I know, I’m awful with this blogging thing lately. I haven’t written for the usual reasons–no inspiration, no time, nothing to say.

But I find I miss writing. I know I do write, at a surface value, the articles I churn out for various publications, the assignments (indeed, I still have them!), the comments I give on my student’s tutorial exercises and of course, the endless Wall-to-Walling I indulge in on Facebook.

But words are more than just words sometimes, you know? And it both frustrates and amazes me that something so structured and limiting can also provide so much release and liberation. And how I need them to maintain my sanity.

Words, to me, are like breaths. I suppose I have been feeling so out of depth lately precisely because I haven’t been writing the way I need to.

These last few months have been some of those horrible times where it dawns upon you (so you think) that life is more than just dreaming, loving and praying–I mean this in the daily grind kind of way–you know, work, routine, same old, same old.

You cynically tell yourself that dreamers and lovers and those with faith also need to pay bills and carry out mundane tasks, and no amount of visualisation or nights spent conversing with divine powers can ensure that there is food on the table and that the people depending on you can continue to live comfortably. I shouldn’t scoff, I believe I did think this way for a while.

But a little piece of me dies everytime I set writing aside to scurry about the laboratory maze that is the rat race of the societal discourse of living, which is ironic because I should be proud of how much I am accomplishing. How I’m paying bills, repaying my education loan, saving up for my future. But I’m not; not really.

I remember how I felt so centered and at peace with myself last year, with the creative writing classes Sharon taught us. The words that spilled from my pen to paper and often, flowed from my fingertips to my keyboard onto a blank screen were weaved into a fabric of an alternate universe that allowed me to escape, which I need.

And as self-indulgent as this sounds, I do need escapism to continue functioning–I am, fundamentally, a Piscean. With fire planets abounding in my astrological chart, I suppose it’s easy to slip my quivering fish in a bowl and tell it to be happy in there till my other more action-oriented planets get whatever it is the fuck they imagine they need to do, done.

So I lived, but a part of me was probably also on its deathbed; pardon the drama! To me, this makes perfect sense–I’ve been cantankerous as all hell, I snap at people I love, I’ve neglected societal causes that mean a lot to me, and worst of all, I’ve been attracting bad energy. I’ve been utterly miserable, and while I am doing all the things I should be doing, I’m not doing what I want to be doing.

What I’m trying to get at, I suppose, is to remind myself, albeit in a public space, to stop. Breathe. Dream. Write. Because through words, another part of me comes alive; the part that isn’t available to the prying eyes of the world. It is the part of me that comes alive when I am alone, thinking thoughts and penning them down.

Too often, too easily, we think nothing of decentering ourselves in the pursuit of material things, telling ourselves it doesn’t matter what we want to do, we need to do these things which are way more important–or so we think.

This is a reminder to myself, and to those of you who still read me (you poor things, LOL) to remember that what your heart and soul needs are just as important as what your body and mind needs. When body, mind, heart and soul are one, you are at peace; living is no longer a chore, but a source of joy.

So I will write (here, there, anywhere).

I will take pictures of things and people that move me (provided I have my camera on me, of course).

I will splash through puddles; so what if I ruin my shoes? I have another 30-odd pairs to choose from!

I will laugh loudly when due to my own oversight I land myself in ridiculous situations (like with an old carseat that lodged itself under my front bumper yesterday, because I drove over it, because I was too lazy to get out and move it); what else can you do?!

I will sing off-key at embarrassingly loud volumes ; smile warmly at strangers; listen to other people’s problems though I have my own; I will savour the taste of food on my taste buds, stop skipping meals and give thanks that I have food that I can choose to eat at my pleasure.

I will read books with beautiful words and admire gorgeous clothes and shoes; I will ask for whipped cream with my frappucinos; I will play with children and hold them and laugh with them and kiss them.

And I will remind myself as often as I can, that these are the things that make me who I am.