Dear writer who suffers from chronic writer’s block,
I heard your conversation with some random person, and found a particular line very interesting. The one where you say that ‘you are someone trapped inside your own brain for most of the time’. The essence of what you said did strike me. But you know what, apart from you, there are like thousands of people (including me) trapped inside your brain. Incarcerated in a dilapidated corner of your brain. But since each and every one of us suffers from Stockholm’s syndrome, we can’t suppress our voices anymore.
You carried us in the womb of your imagination, birthed us, and nurtured us. Our stories were like tiny secrets you treasured in the warmth of your heart, but as I figure it out, it was too warm that all of our stories thawed away. And then you pushed us all into this blank and black space of your brain, turning us into people without a story, without a life. We sit here-wailing, whimpering, whining- as you loll in the couch, deaf towards our cries. We occasionally landed in your nightmares and daydreams, imploring you to fill up the voids you have turned us into. But you were blind towards our pleas.
And so we are here, in this abandoned nook. You have locked us in here and hurled the key away. The termites of neglect are feasting on us. We tried to battle but we have relinquished. Now that we are locked in and are slowly vanishing, we are trying our hand at one more request to you.
Let us free. I know that you’ve tossed away the key and hence it’s difficult to release us, but if you have lost that key, why don’t you consider about creating another one? Forge the key with your thoughts. Unleash us. Paint us with your creativity. Fill in the blank spaces you’ve dug in us. Let your fears dance with us and your emotions to croon with us. Allow our stories to cascade down the nib of your pen into the paper. And permit people to read those papers. Wave the green flag when they try to climb up and live in this world you have made for us. Let them feel. Let the little girl fall in love with the knight in shining armor of the story. Let the teenager learn a little lesson for his future through the boy in your story. Let the girl in her twenties who expected the most colorful phase of her but ended up hugging her knees in the corner of her room find the glow of hope through some lass in your story. Let the middle aged man who is busy climbing the corporate ladder feel that he should slacken the tie and go play with his little ones for a while, after he reads about such a man in your story. Let the old woman snuggled in her rocking chair think about how even she can try new things before the evening of her life draws closer, like how the grizzled, wrinkled, and bespectacled lady in your story did.
Only you are the one who can make all this happen. If you push aside all your laziness and self-undermining, you can extricate us. You can make us beacons of hope for someone or a role model for the other.
And before I wrap it up, let me say you this:
You can either kindle the lantern of your dream or you can cradle your excuses. But you can’t do both.
One of the many people confined inside your brain.