Page 40 - Cogito, ergo sum
P. 40

Writer’s block





             Oftentimes        you     can     see    me       bunch  of  grumpy  people,  like
             staring  at  a  blank  page,  my  pen             yellow  in  the  midst  of  black  and
             uncapped  and  full  of  ink,  yet  my            white.
             brain  empty  trying  to  think.  It  is

             in  these  times  I  wonder  if                   Sometimes, it is not easy to notice
             Shakespeare  was  right.  “All  the               these  subtle  stories  in  the  chaos
             world’s  a  stage  and  all  the  men             of    the      world.      Those,       like
             and women merely players”? How                    unexpected          pretty      accidents
             is it even possible for someone to                where  a  stranger  turns  into  your
             write  a  script  with  the  entire               safe  space,  or  a  puppy  that  runs
             population  of  the  world  as  the               to  you  and  huddles  at  your  feet
             crew,  in  a  world  that  rotates  and           looking  like  a  lost  piece  of  the
             never stops for a moment?                         night.
                                                               After looking at all of these, I took
             The funny thing is that there is no               my chance and loaded them all in
             one  story  and  every  story  has                my     bag,      smiling      to    myself
             multiple       versions,       the     crew       knowing  that  I’d  have  stories  to
             repeats but their roles differ, the               tell  for  centuries.  Yet,  I  have  a

             hero of one story is a villain in the             paper  whiter  than  the  moon
             other. And here I am struggling to                sitting  in  front  of  me,  waiting  to
             make  words  meet  the  worlds  of                be  written  on.  Maybe  the  writer
             my head that I built.                             had put a lock on the words after
                                                               he  wrote  them?  Wondering  if  the

             After        viewing        Shakespeare           Greeks        were        right       about
             through my glasses of indignance                  creativity  being  a  gift,  I  close  my
             and contempt, I decided to set out                pen  and  keep  the  paper  aside.
             to  find  my  words  in  this  writer’s           Maybe it is called “writer’s block”
             play,  probably  steal  a  part  of  his          for a reason.
             script  and  call  it  mine.  And  it
             wasn’t  too  hard.  This  careless
             writer’s     plots     were      scattered
             around me, like poems waiting to
             be  handed  out  to  me.  I  found  a
             poem  in  my  friend’s  eyes  after  a
             long  tiring  day  when  she  was
             trying  to  comfort  me,  despite

             being     tired     herself.     I    found                         Srinethe Ra
                                                                                    ECE
             another      one,     in    a    complete                             2020-24
             stranger,  vibing  to  the  songs
             played in a crowded bus on a busy
             Monday morning, amidst a



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