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.