Expressing one's self; Effect of environment
It has been a while. I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel. What's the purpose? I ask myself. Why I am blogging? I can easily find one thousand reasons for not doing so.
It’s astonishing future can be different from how we (like to) imagine it. In my England days, I had absolutely no difficulty in expressing my ideas, at least in writing. I only was too busy to write it all. Besides, I was living the experience, learning the lessons. I thought to myself: well, I’ll have all the time in the world to write about my lessons when I get back. Apparently, it didn’t work that way.
So what’s the problem? Does it really take more than a pen and a piece of paper in front of you to write what’s in your mind? I can’t really say how it is going that way…I can only see it and feel sorry for myself. Sorry for not being able to write when I want to, at the time I choose, about the topic I pick. Never before I have felt the effect of environment to be that big on me. I knew I was always inspired by it, but hated to discover I was almost possessed. I bitterly found out that I can’t be who I am. I felt like a mirror, just reflecting beams. My belief in human will was fearfully deteriorating. The place where we live, people around us, the “atmosphere” as a whole, all owns a big share of the decisions we make…if you believe we can say: decide. We are just too weak to change everything around us, especially if everything seems like it needs to be changed.
I thought to myself: Had it not been for my short stay “there”, would I ever think about blogging? I doubt it. After all, the act of expressing one's ideas and thoughts has been quite uncommon during all those years. It may even be considered a dodgy business. Your feeling should be kept to yourself. When you’re anxious and frustrated you don’t nag, you say nothing. You put up a false smile so that even your closest friends think you’re happy. No one should be able to read your mind, interpret your ideas, or know how you’re feeling. Sometimes you don’t know how you’re feeling yourself. That’s the way it is. Nobody says what’s in mind, and nobody can change that. A very unhealthy environment for writing. So much for a blog. How can I challenge all the habits, problems and mistakes I grew up with? Why I was never late “there” and I’m never on time “here”? At least I want to know: how much of myself do I own?
“I looked at the sky through the white light and the water mist, and my chest was so constricted from all these arguments that I was amazed how birds could keep themselves in the air. Then I realized, perhaps they have no little voices in their head, telling them they can’t do things. Imagine every time a bird wanted to fly, it stopped breathing long enough to think why it shouldn’t fly. You would have a lot lame-winged contorted creatures hopping around on the beach”
When I read that I suddenly looked out of the window. It looked quite the same. Gleams of light were penetrating the heavy clouds of a late winter day. Birds were flying like I haven’t seen before. For the very first time, I felt myself a part of all that. I had wings, and I wanted to fly, too.
Is there any way out? Well, hardly, but yes. I shall get back to my dashboard, no matter how many reasons I can find for not doing so. After all, there are more reasons for things not to happen, but life still happens here and elsewhere. Embryos grow up to be born, even if it seems impossible when we think about it. Seeds that are buried under soil find some way out. Sun shines among the clouds. Universe is full of many and different forms of life that finally make it, against all odds.
