Self-Examination

The wheezing sound of the fan can be heard in the background, drowning out the orchestra of crickets in the far distance. I lie on my stomach, staring at the monitor – which incidentally, is the only source of light in my room. As someone who has over 70 published works, the mere sound of fingers effortlessly punching keypads should be routine by now. The creative juices should be pumping, the mind should be racing with ideas, and the hands should be relaxed, effortlessly molding a piece of work worthy of acclaim.

But somehow, tonight, there’s a feeling of uneasiness. Whether it’s the seething heat of summer’s infancy or this deafening silence around me, there’s a palpable atmosphere of apprehension. My fingers are subdued, punch the keyboard aimlessly, almost as if it’s not used to it anymore. What was once considered bosom buddies have been reduced to mere acquaintances. Even worse, the words that come out are incoherent; a hodgepodge of nouns and adjectives that doesn’t make even the slightest sense. If someone had read this embarrassing attempt at prose, it wouldn’t too far off for them to think that it was the masterpiece of an infant with a lot of free time on his hands.

In an effort to restart this stalled engine, I went back to my past and dusted off my archives. Going back to read some of my previous works made me realize why I enjoyed writing so much. I was never forced to write something just so I can post it on my blog and wait for the comments to come pouring in. That would have been too self-indulgent. At the same time, I never wrote (or published) anything that I felt lacked merit and ingenuity. I wrote those articles because I was motivated and inspired. I wrote those articles because I enjoyed it. It’s surreal to think that I was capable of those works back then, yet be stumped and clueless on what to write now.

So after reading some of my past works, I took a deep breath and gave out an exasperated sigh.
I closed my eyes and I began to wonder where that writer had gone to.

Because if there’s one thing that’s obvious on this hot summer night; he sure as hell isn’t here.