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I love words. I respect them. I love and respect the ones that know how to use them to give us pleasure. As a journalist, they were the matter with which I created something. Something that remained. I am in awe of the written word. I can resist longer without food than I can without reading, without a book. I taught myself to read when I was six and I haven't stopped reading ever since. When I was seven I wrote my first short story and I dreamed of becoming a writer. I haven't stopped dreaming... I am not a writer and I don't think I'll ever be. I condemned myself to a dreamer's status the moment I renounced my native language and had this illusion I'll be able to write in a language that is not mine to share. I struggle like I'm drowning but I'm afraid I am no partner in this match.
I am a feeler. Before I write something, I feel it. Sometimes even the smell of a certain thing triggers waves of words, just like in Proust's "A la recherche du temps Perdu". My problem, though, is that many times I find myself wordless. I feel the emotions trying to materialize into words, to break free from my mind, and I just can not express them. Because they mainly want to come out dressed in Romanian and I force them to wear borrowed clothes that just don't fit.
The heaviness of words just crushes me and leaves me powerless. I pray to God asking Him to lift this curse, to let me breathe, to let me live. I am burried deep in a forest of words with nothing but a mere scissors to make my way through it.
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6 comments:
wow - for someone who is 'supposively 'struggling to express herself in "borrowed clothes" you did a mighty job at getting your feelings across just now- that is lovely - you are doing a lot better writing in english than you are giving yourself credit for!
Wonderful words. It seems writers, and yes, you are one, have a very deep and common bond... our love of words.
Yes, I agree with Sharee.
You are not drowning. You are merely swimming through some rough waters as you near the cove of self acceptance, and the inner seas of tranquility. No water wings needed from here on out, and there are no sharks out there to devour you--except the ones you cut out of paper and place in the waters of self doubt. Use those scissors to cut out a sassy swimming suit to strut your stuff in! You already have the substance [and words] to pull it off--in ANY language. I can feel you, and your words have touched me. Thank you~
Ah but you are a Writer! Emotions are difficult to put into to words. For many reasons people struggle to express how they are feeling. There is a lot of emotion in your writing. I felt connected to you as I read your story. Bravo!
You are not alone...in the middle of the velvet night we paint, we write, we dream while waking. As long as we are read, we live...and remain alive. It's a beautiful thought, if you write something that is a lasting note. Your post reminded me of that, and why I refuse to write a list book, or how to book, or provide any advice. Those things don't last. Real stories last.
Marilyn
What can I say, Ladies? Your words, your kind and caring and loving words impressed me to tears...I think I'll come here at least a few times a day to read them. They will be my pillar of strenght when I'll forgot who I am.
Thank you!
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