Dispatch to a Friend

So this friend came to me the other day and accused me of being a paradox. He complained that your scripts talk about being vigorous and iron-willed while you, on the other hand, seem to be feeble and obscure; that you are a contradiction, full of falsehood and you drop lines on the piece of paper that you’re literally not.

I let him had it at that while, because I believe I am good at pushing a pencil and am not blessed with the gift of gab.

My dear friend, to you I write,

I am a meek valiant. I sob at the sofa in the middle of the day, panting and yearning for something far-fetched. I am a miscalculation of theories and sentiments. While I scribble dauntless and lionhearted beliefs, I might be the most timid and reticent human being you have ever met. I am the one who fragmentizes inward and sheds bitter tears in a dark corner, rather than howling back.

This ideal, prototypical girl in the back of my mind that I write about and that, in the heart of hearts, I aspire to be, is undaunted, is valorous, is sassy and smart, speaks out her mind and is indomitable in her spirit. She is confident, self-assured and is unreserved with her approach. I wanted to be her and I tried hard to be her, and yet couldn’t accomplish. I got so tired at the end of the day, and yet I couldn’t sleep. I tried my best, and yet couldn’t be there. I wish I could be what I have projected to be, but there is a stumbling block that prevents me to be her. I have reached from pain to poetry to daily madness and ended up exerting myself.

And then something reminded me that though I am imperfect and have ‘flaws’, but I must embrace the flaws for they are natural and real. The girl that my pieces mull over has been penned down by my mighty pen; she is magic and wonder and reveals heavenly secrets that the tongue could never utter.

Sure, there have been impolite moments when their words ripped me in half and all I wanted to do was turn their words into a knife and cut them right there; when I had literally paralyzed myself overthinking, but I rather chose to hold myself back. I secretly imploded rather than exploding, and while I call this power, you subject this as my incompetency. I believe in not littering negativity all over. I believe I am the architect of my own potentiality and my uniqueness. I hold in as I staunchly believe in the power of Karma, and the theory that what goes around, comes around. Take my word, this takes self-reliance and trust.

I am tight-lipped and silent but I do observe things, my dear friend. I take the knife, cut the cord and set myself free instead of using that knife to pierce their hollow hearts. I have evolved like this and trust me, I am doing super-excellent since I have accepted who I am. I am putting together my pieces, experiencing experiences, and learning to avoid mistakes in the future.

I knocked myself out to be her but failed because I became cognizant of the fact that she wasn’t me, and yet, you would still find the image of that girl in my further write-ups, and to understand this paradox, you need to step into the shoes of a writer first.