Voiceless

I am back from my break, hiatus, hibernation.. whatever you may call it. I’m not sure what it was that made me stop writing. Maybe it was school, and moving, and being “busy,” and seemingly starting a new phase in my life. But for some reason, this passion and need for to see my thoughts typing themselves out in this text box was not there. The passion lied dormant for the past five months or so. And I, I remained voiceless, my ideas weren’t going anywhere, and I felt that I had nothing to write about… which is probably untrue. I had ample opportunities to do what I do best: dissect any topic in any way, shape, or form of my choosing.

So this return, I think, stems from the following:

The other night, I was working on my personal statement for my grad school application –still unreal– and nothing was coming to me. Every sentence that I started typing was quickly erased, and only invisible self-doubt and self-consciousness remained on the white pixels. So, I needed some inspiration and turned to my old blog posts and papers I wrote. At first, it seemed to me that a stranger wrote those works. The writing was eloquent, lively, colorful, vivid. Ideas were coherent, and the language spoke in a discernible voice of some version of me in the past. And as much as I tried to bring this voice back to life in my current writing, I couldn’t. Whatever thoughts I had were bland, gray, and appeared as if they could’ve been uttered by any mediocre writer.

As I lied in bed earlier, unable to fall asleep, I felt it –the stirring in my guts, the neurons firing in my brain (no, I was not tripping on anything), the thoughts racing, and the words coming to life. I felt the hunger of writing, of making sense of thoughts and ideas through words.

And oh what a great feeling it is. I’ve missed it.

Welcome back.

Hon. English 12

I used to hate English class. From the reading, to discussing, to writing, and absolutely dreading getting back my graded papers. I wasn’t terrible at writing, but I wasn’t good either. I remember very clearly sitting at the cafeteria at lunch with some of my fellow science nerds and complaining how having English as a requirement for all four years of high school was a complete and utter waste of time. “You don’t need to know how to write an essay or analyze literature in the real world” I said with such condescending naiveté that I find so irritating in retrospect. I was a know-it-all. In my mind, there are the important subjects –sciences and math– and the less important subjects –English and other liberal arts. But that changed.

I remember my first encounter with Ms. Noel. She proctored my first PSAT in 10th grade. I could not stand her that day. Transference of feelings, my friends –it was just that. I hated the testing and dreaded that day and blamed it on innocent Ms. Noel, who, very likely, did not enjoy testing day either.

Fast forward almost two years later. “HON ENGLISH 12  NOEL” it said on my class schedule. I walked into class and was annoyed. I did not want to have Ms. Noel for that class. But a few days later, my view was changed. Ms. Noel changed my whole perspective of English class. She was smart and approachable and steered us away from generic writing in the five paragraph format. She encouraged me to find my voice and passion in my writing, and with her help, I did just that. Slowly but surely, I was making strides not only in my writing capabilities, but also in my thinking skills. It was a side of the subject that I have not seen before.

For my final research paper, the last paper that I wrote in high school, I picked the book Lolita. It was a challenge, but I excelled. I found passion in the book. I understood what the process meant! It was the lightbulb moment that I missed all along. I dug through the book, I found it’s meaning of the character, I saw how it worked in the grander scheme of things. I fought for Lo! I put so much into that project and it showed. From that point on, writing was no longer scary or dreadful. It was fun, evocative; a creative practice in critical thinking.

I regret not doing more with language and writing, as now I see it as much more of a passion to me that sciences. However, I am determined to keep pushing in that direction, because even though it may seem like it sometimes, I still have time to get things done.

Thank you, Ms. Noel.

 

 

Predictable

One of my biggest fears is becoming a cliché or an archetype of sorts. I noticed that when I write and hit clichés I make a point to notify the rest of the world how much I hate them.. and I see archetype as clichés taking human form. And therefore I cannot become one.

I can tell this is becoming an externalization of a internal, existential conflict. Lord, am I becoming wordy…

Clichés, by their very definition, are unoriginal. They are words, saying, expressions, and fragments that have been thrown around for centuries that their true meaning has solidified, dried up, shriveled, and then slowly crumbled. By now, they are meaningless.. and perhaps only hold an ounce or so of truth in them –an ounce of genuine identity and meaning. But we still use them and accept them as a part of our spoken and written lexicon.. We’ve seen it all before. It’s boring, unexciting.. and I don’t want to be that.

Then come the archetypes. In my mind, they are clones of people taken from the same mould. The sorority girl, the fratstar, the science nerd, the punk, the over-grown skater boy, tortured artist, the forced flamboyant gay. I have seen them all before. Maybe at first there is some interest, but slowly, you realize that it’s a façade one subscribes to because of the convenience. It’s easier to stick to a set of characteristics than to find your true identity. But I cannot stand them. I find them boring, forced, untrue, mundane, predictable.

They are like clichés: you can tell me the beginning of one, and I can finish the phrase. I know it already because I’ve heard it before. I do not want to become that. I think so far, I’ve been doing a good job at getting to know myself (it’s constant work, the way I see it), and being true to myself. Yet I’m scared of losing my way. I’m scared of subscribing to the archetypes.. especially the ones that are expected from me: from family, friends, people around me telling me who I need to be and what I need to do.

And I think this is why it is so difficult for me to figure out what I want to do and what I want my life to be.. who I want to be. Luckily I have myself and some close people around me to keep me in check and remind me when I’m becoming someone else.

And with that, I sign off.

Truly yours.