I’ve heard this song long ago, back when I was in high school but had never really noticed the sheer greatness of it. Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap. Yes, it’s one of the soundtracks used in 500 Days of Summer, which of course is also a fascinating, awe inspiring movie as well. The trance inducing rhythm and beat combined with the simplicity of the lyrics (but nonetheless heart wrenching) has been looping on and on in my iTunes and it seems it will be looping on and on for the next few days. I am in love with this movie and it’s soundtracks. And this is one of the many reasons why, my good readers of mine, if there are any, I love watching movies. Especially those type’s of movies that just rips your heart out. Good movies, just like good music often take me into a realm where reality seems to be anything but real. They are like drugs to me. They make me happy.
Writing also makes me happy. But I now have a problem.
Have you ever wanted to write, but not know on what to write about? Or actually do know at first but when you start writing, the things you wish to write about suddenly disappear. I like to write, no, I love to write but I am recently having a hard time expressing feelings, thoughts, ideas and things I have seen into words, written words. I’m having a hard time elaborating these feelings, thoughts and ideas of mine into words that I see fit enough to describe on what I have felt, on what I have thought about.
And because it is also usual for me to dissect my psychological state I am in when I am experiencing a certain feeling whether it be love, lust, anger, happiness, jealousy, hatred and so on. Therefore I will also try to break down and analyze this condition I am in and with it I start my analyzing with a simple question.
A simple question that I have never really asked myself before, why do you write Ben?
Although I have a rather high fondness towards writing, I have never personally asked myself that question. Do I write because I just wish to write? or is there an underlying cause to it? Is it because I wish to share my opinions, my thoughts, my ideas, my sometimes unsavory notions of the world, of people, of religion, of politics, of culture, of life itself?
Or is it because I wish to show my existence, my capabilities and hope of some sort of feedback in any form, from my readers?
Yes, perhaps it could possibly be one of those reasons, or perhaps it could also be a combination of those reasons.
But is that all? Has that hope, has that wish become the main reason on why I write? A small part of me seems to agree with this. Yet another small part of me is telling me that I write because there is a need to escape. Escape from this hectic, chaotic, violent world we are living in.
When I write this world matters not for me. It is as if I live in a world of my own. Combine this with photography and I am able to see the beauty in everything, even death itself.
But, these reasons though, come to think of it, are minor reasons.
There is for me a main reason on why I write. To write is an activity that I see as an expression of my passion towards matters on anything that has touched me deeply, matters that has touched my heart, my soul. It is for me very much like photography.
They are activities that I see as personal.
Activities that I see as sacred.
That is why although I am keen towards writing I do not do so often, my ability to write is hindered by my heart that must first be touched in order for it to emerge.
To write, for me, is the ultimate expression of myself. It is my truest and boldest expression on how I feel, on how I perceive the world. Therefore I can honestly say that to write and to photograph is to ultimately satisfy my innermost feelings of matters that only my (often) peaceful heart may able to understand.
However,
this reason on why I write has not solved my problem on why I recently lack the ability to write. I have witnessed and experienced heart burning events and incidents that has made me shed tears. But why have I been having a rather difficult time when it comes to writing?
After pondering endlessly towards this question, I have come to the conclusion that this difficulty is merely caused by my personal dissatisfaction towards words.
Yes, I am dissatisfied with words. I no longer see words capable of justifying the expression of beauty that I have seen or felt. I see them as limiting. Can it really justify the beauty such as those that we feel when we are in love? Can it really be understood the depth of it, the remarkable feeling it brings, the extravagant beauty of it by saying ‘I love you?’ can we truly, wholly understand that all?
As Eckhart Tolle has said, “Of course we have to use words and thoughts. They have their own beauty, but do we really need to become imprisoned in them?”
Words have somewhat become degrading for me when it comes to expressing my innermost feelings. They are much, much better felt then merely to encase them in hallow words.
For me words reduce reality to something the human mind can grasp, which from my experience isn’t very much.
a significant other
There are things, personal things that you wish the world would understand. But you know that it won’t and can’t. Things that only you and perhaps a significant other can seem to understand. Things that only you know of and perhaps only share to another of whom you trust and love. Those things should remain a closely guarded secret. For secrets because of their obscurity will not and cannot be judged, and because things are often judged in a subjective manner, secrets are something we should choose to embrace, to conduct. Subjectivity often causes misinterpretations, which then leads to blindness of one’s mind and how can we truly understand a certain something when we see with clouded eyes?
