Show, Not Tell

Writing – ever since, it has been a means of expressing one’s sentiments when one do not have the guts to tell them through talking.  It has been a way to let out all the buzzing ideas inside our minds. When one seems to have so full of ideas and their brain can’t keep all of them inside, those ideas spill out from their minds and they splatter on paper. However, sometimes, we can’t seem to explain into words what we really feel inside. That’s my biggest dilemma right now.

I want to write about countless things. I NEED to write because I am told to do so. I won’t pass this freaking subject if I don’t get to write. So I want my pen to dance rhythmically on the paper as if it is its dance floor. I want my pen to write the sweetest symphony of suppressed sentiments.  In every flick of my wrist, I want words to flow like a little spring. It would even be better if it would flood out my fingers like a tsunami.  I want the ink to make a mess on the paper. I want it to run out because of writing such breathtaking paragraphs. I want to write to free my heart from the past’s darkness and misery. I want to write to let it all out.

The trouble is that I can’t. I am not wired to write. That is not how I was made. If I get a hold of the pen, it goes out of control. The paper becomes a bit too slippery as if it is covered in wax. It seems like my ocean of words dries out into a scorching desert. The words inside my head do not fit the puzzle. I want to write a hurricane, but not even a drizzle falls down.

I am not meant to play with words but with colors. The pen is just my colleague. The paintbrush is my best friend. I am meant to impress eyes through picturesque views made by my own hand, not by writing such life changing, awe-inspiring prose and poetry. I am not meant to impress through words. I’m not good at words. I can’t even explain a thing clearly through words. I am meant to let people see through a different perspective. I am meant to show, not tell.

My Freaky Fascination with Feathers and Where it All Started

                  For the first time in my life, I see a mesmerizing creature in front me. He is so elegant he swept me off my feet. He walks in front of me with such poise. He wears a coiling velvety crown on his head. But what captivates me more is the thing he is wearing – a thick coat of iridescent blue to vivid green feathers. And just as I stare at his shimmering coat, a fan of dazzling brown feathers with eye-like patterns on every end opens up behind him. I stare at him wide-eyed and filled with such awe.

                I become obsessed with this creature that he is all I think about every single day. I even imagine myself wearing the coat that he has.  I sketch some dresses made up of feathers and all. I’m so drawn into it.  Sketches of outfits made of feathers fill my good old journal. I even plan to have a black feathered dress for prom. I thought my fascination with feathers will stay as scribbles on my journal, but I was wrong.

One of my obssessions

                 One ordinary school day, I am walking alone in the middle of the school quadrangle when something catches my attention – a tiny brown feather with white tips fall in front of me. I try to catch it but the wind caused by the motion of my hand sends it to the other direction. Annoyed by its incidental flight, I wait for it to land on the ground and decide to pick it up. I stared at it with such admiration and wondered, “How can something become unnoticed despite its intricacy?” I take a closer look at it and notice its teeny-tiny details. I carefully run my index finger through the feather’s fine tips. I really am amazed on how the little follicles were arranged symmetrically in the stem of the feather and how the gaps between them are equal. It’s one of the world’s little miracles, I guess.

That was the first feather I collected. I decide to keep the feather in my little coin purse. Unfortunately, I lost it. It fell when I was getting my money from the purse. Pity.  But my little meet ups with falling feathers from the sky did not stop there. Time after time, I still go through the same scenario. I go somewhere then a little feather falls right in front of me. So far, I’ve collected seven feathers that accidentally just fell right in front of me. Others, I see them on the streets and I pick them up. Some of the feathers I collected were lost, though. They were so tiny and lightweight that they lose very easily.

                Fine, silky and soft to touch, fragile… fascinating – these are the words that come into my mind when I run my fingers through a pretty little feather.  Just because of a peacock and falling feathers, I developed my freaky fascination of collecting feathers. Sometimes, little things become the reason why you appreciate big things. You only need a keen eye to do it.