Amrit Poudel
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The flowers look more comely when they blossom, spread the aroma with a mélange of love, hope, an inspiration to the beings around. So, is with blank paper. Once scribbled, it carries the imaginations, stories, views and expressions of an individual. The same blank page, when Shakespeare found on his table, revolutionized the field of literature while Socrates, Aristotle’s pages revolutionized the field of philosophy. Moreover, here I was staring at a blank page hoping a magic wand would hover around my keyboard and fill it with the best lines, prose, poem, an essay or an equation to solve the unsolvable queries of a lifetime.
I had thought the blank paper would turn into an extraordinary piece even the Venus would envy reading it, but the gospel truth it was still blank. It was almost ten minutes I had been staring at the blank page hoping the fingers to start moving, hoping the incarcerated thoughts to spill over the page. I felt as if I was not born to be a writer for my hands encrusted, my eyes glued to the screen like ogling to some voluptuous woman, the whole time. Suddenly, I closed my laptop since I had nothing to write. I was infuriated with me, myself. I went to the balcony with a cup of coffee and the rush of adrenaline on my mind, thinking I was nothing but a dreamer with a realm of false hopes and desires.
I was in search of my reason for existence since I felt everyone else had found his or hers. Every time I saw hordes, I could see them running after something, probably their goals and dreams for they had no time to stand and stare. Moreover, here I was with all the time in the world to spare, sometimes watching the birds fly and sometimes following the path of the strewn leaves with the wind. I had only a question every single time on my mind: What was I born to be? I did not want to go to college just as others did to get a straight A, for I never thought the classes would make you a complete soul. Therefore, I started to get into something, which I like: thinking. However, it was not worth unless others heard your thoughts. However, for that, either I had to speak or I had to write. Speaking was my passion, and writing my hobby. I tried implementing both of these techniques, but the writing was more effective and easier if I could replicate my thoughts into the words, which was of course of a great challenge.
I have understood that failing is much more of an essence if success is what you are craving. I had given up just an hour ago staring at a blank page, but I had a feeling that it was making me stronger than before to stare at it for an hour more at least. I headed to my room and started staring at the blank page again. The words were vertiginous, the topics gyrating and the page still blank. This made me far more reckless. The fear of pessimism had led me to deceptive optimism. Charles Bukowski once said, “If they don’t come easy, don’t start”.
I, who had taken Bukowski as an idol, shut down the laptop again and headed for a promenade.
After a quick stroll, I went to my room. I did not open my laptop. I went to bed since I was tired of seeing loquacious, bumptious people around me. The dearth of peace had demanded some rest. I then closed my eyes, thought about the infinite number of papers yet not scribbled, waiting for the billion stories enough to shake the world. Fortunately, after all these, I found something to write about “The Trouble with Blank Page”.
Amrit is an undergraduate at The University of Mississippi, USA.
