Do You Think You Can Find It?

The sun shines brightly on the rim on the glass laying in front of her. A sudden flash and her attention is drawn into the image that is reflected. A projection of the same physical being that the matter in her body dictates her to be and yet so completely opposite. Her clothes are the same, but not worn in the same fashion. The style she shows off is something completely different than that of our 'heroine'. Any movement she makes is replicated by her duplicate.
As she moves further to the mirror she starts noticing the differences. The image's eyes seem sharper with a sense of illumination. They look as though they have a power- something like seeing through the darkness. The rims around the reflection's mouth seem more worn out. Strong smile lines. Her face carries a confidence and a fire that by the look cannot be defied. She is drawn to the image that lies ahead of her. She wants this to be her reflection, and although it is, it feels alien. She wants to be the person staring at her from the other side. That person resides inside her, and today she sees it struggling to come out and find it's place in the world...

You know every morning we look into mirrors. While brushing our teeth, combing our hair, checking our make-up, straightening out our clothes, and more. But we fail to truly notice the person that lies in this magnificent spectrum. We look but never see, we fail to see what is being shown to us. This is us, but a different version. The version we know we are but somehow cannot be. A larger part of our personality remains lost, sometimes suppressed by thoughts of what society will think, the ''fitting in'' phenomenon or something so stupid as copying the behaviour of another. And then there is that rare breed of humans that genuinely doesn't suffer at all.

I wake up every morning and notice myself in the mirror while I brush my teeth. Today was seemingly different. I discovered a bit more about myself. And now I feel differently. I feel... so different and yet so completely the same. And today, after a long long time, I smiled to myself for no apparent reason.

Life, I wait. I wait and I take everything you have to offer. The good and the bad, the happy and the sad. I am a better person for what you do to me. And I accept the fate you give me from here on out. I never believed in making my own fate, I never felt I was incapable of accepting what came my way. I am who I am for a reason.

And she looked into the mirror, feeling a transference. And smiled....

Writer's Block

You know that feeling when you want to write so badly, because it's such an important part of you, but you can't. There are too many thoughts in your mind, and yet your head feels so empty. At that moment we suffer from this delusional disease the world has started calling 'Writer's Block'.

What is this infamous problem that at some point in any creative's life has dominated the mind. Another stereotypical disease that must be the cause for the inability to get a hold on brain function. I somehow think that we don't suffer from a block at all.

In my mind, there are a thousand thoughts racing around hoping that they will be the primary for even a millionth of a millisecond. I am not a genius, constantly planning and craving knowledge of the functionality of things. Neither am I a blind person, completely closed to the world that exists around me. So when I can see and think enough to satisfy the thirst of writing in my being, how can I at any point be suffering from a 'block'?

I'll admit the fascination of creating a blog has in my head triggered of the need to write. The only thing is that despite the fact that to someone reading this, it might seem like a whole bunch of utter rubbish, it is basically my head spilling its mind out. Truth be told, I've already written three half baked posts and deleted them. And each time my train of thoughts gets disrupted, by phone calls from friends who can't come up with display names for YouTube accounts, by my grandmother who lives downstairs and by simply another thought in my head.

So my inability to keep up with my own thoughts and pen them down before they vanish, leading to the blank page without words is what I am faced with. Am I suffering? Writer's block? Or too many thoughts? We can't keep track with our own thoughts and the world claims their blocked.

I'm restless, I'm on a high, I'm lost. And by feeling all these things, I'm simply letting the words flow out of my head through my fingers as they clit-clat the keyboard. I am a writer, but I never suffer from a block, I simply suffer from the inability to grasp my own mind. Does that make me a fool? Or am I now defying another worldy thing that an average teen is supposed to? Or did I just make no sense? That is an opinion I'll leave to you. But in my world, from now on forth, block cease to exist!