Tireito

There are days my fingers itch to hold a pen to paper, however, when I do, I cannot bring myself to write anything extraordinary. Commonplace is all I do.
With this desire to be extraordinary, I lose the power to write anything all together.
My mind is blank and you do not want to be in this volatile state of being.
On such days I want to take out my brain and whack it into thinking more creatively, more coherently, more extraordinarily
I have told you how once I sat down to write and all I could conjure up from the deepest folds of my mind was ‘two fluffy pancakes’-mundane phrases that should not be conceived in the mind of a writer.
On other days ‘commonplace writing’ creeps up on me like darkness does when your heart is broken and on such days I like to believe that writing is my hobby. But is it?

What is your strong suit?
Your talent?

I dip myself into different things but I don’t stay quite long enough to call it a talent.
I write but not like Kafka.
I cook but not like Ramsay.
I play chess but not like Fischer.
I know quite a lot about animals but not like Attenborough.
And many other yada yadas about ‘I do this but not like this person’.
With me, it is always ‘I do this but not like’
Never morphing into perfection.
Is it imposter syndrome?

Or have I bitten by that thing that bit Kafka and he thought he was the world’s biggest loser in writing?
Is it a wanting to be more?
Being me means to be in a constant state of ‘I want to be more’.
Being me means to question my abilities and constantly beating myself for not being ‘better.’
Being me means putting myself at one end of the spectrum and every other ‘smart’ person on the other end.
I don’t want to just write, I want to be a literary giant.
I don’t want to just put together basic words, I want to weave a colour-rich tapestry of words that leaves the world in awe.
I do not want to just learn, analyse things at face value- I want to go down rabbit holes and ditch superficial.
I want to be enchanted by the unknown.
And so when I sit to write and all I can come up with is what Kahlil Gibran would call ‘half talents’, the very core of my being shakes with the turbulence of a soul wanting more, wanting to be people’s muse, wanting to be up there with Plath in the literary ladder.