Why I Cannot Write

Topics: Writing, Spasm, Writers Pages: 2 (532 words) Published: February 19, 2013
Why I Cannot Write?

Why do I question myself with this – why I cannot write? Where in fact, writing is taught since kindergarten and even before I was sent in formal schooling. I have complete fingers; my hands aren’t paralyzed or disjointed; I don’t even have muscle spasms. And I’m not sightless, deaf, dumb, one armed or a person with disabilities. So of course I know how to write! I can write the ABC’s or the alphabet, words, numbers and yes, my name, I bet I could even write yours too. But there’s this portion at the back of my brain that asked me with almost the same question, “Do I really know how to write? Write unremarkable pieces to read.” It’s like music in my head, but not the good one, that plays over and over again with a chorus “Why I cannot write?” Annoying! Maybe I’ve gotta love it to love me, like I’ve love the karaoke. Maybe I have to sing it but a pen and paper is what in my hand to find the answer with this query of mine that’s why. But what if it wouldn’t love me back, like singing did? No! There’s no such thing as songs hating its singer, the problem is within her how she will give the right verdict with it. Like what Conrado de Quiros wrote in his Lessons in Humility, “there are no bakya topics, there are only bakya writers.” Finding how to improve writing is easy, but how you’ll do it is the challenging part. But first I have to assess myself to find the waterloo in my writing. Some of singers or most people have stage fright, where in writing I’m afraid that people will read my piece and also the feeling of rejection. For when they have, I feel bizarre, frightened of criticisms and dislikes. Because I know for myself, I am still a bakya writer and I still have many flaws and steak to eat before I could produce a remarkable piece to read. For so many years in school and have come the last part of it, still I don’t have what it takes to be called a good writer considering I’m an English major. Ironic isn’t it? Too bad, I’ve only come to...
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