I AM FREEZING’, it occurred to me how precious these words are. How enormous my terror and dismay would be, if I woke up one morning and I’d lost all these words. These words, the ones that flit through my head – some for a second, some for a lifetime – are my way of making sense of the world. These words are what I fill the silence with when I’m alone, and largely why I enjoy being on my own so much of the time. I think it would be sad to look at something, to feel or taste or hear something, and not have the words to articulate it.
That aeroplane slicing the night sky with it’s steady stream of light / a diver in the dark depths of the ocean.
I’ve been on so many aeroplanes.
That bush with the orange leaves looks so odd in the glaring yellow light of the street lamps – like something from an older time. Like something a roman emperor would pass in his chariot. Or something.
Evenings and early mornings have the same kind of quiet strength, humming a gentle tune of the magnificence of the Creator God. I love them both.
And sometimes these words aren’t even understandable, not by any linguistic sense. An impression on my heart that leaves nothing more than a mere shadow of a word or a sentence can be even more important than those that fit neatly into a dictionary, because many times the most profound, wonderful thoughts can only be confined to impressions and sensations.
Me thinks: Gee, I don’t even know what this post is about anymore! Whatever it is, it seems like more words are both a paradoxical and effective way to cure writer’s block (some of it at least).
Till next time, and till the right words find themselves on this page again. 🙂
Cheers (to words!) x